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Werewolves (RP15) The Waking Dawn

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Timothy stopped his approach and repeated Logan's words with a slight variation.

"What do you want for it?"

"Thank you, Bianca," Sabrina said with a slight dip of the chin as she fetched the teapot out of the cupboard. "I'm sure my compatriot there needs your help more than I at the moment. But the offer is appreciated, nonetheless."

A look was exchanged between the two of them, and for once, from Levi, it was less than pleasant. He dared that much, at least. But Sabrina only smiled slightly back, an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders that said enough. Blame me if you want, but you're the one who wanted to stay.

Jackie ascended the stairs without so much as a glance behind her.

Logan blinked slowly. “No… I mean to say, why do you want it for?” She asked, and regarded Jackie with a glance, before returning her attention to Timothy.

I didn’t understand that at all. Bianca glanced over her shoulder, having forgotten or never realized Levi’s accent. She listened over her shoulder and continued to cook, dropping pancakes on plates as they finished.

Timothy didn't know exactly why he wanted it, but he knew that he wanted it. He thought a moment on what he would say to Logan to convince her to give it to him.

"I want to use it." He said at length. "To make music."

Now Logan felt bad for stringing him on. What ulterior motive could Timothy have had for wanting an instrument for?

“If you want to, you can follow me.”

She said evenly, and got up. After stopping to drop her bowl in the sink, she began up the stairs and to her room.

Timothy watched Logan deposit her bowl in the sink, only following her when she began up the stairs.

Logan paused at her bedroom door and sighed. “Nobody else,” she said, emphasizing maybe for Jackie’s sakd, “is to come in here unless I give permission.”

“You, I give permission-this time.” She opened the door. It looked like the woods died in her bedroom. Branches, antlers, bones, pelts. In just some short months she had filled it. Most of it very recently-the storms had given her plenty.

The dresser had various small figurines, crudely carved. Against the wall were a couple of different branches made into walking sticks. There were a couple of thin rounds cut from a tree with etchings on them. Various sizes of wood beads were carved out.

All of the coarse artistry lent to several shavings and would chips on the ground.  Thus, the mess.

“It is like I said - there is nothing to do here, when we are, eh, home. Cut fallen trees, what elss?” She shrugged.

Marie gave no response to Matthew immediately; only looked into the distance-looked being a term used loosely. Her ears twitched back slightly. “Gone away.” She said, softly. “Where are you going?” She asked.

" Oh," Matthew responded feeling awkward and unsure what more he could say. Then the wolf changed the subject and Matthew tried to forget about the discomfort." I'm just passing through," Matthew said.

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