Wolfhound [closed]

She could feel the sea churning beneath her feet, even through a hundred feet of steel beams. There wasn't any shaking that relentless feeling of movement, of sixty thousand tons cleaving through the ocean like a glaive, striking out from New York City on their long arc to Dublin. Pres had shook her awake just before dawn the day before, already all decked out for the trip ahead, and then there was the long plane ride, skipping from Fargo to Chicago to Newark, skating by on coffee and airline peanuts. It was an even longer wait to board, and then for them to set out to sea, lurching out from port with a bellowing horn. Shit. Finally.

Kayla turned the boarding pass around in her fingers, grimacing at the cheesy graphic and the dim reflection of her face in the laminated plastic.

At what point did it stop being a boat? It was more like a moving strip mall, a triple-decked fortress, or at least that was the vibe she'd gotten from her short exploration of the ship on their way to their cabin. Their cabin. Somehow, some way, something had fucked up when that idiot was getting this whole shit sorted, so they were stuck in a one bed suite. Together. One bed. Fucking ridiculous, right? When she thought of a room in a boat, she imagined a hard prison cot in a dank little cellar, but it was more like a hotel room, with a queen size mattress and a round porthole window looking out over the sea. She felt her grimace deepen.

Despite that whole fuck up, even she had to admit it was nice. You could only bitch so much about being dragged along on a luxury vacation.

They were on a mission. Supposedly. If they wanted to, really wanted to, they could've been in the Irish countryside right then, stepping in sheep shit and fighting off werewolves or whatever. Somewhere along the way, this had been arranged as their transport instead. "As long as we get there, it doesn't matter, right?" Yeah, right. Still, she hadn't put up much of an argument. They could leave Beata's contacts in Ireland withering on the vine for a couple days.

Like always, she'd blanked through the whole briefing Blaine had given them while they were just trying to get out the door, rambled out in his usual deadpan I-hate-my-job-kill-me tone. Monsters. Snakes and wolves. Portals going haywire. People in b̨l̶ack suits. The works. As monotone as he always was, Blaine seemed pissier that morning somehow. She had to wonder if he was still hung up on what happened in D̸es ́Moi҉nes.

Kayla slid off the edge of the bed with a sigh, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes. After all this traveling, she was a wreck. More of a wreck than usual. Her hair was knotted back in a messy bun, with a loose sleeveless shirt and dark cut-off shorts, and Brailynn's borrowed two-piece swimsuit hidden underneath. She wanted to kick herself just thinking about it, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she arched back, stretching her arm toward the ceiling. Why did she even bother bringing this stupid thing along...?

She slid Pres a subtle glance out the corner of her eye. It felt like she'd barely looked at him since Valentine's Day, even less since she'd last talked with Brailynn, pieces of their conversation floating around her head at all the worst times... Fucking harpy, she thought, almost voicing it aloud as she ripped her gaze away to fix her stare on the door instead. "Alright. Let's roll."

It'd been years since he'd been on a cruise, but he'd already had shit planned out perfectly in his mind. Let her have at it for lunch, hit the pool, then play pool, maybe a nice walk around the ship, go see a show, maybe two, hit up the casino, take her out for a damn fancy dinner, then settle down for the night with a drink and laugh at her inevitable sunburns. And that was only the first day.

Preston hid away behind closet doors, having finishing unpacking their shit and sealing their safe tightly; carrying their IDs, their cash, any plans, or his weapon - which admittedly had been a bitch to get on the boat in the first place. (It'd taken some awkward bumps into machinery and more than one stray spark to get it past any metal detectors, and damn, there had been plenty of them.)

Every now and then, he'd snuck a glance back the Pikachu's way. That messiness had to be calculated.

"Ready for this shit?" He smirked, pulling a stray shirt out of the closet and slamming the doors shut behind him. It was a truly hideous thing, all orange and blue and plastered with countless white Hawaiian flowers. "Fucking perfect, right?" He'd already donned a plain t-shirt and cargo shorts, but man, fuck that.

It was like staring into the sun. Or the stall in a public bathroom. She didn't have any choice but to look away, face recoiling half in disgust, half in a sort of amused disbelief. "Jesus, what hole did you dig that thing out of?" she almost groaned, turning on her heel to toddle toward the door, trying to blink the afterimage of that horrible shade of bright orange. The color reminded her of when she puked up a bottle of Gatorade at Camp Waskowitz. Did he pick it out of the dumpster at Goodwill, or did he just shop it off some poor old sunburned tourist at the morgue?

God, he was a fucking dork. Kayla let a few light pitched chuckles slip out of her mouth as she made for the door. She'd let him lead the way, but she didn't want to be staring at that thing from behind. "Just don't make it seem like I know you." She didn't want all these ritzy types to see them together, at least while he was in his hazmat colors. It was like those reflective vests they made roadworkers wear. Or some kind of tropical poisonous toad.

Whatever half-ass giggle it was that he'd managed to get out of her, it easily made the massive buck-fifty he'd invested in the cheesy shirt worth it. "Are you fucking with me?" Preston was quick to shrug on his shirt and meet her at the door. "What's there to be ashamed of?" With a snicker of his own, he swung open the door in ease, holding it out for the door and stepping into the hallway. Although they'd just made it out to sea, it was all too easy to make out the rythem of the waves beneath them, moving their new world around them. Pres was quick to gain his sea legs and had half-the-mind to offer Kayla his hand, just in case.

She'd rode the ferry a fair handful of times, but nothing like this. Her beat up sneakers were magnetic clamps keeping her glued upright as they made their way down the hall, every step coming down in a sharp sizzling tap, her heels kicking keenly against the hard floor. Like he didn't know what he was doing.

Despite herself, she couldn't hide that hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as they approached the dining hall, the faint smell of wafting food drifting through the hall to greet. God... It felt like ages since she'd eaten.

Preston dropped his hand, giving off a little sniff and fixing the collar of his damn fabulous Hawaiian masterpiece. Ignoring the slight warmth in his cheeks, he tagged closely along his roommate as they went weaving through the halls, squeezing between crewmembers shuffling in luggage and passengers who just had to be lost in crowds. With a few quick glances at the maps adorning the walls, however, it was easy to find their way around - or find the path to the buffet, at least. More than once, when he had a free moment or his eyes weren't glued to the ocean, he found himself staring towards the prickly girl skating ahead.

It was obvious there was only one thing on her mind; the heavenly scent of food was starting to hang heavy in the air, but he could only focus on her light clothing, all spaghetti straps and shorts, and the adorable suit beneath - it didn't seem like her at all. Another grin cracked away at his lips. If she wasn't careful, she'd be red as a tomato in a days' time.

It wasn't until they'd reach the buffet's large oak doors that he'd made his move, clasping his hand on her shoulder. "Don't ditch me yet, Pikachu." The hall was a frenzy. Hundreds of people, hungry as they were, swarmed around the hall. Countless small tables and booths, scattered around the room. Poor crewmembers circled around, trying to keep up with all their might, sweeping away every old dish left behind. Pres kept them glued there near a full minute, trying to pinpoint any free area.

"There," he leaned down closer to her, sight aligned with hers as he pointed out a table. "I'll meet you there." He offered her a wide, crooked smile and set off, quick to claim the table with an elegant shrug of his shirt. (He'd draped the damn thing over one of the chairs. The best kind of warning flag.)

Just from looming around, he saw pizza, ice cream, chocolate milk, salads, mac and cheese, burgers, all the classics - at just a glance.

'God help anyone who gets in her way.'

Yeah. "Don't tempt me," she murmured, stepping out into the dining hall with sparks twitching at her fingertips. She curled her nails into her palm to hide them, eyes flicking from one end of the canteen to the other, the throngs of sweaty overweight tourists and frazzled waitresses and busboys buzzing from table to table, dish to dish, chair to chair. How long had it been since she was around this many people? Normal people. People that didn't know anything about Beata Academy or monsters or portals or people in black suits. People who might, just might, totally shit if they saw any hint of anything out of the ordinary. Not on their perfect vacation ship.

That was a good idea. One snap, some flickering lights, and they'd all clear out, and they'd have this whole place to themselves. Gah, but Wright and Blaine and their bitch secretary were already breathing down her neck for all the trouble she'd caused her past few missions, in New York and Des Moines. She didn't need to hear their bitching again. Kayla glanced to her left, to her right, to one lingering glance back up at Pres as he set his hand on her shoulder, and then to an empty two seats just as the table cleared. He swept off to stake their claims, and she plunged into the crowd (taking her plate along with her), cracking her knuckles.

She could blast them all away so easily, but if she had to play by the rules, then it wasn't a problem.

It was eat or be eaten here.

Kayla pressed into the crowd, shouldering someone aside here, another person stumbling sideways to avoid her there. A tactical elbow sent one woman crashing into a guy with a shirt almost as tacky as Preston's. Some girl, a few years younger than her, was taking her sweet time moseying up to the buffet, clogging up the open lane. Without a second glance, she stepped on the back of her heel, the girl's tennis shoe flopping off. She went tripping over her own feet, and Kayla took the opening, slipping past her and toward the pits of food.

She didn't hesitate to start piling it all on. It didn't matter what looked good together, or how stable it all looked stacked on top of each other, she was taking all she possibly could in one single trip. The guy next to her, chunky and middle aged, reached for the ladle in the macaroni just as she was.

Zap.

He recoiled, cursing under his breath the moment his sausage fingers touched the metal. She swooped in to pile it on. Pizza, salad, a burger, a tumble of popcorn shrimp over her fried chicken, something that looked like beef teriyaki on top of a helping of garlic fries. Kayla didn't stop until she absolutely had to, until she was balancing the plate with a dexterity she didn't know she had, a mixed glass of about ten different kinds of sodas in her free hand as she made her way back to the table, where Preston's hideous Hawaiian shirt was burning through the crowd like a signal flare.

There was no wiping that shit-eating thousand-watt grin of pure triumph.

There was no such thing as holding back when you were on vacation. That's what everyone said anyways, mostly his dad, or strangers. He found himself gazing most of the room over as he made his own way over to the food. There were a few choice people who made the isles quite a tight fit, and he couldn't help but wonder how often they told themselves the same thing, or how frequent they took a quick getaway - awful as the thought was. In the back of his mind, he could only picture his sisters and their stubborn refusal to eat little more than a salad wherever they went. There was no way Pres could be that fickle, no matter the case. That was such a waste.

He muttered a few apologies as he finished shoving his way through, mostly to the cremated, hailing from places like South Africa, Brazil, Hong Kong, Phillippines... Places he hadn't quote visited yet. (There was a cute Austrailian woman in front the ship spa, but he wasn't about to point that out aloud.)

By the time he'd found his own way to the seat, he had a small mountain of ice cream to serve him; fried chicken, fruits, onion rings, pizza of his damn own... He'd thought his own plate was impressive but it was difficult not to be bewildered when Kayla waddled over. "Fucking shit," he laughed, pulling out a seat for her. "You're gonna roll overboard before the night ends."

They'd gotten lucky with the view. Out by the window with little else but the clouds and endless sea to witness.

She set the dish down safely enough, thankfully without any casualties. "Don't doubt me, alright?" she said, spinning her fork in her fingers and stabbing it expertly into a ball of mashed potatoes loaded with gravy. Just look at all this food. What was she supposed to do with it all? You had to try a bit of everything, at the very least. This wasn't going to be her first and her last plate, if she had her way. Kayla spooned it into her mouth, and then started to go to work on the pizza like a starving animal. Around anyone else, she might've been self-conscious about it. Back home, she'd used to take her lunches in a little dank corner behind the school. But with him, what hadn't they seen from each other? At least here, with him, she didn't have to be afraid of any judgment.

Hey, she'd been making room for all this. She wasn't going to ruin it for herself

As good as the food was looking, she had to admit it didn't compare to the view.

Preston thought himself a genius, stuffing bits of chicken and cries into the center fold of his pizza slice and folding it up like a taco. He had to fucking compete with her on some level. There would be a time for elegance later. For now, he could sit back, stuff his face, and enjoy the real show on his own; taking mental bets on how long she had before she hurled over the starboard. " You know they have a taco bar out by the pool, where the water slides are?" He mused with a snicker, taking a messy bite and looking out towards the sea again. The waves were steadily growing larger the further they went out, but still nowhere near large enough to outplay the massive ship. At the edge of a nearby window, he could spot a seagulls creep up behind the Autumn girl.

"Since this was my idea, I think I get full rights to drag you around to shows and shit, whatever I want." The bird hopped closer.

She just had to stop and admire it. Whoa. Whoa. Kayla popped a small tomato into her mouth, staring in some small amazement. "You have your moments of genius, you know," she said, rushing to copy him. Tacos did sound pretty amazing right now. And when she bit into it, fuck, she would've agreed to anything. "Fine," she gave in, muttering between bites. "Have it your way. I wouldn't know where to go in this whole place anyways."

He could be her tour guide. Kayla grabbed a handful of fries, holding some out between her fingers, oblivious to the menace behind her. "I'm just surprised it's this fancy." She never would've expected anything like this out of a cruise ship. It was flipping her whole perception around.

Yeah, they had it pretty good right now, ignoring the context.

He turned his gaze back towards his food, shuffling his hand close to his face to hide his awkward thousand-watt smile. Yeah, he was pretty fucking clever, wasn't he? Back-handed as her half-ass comment was, he couldn't help but take what he could get. It was retarded. He knew it was retarded, and yet... he felt... Bitch. He'd definitely get her back.
Preston sniffed. "What else were you expecting? Some old fishing boat shit? Titanic?" What was the point of even going out on a cruise if you couldn't enjoy an amusement park / hotel / spa / casino / theater / buffet / 5-star restaurant / night club / bar - all rolled into one? God damn, there was so much shit to do and he hadn't even known where to start, besides the fucking food anyways. Well, he had an idea of what he wanted to see first. He glanced back over to her.

"We got a few hours till shit starts settling," he mused. Nothing really fun happened until they were out on open waters, and away from little shits, like the bird creeping up further behind the Pikachu. He watched with a smirk, saying nothing and holding back a laugh as it struck out of nowhere, swooping in and swiping the fries from her finger tips before fluttering back towards the open window.

What? Titanic wasn't fancy? She scrunched up her nose, but said nothing. Well, yeah, she had been expecting something like Titanic. That was her only source of reference for something like this; even if he'd described it to her beforehand, this blew all her expectations out of the water... No pun intended. Ugh. Maybe he was rubbing off on her, somehow. Kayla just snorted, reaching up to shovel the fries into her mouth, and...

"Agh!"

The fucking bird snatched it right out of her fingers, swooping past with ace precision and out the window. She stretched her arm out, reaching, electricity crackling at her fingertips, thumb pressed flat against her middle finger... and looked around at the hundreds of stupid bystanders, letting her arm flop against the table. All Kayla could do was watch it flap away, stewing in her bitter defeat. "Sea-rat bastard son of a biiiitch..." she hissed through her teeth, deflating. Like a balloon.

He got away this time, but she'd love if the little shit tried that again when there was nobody around...

Pres near banged his head, hanging it low and laughing into the table. He didn't bother to stay for long, lest he risk his face being slammed into his meal, or whatever the fuck else might pop into her head. The Autumn knew her. He knew to never completely let his card down. Even still, she had to deal with his snickers at least. "That attitude is gonna get you shit on later," he mused with a sharp, cocky smile. Thankfully, they'd managed to finish their food in peace.

Preston had only the slight urge to puke by the time they were rolling out the buffet doors. "Shit," he muttered. "Food was... alright." Or delicious... How were they supposed to survive a whole week more of that?

Even if he'd felt like finding the nearest deck to nap on, he decided they had no time to waste. It was absolutely necessary they saw to their first task at once. Up most importance. He'd led her a few different winding ways, leading her up to the uppermost deck, passing the sharp smell of tacos in the air, and stepping into the pool area. The Splash Zone, or whatever the cheesy name they called it, was more like a mini amusement park than just an outdoor retreat. Hot tubs, diving boards, wave pool, slides, they were all there. "First things first." Preston ran his fingers through his hair and slid off his ugly shirt, tugging away at the back of his tank with ease along after. It was about time he got his tan going. Nothing Kayla hadn't seen before. He shot her a curious look.

Kayla had to cover her mouth to keep from hurling as they made their way out of the dining hall. Just the smell of food was about to make her sick. Damn. They had it pretty good. She walked out satisfied enough to placidly follow Pres along wherever he just absolutely had to take her, rounding up the winding staircases up toward the topmost deck. How fucking big was this boat?

Following along (and almost losing her ten pound lunch at the waft of tacos), she stopped dead just behind him as they finally arrived. The Splash Zone, or whatever. Sparks crackled along her shoulders. Shit... She'd been expecting, and dreading, this for awhile, but now that she was actually standing here she had to do her best to play it cool, and pretend like her insides weren't twisting up in butterfly knots.

She picked at the collar of her shirt, watching helplessly as Pres slid off his shirt and pulled off his tank top, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Fuck. When he looked at her, she couldn't meet his eye for more than half a second, gaze drifting back down his neck toward his collarbone, not moving an inch.

In. Out.