Werewolf (Party Game) Fic: Quietly Devoured
Hello, story that is so clearly one of my stories. I love this ridiculous game, even though I've only ever played the most basic version (for example, no seer), and when I saw the requests for it this year, I knew I had to give it a try.
In case you are not familiar with the game, basically, most people are villagers, one or two are werewolves, and sometimes there are other characters, such as the seer. The villagers are trying to figure out who the wolves are, and the wolves are trying to survive. At night, the wolves choose a villager to kill; during the day, the villagers choose a person to hang as a wolf. There's a lot of lying and manipulation and playing against type and it is awesome.
This was the first treat I wrote, and it is a new fandom.
Title: Quietly Devoured
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Villager/Werewolf
Author's Note: This is a transformative work of fiction based on the party game Ма́фия | Werewolf.
Written for: PercyByssheShelley as a Yuletide 2013 Treat
Word count: 1400
Rating: 13+
Summary: For her family, for her love, she will hunt them all, and be free.
Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured? - Nietzsche
Day
Erika is at the diner eating breakfast -- scrambled eggs with green peppers and sharp cheddar, multigrain toast, and turkey bacon -- when the news broadcast interrupts whatever’s on the television (she hasn’t been paying attention) with an emergency report.
Immediately, Janie sets down the coffee pot she’s refilling and grabs the remote, turning it up. There’s been way too many news broadcasts lately, no one dares miss one. You never know who might be next. You might see your neighbor on the news, or your cousin, or your best friend.
No one is safe.
This time, it’s Pastor Jim, minister by day, vigilante by night. He’s been whipping everyone into a frenzy. Just yesterday, he convinced a whole group of people that the only way to save the town was to form hunting groups and search the woods all night.
“There’s so many of us,” he said, voice booming even better than it did when he preached from the pulpit, “we can protect each other and kill the wolf. When our grandparents were young, it worked for them, and we can be just as tough.”
He’s right, in some ways. Couple generations back, the wolves came through and slaughtered their way through the village until a group got together with guns and fire and destroyed them. There are still pictures of the wolf heads mounted in front of the courthouse, carefully framed and passed down from elder to youth in the families of the hunters.
“They were heroes,” Pastor Jim said. “And we will be too.”
Pastor Jim is dead, throat torn out, no other marks on his body, and now there’s fear in everyone’s voices, not that top-of-the-food-chain confidence.
When Janie starts crying, the beads on the ends of her braids clinking together as she shakes -- she attends Pastor Jim’s church -- Erika looks down at her half-eaten food, then takes a slow sip of her coffee.
Janie leans on the counter across from her, face buried in her hands, smudges of flour on her brown skin, and Erika wants nothing more than to gather her up and kiss away her tears, salt on her lips, but her teeth are sharp, and she can almost taste warm blood on her tongue.
Night
Erika tilts back her head and stares up at the moon. It gets smaller each night, and soon it will be dark, the night sky lit only by stars and the lights of the city. She crouches in the shadows of the giant bronze statue in the center of town, and waits.
Across the street, the diner is lit up, windows bright, but it’s nearly empty. After Pastor Jim, no one feels as safe anymore. (Never safe, not while the wolves run, but safer than they do now.) Janie is long gone home, tucked into her bed, probably with a hot chocolate spiked with rum and a horror movie on her laptop.
(Janie claims she watches them to remind herself that humans are just as dangerous as monsters; Erika thinks she’s still terrified at moments, and working her way through it on her own.
Her kisses are warm and delicious, but sometimes, Erika can taste the echo of fear.)
With Pastor Jim gone, there’s only a couple people left who could catch them when they run. She’s identified two of them, and Janie has given her information about their habits, where they shop, when they stop for coffee, things like that.
Now, Erika settles in to wait, patient predator stalking her prey. She wishes it didn’t have to be like this, not because she feels guilt herself, but it breaks Janie’s heart that they must hurt the people she knows.
(Erika does not hesitate to kill them. They destroyed her current pack, hunting down her parents and older brothers one at a time. This town and its people have slaughtered her ancestors for generations, as they follow their internal imperative to migrate.)
The wind shifts, and she breathes in slow. There. Wild roses and bergamot.
There will be blood tonight, human blood on her teeth and tongue, and then she will run into the woods, wild and free, and she will devour animals to sate her hunger.
Day
Erika yawns, cheek resting on her hand, squinting through her lashes at the clock on the wall. It’s nearly eight a.m., and she’s waiting in the diner for Janie (for the news report to disrupt the quiet morning). There are whispers throughout the room, hushed conversations. She can pick out each word if she wanted, but she lets them fade into background noise.
The coffee pot spits, uneven water flowing through it, and there’s a smell of burnt eggs from the kitchen. People are distracted from their tasks, a touch too slow to respond. Death has come to their fair town, and they do not know how to respond when all of their weapons and all of their hunters fall and fail, fail and fall, and die.
“I’ve seen it,” a quiet voice says, and Erika perks up. She stays still, face mashed against her hand, shoulders slumped, but she lists hard, catches every breath, every hesitation, every half-formed and then changed word. “It was -- big. And fast.” Her voice drops lower still, and she sounds younger than before. “It’s here.”
Ice races down her spine, and it takes every bit of her human thoughts to hold herself still. The wolf wants to turn and tear out that girl’s throat, to protect herself and protect Janie and protect their life together.
There’s a snort, and a rough voice -- too many cigarettes, too little sleep -- drawls, “Aww, we’ve got ourselves a seer. So, little girl, who here is the wolf?”
Slowly, Erika shifts her weight until she can see that side of the room. She covers the twitch of a smile by draining the last of her coffee, and doesn’t even have to fake the cringe, it’s godawful and gone cold. Doesn’t even matter, though, because she’s finally caught the scent of the last of her prey.
The hunter smells of wolfsbane and gunpowder and silver. It’s impossible for Erika to smell her father’s blood on the hunter’s hands, but she could swear she does. Her hands clench on the mug, and she has to consciously peel her fingers off the ceramic before she breaks it.
Hunter, she thinks, the curl of a snarl on her tongue. Hope you’re prepared to run.
The seer laughs, high-pitched and thin, and tosses her hair, beaming up at the hunter. “Shouldn’t you know what you hunt?” she asks, and Erika has to bite back a smile.
Night
The trees blur past as Erika runs, all adrenaline and rage. Ahead of her, the hunter lies in wait, silver bullets and wolfsbane on her skin. It will burn Erika’s mouth when she tears apart the body, it will take gallons of water and the blood of so many small animals to wash herself clean, but it will be worth it.
It is worth it.
She will avenge her family, and then she will take her love, and they will run.
Day
Janie’s sitting at her kitchen table when Erika lets herself into the apartment just before dawn.
“Hey you,” she says, and lifts her face for a kiss. Her mouth trembles, though, and Erika hops up to sit on the table, her leg pressed against Janie’s arm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mmm.” For a long moment, Janie says nothing, but finally she presses her fingers against her temples and sighs, then drops her hands. “We’ve been found out.” Before she’s even finished speaking, Erika realizes the smell of blood doesn’t come just from her.
Janie’s hands are pressed flat to the table, and she smells of lemon soap. No matter how she scrubbed, there is still blood under her nails.
“Who?” Erika asks, even though she’s almost completely certain she already knows.
Janie sighs, and on that breath of air says, “A seer.” Then she elaborates. “Some girl, new to town. She saw you in the diner. She knew what you were.” Quieter still. “She knew what I was, too.”
Wolf lover, witch, devil’s bride -- there are always words for someone like Janie.
Erika hops off the table and wraps her arms around her, draping her body along Janie’s. She’s human through and through, but desperation and fear can drive the gentlest human to murder, and Janie has loved the monster so long.
Night
The moon is gone, clouds cover the stars, and into the dark night, they run.
This entry was original posted at http://escritoireazul.dreamwidth.org/367348.html with
comments. Reply here or there.
In case you are not familiar with the game, basically, most people are villagers, one or two are werewolves, and sometimes there are other characters, such as the seer. The villagers are trying to figure out who the wolves are, and the wolves are trying to survive. At night, the wolves choose a villager to kill; during the day, the villagers choose a person to hang as a wolf. There's a lot of lying and manipulation and playing against type and it is awesome.
This was the first treat I wrote, and it is a new fandom.
Title: Quietly Devoured
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Villager/Werewolf
Author's Note: This is a transformative work of fiction based on the party game Ма́фия | Werewolf.
Written for: PercyByssheShelley as a Yuletide 2013 Treat
Word count: 1400
Rating: 13+
Summary: For her family, for her love, she will hunt them all, and be free.
Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured? - Nietzsche
Day
Erika is at the diner eating breakfast -- scrambled eggs with green peppers and sharp cheddar, multigrain toast, and turkey bacon -- when the news broadcast interrupts whatever’s on the television (she hasn’t been paying attention) with an emergency report.
Immediately, Janie sets down the coffee pot she’s refilling and grabs the remote, turning it up. There’s been way too many news broadcasts lately, no one dares miss one. You never know who might be next. You might see your neighbor on the news, or your cousin, or your best friend.
No one is safe.
This time, it’s Pastor Jim, minister by day, vigilante by night. He’s been whipping everyone into a frenzy. Just yesterday, he convinced a whole group of people that the only way to save the town was to form hunting groups and search the woods all night.
“There’s so many of us,” he said, voice booming even better than it did when he preached from the pulpit, “we can protect each other and kill the wolf. When our grandparents were young, it worked for them, and we can be just as tough.”
He’s right, in some ways. Couple generations back, the wolves came through and slaughtered their way through the village until a group got together with guns and fire and destroyed them. There are still pictures of the wolf heads mounted in front of the courthouse, carefully framed and passed down from elder to youth in the families of the hunters.
“They were heroes,” Pastor Jim said. “And we will be too.”
Pastor Jim is dead, throat torn out, no other marks on his body, and now there’s fear in everyone’s voices, not that top-of-the-food-chain confidence.
When Janie starts crying, the beads on the ends of her braids clinking together as she shakes -- she attends Pastor Jim’s church -- Erika looks down at her half-eaten food, then takes a slow sip of her coffee.
Janie leans on the counter across from her, face buried in her hands, smudges of flour on her brown skin, and Erika wants nothing more than to gather her up and kiss away her tears, salt on her lips, but her teeth are sharp, and she can almost taste warm blood on her tongue.
Night
Erika tilts back her head and stares up at the moon. It gets smaller each night, and soon it will be dark, the night sky lit only by stars and the lights of the city. She crouches in the shadows of the giant bronze statue in the center of town, and waits.
Across the street, the diner is lit up, windows bright, but it’s nearly empty. After Pastor Jim, no one feels as safe anymore. (Never safe, not while the wolves run, but safer than they do now.) Janie is long gone home, tucked into her bed, probably with a hot chocolate spiked with rum and a horror movie on her laptop.
(Janie claims she watches them to remind herself that humans are just as dangerous as monsters; Erika thinks she’s still terrified at moments, and working her way through it on her own.
Her kisses are warm and delicious, but sometimes, Erika can taste the echo of fear.)
With Pastor Jim gone, there’s only a couple people left who could catch them when they run. She’s identified two of them, and Janie has given her information about their habits, where they shop, when they stop for coffee, things like that.
Now, Erika settles in to wait, patient predator stalking her prey. She wishes it didn’t have to be like this, not because she feels guilt herself, but it breaks Janie’s heart that they must hurt the people she knows.
(Erika does not hesitate to kill them. They destroyed her current pack, hunting down her parents and older brothers one at a time. This town and its people have slaughtered her ancestors for generations, as they follow their internal imperative to migrate.)
The wind shifts, and she breathes in slow. There. Wild roses and bergamot.
There will be blood tonight, human blood on her teeth and tongue, and then she will run into the woods, wild and free, and she will devour animals to sate her hunger.
Day
Erika yawns, cheek resting on her hand, squinting through her lashes at the clock on the wall. It’s nearly eight a.m., and she’s waiting in the diner for Janie (for the news report to disrupt the quiet morning). There are whispers throughout the room, hushed conversations. She can pick out each word if she wanted, but she lets them fade into background noise.
The coffee pot spits, uneven water flowing through it, and there’s a smell of burnt eggs from the kitchen. People are distracted from their tasks, a touch too slow to respond. Death has come to their fair town, and they do not know how to respond when all of their weapons and all of their hunters fall and fail, fail and fall, and die.
“I’ve seen it,” a quiet voice says, and Erika perks up. She stays still, face mashed against her hand, shoulders slumped, but she lists hard, catches every breath, every hesitation, every half-formed and then changed word. “It was -- big. And fast.” Her voice drops lower still, and she sounds younger than before. “It’s here.”
Ice races down her spine, and it takes every bit of her human thoughts to hold herself still. The wolf wants to turn and tear out that girl’s throat, to protect herself and protect Janie and protect their life together.
There’s a snort, and a rough voice -- too many cigarettes, too little sleep -- drawls, “Aww, we’ve got ourselves a seer. So, little girl, who here is the wolf?”
Slowly, Erika shifts her weight until she can see that side of the room. She covers the twitch of a smile by draining the last of her coffee, and doesn’t even have to fake the cringe, it’s godawful and gone cold. Doesn’t even matter, though, because she’s finally caught the scent of the last of her prey.
The hunter smells of wolfsbane and gunpowder and silver. It’s impossible for Erika to smell her father’s blood on the hunter’s hands, but she could swear she does. Her hands clench on the mug, and she has to consciously peel her fingers off the ceramic before she breaks it.
Hunter, she thinks, the curl of a snarl on her tongue. Hope you’re prepared to run.
The seer laughs, high-pitched and thin, and tosses her hair, beaming up at the hunter. “Shouldn’t you know what you hunt?” she asks, and Erika has to bite back a smile.
Night
The trees blur past as Erika runs, all adrenaline and rage. Ahead of her, the hunter lies in wait, silver bullets and wolfsbane on her skin. It will burn Erika’s mouth when she tears apart the body, it will take gallons of water and the blood of so many small animals to wash herself clean, but it will be worth it.
It is worth it.
She will avenge her family, and then she will take her love, and they will run.
Day
Janie’s sitting at her kitchen table when Erika lets herself into the apartment just before dawn.
“Hey you,” she says, and lifts her face for a kiss. Her mouth trembles, though, and Erika hops up to sit on the table, her leg pressed against Janie’s arm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mmm.” For a long moment, Janie says nothing, but finally she presses her fingers against her temples and sighs, then drops her hands. “We’ve been found out.” Before she’s even finished speaking, Erika realizes the smell of blood doesn’t come just from her.
Janie’s hands are pressed flat to the table, and she smells of lemon soap. No matter how she scrubbed, there is still blood under her nails.
“Who?” Erika asks, even though she’s almost completely certain she already knows.
Janie sighs, and on that breath of air says, “A seer.” Then she elaborates. “Some girl, new to town. She saw you in the diner. She knew what you were.” Quieter still. “She knew what I was, too.”
Wolf lover, witch, devil’s bride -- there are always words for someone like Janie.
Erika hops off the table and wraps her arms around her, draping her body along Janie’s. She’s human through and through, but desperation and fear can drive the gentlest human to murder, and Janie has loved the monster so long.
Night
The moon is gone, clouds cover the stars, and into the dark night, they run.
This entry was original posted at http://escritoireazul.dreamwidth.org/367348.html with
comments. Reply here or there.