Shifter Art...

Sage flicked the last bit of paint onto the canvass and pronounced the painting complete.  Bright red dripped down the picture, setting the perfect scene. “A masterpiece!”

“You’ve said the same thing about every piece since college, isn’t there one shite piece in all that time?”

Sage smiled.  She knew that voice, remembered the last time she’d heard it whining and growling at the same time about his lady loves irreverent need to make him crazy. “Nick,” she said, turning to see the one she’d never had the chance to let get away.

“Dear—what is that deity you worship—” With a wave of her paint coated hand, she bit her bottom lip and looked skyward.

“Lupa?”

“Yes, yes.  Dear Lupa, no!  My work will be talk about ‘til the end of time.  It will be raised to the heavens and I will be immortalized before I ever die!”

“And what style do you follow?  Who are your influences?  Pollock, Van Gogh, Vermeer?  No wait, is it Munch or the older greats?”

Nick’s smirk reminded her of their late night painting sessions.  He would paint—dreadfully—to keep his mind off his love and what she might be doing without him, but also to keep the hordes of girls wanting some alpha loving, at bay.  She would paint because she could do nothing else.  They had teased each other unmercifully, they had also become the dearest of friends.

“Poosh, I am influenced by them all, and by none of them.  I’m in a league all my own, babe.”

“And modest…”

“Of course,” she agreed, nudging him to take in her latest.  “What do you think?”

##

Nick looked at the painting, raised a hand to him mouth and forced himself to swallow the gurgling laughter fighting its way to the surface.  “Is that a chipmunk, with wolf’s teeth, taking down a-a-moose?”

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?”

“Um, I especially like the blood spraying from the moose’s neck,” Nick laughed, short and loud, before once again shutting down his laughter. “What do you call it?”

“Self-portrait in red.”

This time Nick couldn’t contain himself.  He bent at the waist and laughed until he hurt as Sage watched him with her crazy chipmunk eyes.  It was so good to have his friend close once again.  He hoped she and Ziva could connect.  Also, he figured the town of Talbot’s Peak would be good for Sage. They were going to just love her shifter art. 
~~~

Have a wonderful weekend!

Serena

Scandalous!

It had to happen eventually, Gil thought. When you’re in politics, scat like this hit the fan as a matter of course. That didn’t stop him from seething.

He knew he could strike Louie and the gang at Rattigan’s off the suspect list. Maybe last year one of them might have done it as a joke, but not now. He had a wife and children now. Louie had backed off from the practical jokes the second Chloe announced her pregnancy, and saw to it everyone else did too. Louie had a cleaver. No, it hadn’t been anyone at Rattigan’s.

Somebody had it in for the Mayor of Talbot’s Peak. He’d have to nip this in the bud. But first he had to deal with the press.

“No,” he told the reporter from the Gazette through gritted teeth. “I didn’t and have never made a sex tape.”

“You’ve seen the tape in question?”

“Oh yes.” Gil smiled. Those in the know would have told the reporter that smile meant it was time to beat feet. “My entire staff made sure I knew about it.”

“And you’d swear in court—”

“Why wait for court? I’ll swear right now. I didn’t make that friggin’ tape. It’s two normal squirrels going at it. As far as I can tell, neither one is a shifter, and neither one is me.”

“So your official comment is ‘No comment’?”

Gil ground his teeth. “You look like a bright boy, even for a reporter. You know my background, right?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“That film was shot in daylight.”

Gil started counting. He was up to fifteen before the kid worked it out. “Oh … yeah.”

“Yeah. No squirreling around without night and a full moon. How did you even get this job?”

“Don’t yell at me. I’m just an intern. I need this to get into college.”

A-hole U., Gil guessed. “Tell you what, sonny. You pack up your pencil and get out of my office, and I won’t tell Nick what a schmuck you are. Come to think of it, maybe I should have a chat with our illustrious editor anyway.”

# # #

“Mr. Mayor.” Nick bared his teeth at the fuming man who had just barged into his office. “Always a pleasure to see you. Even without an appointment or phone call,” he added pointedly. “What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me who the hell uploaded that idiot video to TalTube, how my name got attached to it, and why you thought it rated news coverage.” Gil stopped just short of banging his fist on the desk. He’d heard Nick was really possessive about his antique desk. “You know which video I’m talking about, right?”

“The sex tape or the Elvis tape?”

Gil winced. “The sex tape. I’m betting you know it’s a fake.”

“Of course it’s a fake. It was shot in daylight. It couldn’t have been you. What’s any of this got to do with me?”

“So you didn’t send some moronic intern over to grill me about it?”

“No.” Nick sat up straighter. “We don’t have any interns, moronic or otherwise. And a thirty-second tape of squirrels humping doesn’t count as news in Talbot’s Peak. What did this ‘intern’ look like?”

Gil gave a precise description, right down to the zits on the kid’s right cheek. By the time he was finished, Nick was practically shooting off steam. “We’ve both been played,” he told Gil. He shoved back from his desk and stood up. “Let’s pay a visit to TalTube HQ.”

# # #

“This is TalTube?” Gil said, staring at the Tudor house at the end of the quiet street. “You sure?”

“That’s TalTube,” Nick corrected. He pointed at a basement window. “I’ve had dealings with the CEO before. He’s a gopher. Runs it out of his parents’ basement.” Nick stalked up to the door and rang the bell. After a moment the door opened. Gil recognized the alleged Gazette reporter who’d grilled him this morning.

“Hey, Rodney,” Nick said. “Got a minute?”

The kid tried to slam the door in Nick’s face. As both a wolf and a journalist, Nick knew how to muscle through a slamming door. He barged in, with Gil right behind him.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the kid protested. “I’m protected by the First Amendment.”

“Not from misrepresenting yourself as a reporter,” Nick said. “Or from slandering the Mayor. Those are crimes. Right, Mr. Mayor?”

“Could be,” Gil said. “We’d better lock him up while I check. That could take, I dunno, days.”

“You can’t put me in jail. I have to go to work tonight.”

“You have to go to work right now,” Nick told him. “You’re pulling that ‘sex tape’ off TalTube, and you’re issuing an apology.”

“And you’re going to tell me who uploaded it,” Gil added.

“It wasn’t me. It was Jimmy.” Apparently the First Amendment included freely throwing people under the bus. “We hadn’t gotten any good videos in a while. Jimmy shot the footage in the park, then we, well, we just added that title to spice things up.” He turned to Gil. “That one of you singing in the bar got like a hundred thousand views.”

“So you were hoping lightning would strike twice,” Nick said. “Except you got greedy. You wanted to see your victim’s face in person, hence the reporter scam.” He grabbed the gopher boy by the shoulder and spun him around. “C’mon, sonny. Show Mr. Mayor where the magic happens.”

# # #

The official TalTube studio was a scuffed-up office desk in the corner of the basement, next to the hot water heater. It had a glowing laptop on it. A bobblehead figure of Gandalf the Wizard sat on the desk. The floor was littered with Snickers wrappers.

Gil and Nick stood by while Rodney called up and deleted the offending file. At Gil’s insistence, the Elvis video was also consigned to the trash.

“This is a violation of my Constitutional rights, y’know,” Rodney carped. “You’re supposed to be a journalist, you should know that. You can’t stop free speech.”

Nick looked at Rodney. He looked at Gil. He looked at the laptop. He picked up the bobblehead Gandalf and smashed it repeatedly into the laptop’s screen. The laptop threw off sparks and went dark.

“Oh,” Rodney said. “Crud.”

“It’s an outdated system anyway. Once Mommy and Daddy buy you a new one, you’ll be up and running again. Just see that you run your crap without the added spice. Otherwise … Mr. Mayor?”

“I know who you are now,” Gil said. “And I know a rat with a cleaver.”

Nick smiled. “And I,” he told Rodney, “love hot gopher stew. No more impersonations, and no more irresponsible postings. Are we clear?”

The kid gulped. Hard. “Yes, sir.”

# # #

“He’s not a bad kid,” Nick said as they walked back to his car. “For a gopher. Once he gets a little seasoning … ”

“He’ll make a good stew?”

“He might make a good reporter. You know how gophers love to dig. I’ll be keeping a close eye on him. Maybe I will offer him an internship. Keep him out of trouble.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Gil paused. “One other thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d delete that Elvis file from your personal computer.”

“What makes you think I—” Gil looked at him. What the hell. Ziva and Lamar had copies. Nick shrugged. “Consider it done.”

Clean it up...

 My apologies for the lateness and the roughness of the following post.  It was a spur of the moment idea from my school work soaked brain, but as rough as it is, it sure screams Nick to me.  Honestly, I fall a little more in love with this alpha every time I write him.

 ~yes, Ziva, I know he's yours.  I'll keep my hands to myself, but you can't stop my lustful thoughts.~

Enjoy!

~~~
“Tell me you didn’t just say he was whoring out his she’s, Dante.” 

“’Fraid I can’t, man. Osbourne is up to no good and yes, it’s been confirmed.”

“Fluffing Lupa!” Nick raised a hand to his forehead and squeezed his temples. He’d hoped this day would never come, but wasn’t surprised that it had.

“S’cuse me?” 

“What?”

Dante’s barked out laugh stopped Nick’s thoughts short.  This was no laughing matter, yet his friend was somehow finding humor in the subjugation of she’s.  It was so unlike the man.

“Shucks, Dante, this is not fluffing funny.  That gosh darn, flea ridden, pretend alpha is abusing his she’s and you’re laughing? Fluffing, h.e. double hockey sticks, ya pike, er, hiker, we need to stop this!”

“I-I know…”

“Then stop you’re mother-fluffing, ina-fluffing-ppropriate laughter you son-of-an-itch-bay!” Nick roared.

Dante continued with the hysterics, but he wasn’t the only one as Nick soon realized.  He left his office, phone still to his ear only to see the entire newsroom holding their stomachs and laughing like the Talbot’s Peak hyena pack after a night of drinking and revelry.   “What the heffer is going on out here!  Don’t I pay you to do work, not laugh your bums off?”  The verbal reprimand missed the mark as his crew just laughed harder, and Dante gasped for breath on the other end of the call.

Penelope grabbed his arm and pushed him back into his office.  He could tell she, at least, fought a losing battle with trying to swallow her mirth. “Stop, swearing!  Just stop, Bossman.”  She shut the door and laughed so loudly he could hear her through the wood.

“Yeah, please do what Mistress P suggests.”

What was the deal with his swearing? 

“And thank you, my friend, I needed that.  With everything going on around this town, it’s nice to have a moment of lightness.”

“You’re welcome,” Nick muttered, not really understand what was so funny. “I guess.  Though I don’t know what was so funny.”

“Really, you couldn’t hear it?  You just fill the wavelengths with the pinkest, non-swearing swear words known to man, or little girl rather.  Fluffing, gosh darn, son-of-a…”

“All right, I get it. You can stop.”  Nick dropped back into his chair and looked at the calendar.

“Ziva’s trying to break me of my swearing habit before the pup comes.  I promised I’d try.”

“Call it a success then.”

“Doofhead.”

Dante barked then coughed quickly to cover up his laugh. “Don’t get me started again.  Tell me more about this Osbourne.”

“You don’t remember him?” Nick asked, surprised his friend would be drawing a blank on this particular subject.

“Should I?”

“Wow, I figured you would.  Anyway, Ozzy went to school with us.  He was the dorky wolf who was only alpha by the slimmest shred of luck.  He spent all of his time regaling the betas around him with stories of how your old man loved him more than he did you and that he was going to lead your pack one day and then your bum was going to be grass.  Ring any bells?”

“Fluffing, son-of-an-itchbay…”

Nick grimaced. “Oh, shit – shoot – scat, that does sound horrible. I need a new clean up my mouth plan.”

“Yeah, you do, my friend.  You can do it for that sweet mate of yours and your pup.”

“Thanks.”

 “But damn, Ozzy is that punk?  I only vaguely remember him.  The shit he spewed was ridiculous and I would have been head over heels if Damien had shown this dickhead his brand of love.”

“Fracking right.” Nick laughed alongside Dante at that thought, though it was a humorless kind of laugh.  He remembered all too well the hell that was his friend’s upbringing.  He once again thanked Lupa Dante was so strong.

“That one is better than fluffing.  You know, if I remember correctly, Ozzy ran away and hid anytime I came near.

“He did, then he would beat up one of the betas in his group for not being a better alpha and protecting their alpha’s back.  He screwed up many a wolf that way.”

“Did Mooney ever spend time with him?”

“Never.  I would have garnered Vernon’s wrath if I’d let anything happen to the Moonster, but also, I kill any alpha runt who messed with my brother.”

“I’m glad you and Mooney have come as far as you have.  You’re better together than apart.”

Dante’s word made Nick smile.  “Me too, man.  I’m hoping to get there with Reetha someday, as well.”

“You will.  Just give her time.  Now, is there a story here we can use to take this runt out?”

Nick looked at the notes he’d already been unconsciously taking while taking to his fellow alpha.
“Sure there’s a story here, but I think that’s a bad way to go.  One, because, getting the word out would be tricking…we want the wolves to know what’s going on and the human’s left in the dark.
And two, what this runt needs is totally un-PC and could get us in hot water with some of the other groups here in the Peak.”

“What do you suggest?”

“We grab him during the pack nap and drop him into a group of our alpha she’s.  They will serve up justice, nice and quick-like.  Hell, knowing some of our she’s, he’s going to become someone’s bitch and served up on a whore’s platter.”

Dante’s laugh was infectious.  “Karma’s a bitch!”

“Actually, she pretty darn nice, but I think she has her hands full with helping Erol…and is somewhere over the Atlantic right about now, but I get your meaning.”
~~~

Have a wonderful weekend!

Serena

End of an Era

“Great Caesar’s goat!” Nick roared. Which, according to legend, Caesar had eaten grilled with a side order of fries. Nick vowed whatever was making that ear-splitting caterwaul would suffer the same fate.

He burst out of his office and into a scene straight out of a horror movie. Ralph Bruin, movie reviewer and writer of op-ed opinion pieces, was throttling the life out of a plaid canvas bag with pipes stuck in it. The bag shrieked a death knell that could probably be heard all the way to Missoula. Apparently his staff was celebrating the object’s demise, because they were gathered (not all that closely, he noted) around a desk with a sheet cake on it. Black balloons had been tethered to the chairs.

I’m not going to ask, he told himself, then said, “What the hell?”

“It’s a wake.” Oh dear Lupa. That thing with his face nearly hidden by his shirt’s black ruffles was Lamar. Behind him, Jamie looked at Nick apologetically. Ever since he and Lamar had hooked up, Jamie seemed to wear that expression constantly. “We’re celebrating the demise of 2013.” The snake wiped a tear from his eye. “I’m going to miss it.”

“Is that a bagpipes?”

“Yeah.” Ralph paused in his assault on all decent music everywhere. The bagpipes wheezed like an asthmatic. “There’s this Scotty bar out in the woods. I been taking lessons.”

Nick wondered how Lamar would taste grilled with a side of fries. He’d heard somewhere that snakes tasted like chicken. “Let me guess. ‘Amazing Grace.’”

“You kiddin’ me?” Ralph said. “I was doing U2. I wrapped up ‘Grace’ about ten minutes back. You people don’t know what good music is.”

Yes, we do, Nick thought, and that wasn’t it. “You’re supposed to clear any office parties with me first. Do you even still work here? I thought you quit to write porn.”

“M/M erotica,” Lamar corrected. “And this isn’t a party. I told you, it’s a wake. The old year’s coming to an end.”

“Good friggin’ riddance, you ask me.”

Lamar gaped at him. “Are you loco? Look at all that happened. The world didn’t end in 2012, for starters. It’s hard to beat that. Then we had the classic car cruise, and the fair, and that month where a bunch of people turned into My Pretty Ponies—”

“Which obviously it skipped you, though I can’t imagine how. That was not a fun time.”

“I’ll say,” Teddy called over from accounting. “I still whinny when I sneeze.”

“But everybody looked so pretty, with the manes and tails and all. Better than your usual grouchy—” Lamar watched Nick’s face get redder and redder and for once took the hint. “Okay, so we almost got wiped out by the psycho snake god—”

“Psycho snake god?” Jamie said.

“That’s right, you mammals wouldn’t remember him. No problemo. His wife got herself preggers and dragged him off to the serpent dimension, so todo es perfecto. And speaking of little wrigglers, I hear congratulations are in order.” He waggled his brows at Nick.

Nick went still all over. “What did you hear, and from who?”

“False alarm?” Lamar glanced at Jamie. “According to El Rojo here—”

“Hey, don’t go dragging me into this.”

Sharp horns and missed kills, Nick thought in a panic. Jamie. Because Jamie didn’t chase after the shes, Nick sometimes forgot he was still a wolf, with a wolf’s nose. He could read the changes in Ziva’s body like Ralph read the sports page. Thank Lupa she wasn’t in today. “Yeah. False alarm. Bad rumor. If anything winds up in the gossip column, I swear I will hire you just so I can fire you all over again. Got it? Oh scat. Tell me you’re not crying.”

“I can’t help it,” Lamar blubbered. “I hate it when the old year ends. It’s like shedding skin. You know why snakes shed their skin? Because they’ve gotten fat!” He burst into tears.

Nick gaped at Lamar, whose body was roughly the width of a No. 2 pencil, then at Jamie, who had his arms around his sobbing lover. “This morning,” Jamie said to Nick. “His moods’re jumping all over to hell and back.”

Sweet dog, Nick thought. This year couldn’t wrap up fast enough. “He’s not … um … ”

“Oh, hell no! That’s a rumor too. Male snakes can’t get knocked up.” Jamie looked suddenly panicked. “Leastwise, I hope they can’t. C’mon, sweetie, cut it out. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“But it’s the only kind of queen I know how to be!”

“Hey.” Ralph patted Lamar’s shoulder gingerly, as if afraid whatever he had might be catching. “Look at it this way. It ain’t 2014. It’s 2013, the sequel. Same shit, different stink, y’know?" Lamar bawled louder. "Aw hell.” Ralph threw up his hands and walked away. “Hey, I tried. Who wants cake?”

“You want some cake?” Lamar asked Nick through his sniffles. “I really wanted a piñata.” His eyes filled up again.

“It’s fine. It’s perfect. Couldn’t be better.” Nick cut himself a hunk of cake and took it back to his office, leaving Lamar and the party/wake in Jamie’s hands. Whoever claimed reptiles were cold-blooded had never tried to work with Lamar.

2013, the sequel. More of the same, only worse.

Nick nibbled the cake—it was actually tasty—then picked up his phone and dialed Rattigan’s Pub. “Hey, Louie? Nick,” he said when the rat answered. “Next time Gil comes in, give him the biggest drink you make. Put it on my tab. Tell him I know what he has to put up with as mayor and I understand completely.”

POST HOLIDAY GATHEREING

Gil looked up from the place Ms. Elly set in front of him.  A large acorn squash dominated the plate.  To the left a heaping of mashed potatoes oozing with whipped butter and shredded cheese.  On the remaining third of the plate, a large serving of mixed nut salad topped with almond and sesame seed dressing lay on top of a bed of mixed greens.  His side plate held portions of spinach soufflé and green bean casserole.

“Gil that butter didn’t need a flogger to get that way,” Ms. Elly teased, turning back to the cart behind her.  Uproarious laughter broke out.  Gil glanced down the table to where Blackie sat with her lemon and dill salmon.  Tongson came through again.  After making sure Tomas got home in one piece, the fish arrived days later with a hand written note and receipt bearing the name of the boat the purchase came from.  No shape shifters met their demise.  

Laughter died down as Ms. Elly moved down the table serving others from the cart laden with their plates.  The buffet covered the bar and several tables close by.  Rattigan’s remained closed by his and Louie’s decry.  Those who didn’t have a family or opted to stay away from the yearly generational gatherings that might not end up as merrily as some would like chose to come together with Rattigan’s staff and owner to celebrate.  

Center of pushed together tables, giant vases filled with colored leaves made up the center piece.  Thanks to the Turkles, pies sat cooling in the kitchen.  An emergency meeting of the town council brought the Turkle homestead within the Peak’s limits.  Abram cussed and questioned why for the first forty-eight hours.  After the quietest night’s sleep he’d had in decades, the noise stopped.  Peak law didn’t stand for its citizens ripping each other apart to the point of death.  Fist fights and bloody noses were tolerated.  Otherwise Nick and Bo would be doing more community service than there was available for them to do.

Ms. Elly reached the end of the tables, leaned down and kissed her husband.  Gil smiled.  Those two knew how to love and live.  Nick’s father was an asset to the council.  The old man knew along with Rachel where the bodies were hid. Rachel who should be back by now wasn’t.  Her family said something about a letter she left stating she might be away longer than expected.  Gil hoped his assistant came back soon.  He missed arguing with her and her skills that got an amazing amount of work done.  Rachel earned her vacation.  She had plenty of time on the books.  

At the opposite end of the table, Louie rose.  He hefted his glass aloft, filled with Rattigan’s own Pale Silver Ale.  Glasses up and down the table held each diners preferred beverage.  Other glasses rose as Louie spoke.  “Here’s to another year of good cheer, togetherness, surviving, and good friends as well as family.”

“Here, here,” rang out through the room.  A throat cleared.  Nick’s father rose.  He smiled as he turned meting everyone’s gaze.  “Today I eat with friends and colleagues.  I eat greens and veggies.  Ain’t so bad tasting a bit of how the other side lives, eh darling?”

Gil burst out laughing with the others.  Ms. Elly blushed, cuffed her husband’s arm as he licked his lips.  Others chimed in with their thanks and toasts.  Silence fell as Gil rose.  His turn and words failed him.  Or did they?  He opened his mouth, chirped six times.  “Now let me translate.  Good friends.  Chosen family.  Good eats.”

Ms. Elly rose as quiet resumed.  “All right.  Let’s get to the consuming.  There’s plenty for everyone.  Besides Nick and Bo have dish duty to cross off their civic chore list.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Weekend Gang!

Sorry for the late post.  I've been away from the computer.  We had a lovely Thanksgiving here at the Spice Homestead.  Looks like our group on the Peak are enjoying gathering together too.

Cold weather tore a path across the country this week.  May you find warmth and blessings this holiday season.  May your gifts be for what you need and allow you to pay things forward for your good fortune.

Until next week,

Solara