Song for this chapter: There She Goes, None the Richer
The grass was green. Too green.
Briella wrinkled her nose, images of Ireland flashing through her mind, making her roll her eyes as she shook her head at her memories.
She eyed her surroundings with calculating eyes, her dark eyes scanning every little detail.
La Push wasn't all that bad if you ignored the lack of large population, and large city. She didn't mind at all, really. Living in a small village far away from the city practically prepared her for this type of habitant.
She was used to it.
She threw her head back, closing her eyes as she took in a deep breath, sighing contently as the clear air filled her lungs.
This was just right.
She looked fondly up at the sky, grey clouds circling around the bright circle in the sky, its dimmed rays occasionally peeking out of the clouds.
Having been raised in a religious Catholic home, she believed in symbols. And right now, these rays were hope.
Perhaps, just maybe, things could be better this year.
Paul growled angrily, throwing away the stupid rusting piece of crap off his table.
Stupid Atlöe. Always had to go and fuck everything up.
Atlöe, his stupid co-worker in this stupid garage, always stole the ladies. He stole that Marie-slash-Mary chick from his grasp by practically flinging his work towards Paul.
That lazy fucker.
Paul let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he focused on controlling his shaking body before opening his eyes, calmer, and picking up the little rusting motor and setting to work.
"Oh, Christ." Paul sighed, giving up on trying to control his temper, knowing that this kid would get a rise out of him.
Quil's grinning face appeared in front of him, "What's up?" he asked, nudging his arm in greeting as he sat next to him, "What'chu workin' on?"
"Cars. Isn't the 'Garage' sign outside obvious enough?" He deadpanned, not removing his eyes from his work.
"Dumbass." Paul shot back, grinning slightly at their little personal joke.
Quil grinned again, his little dimples flashing, "Things are so boring now, you notice?"
"Boring?" Paul quirked a brow, turning only slightly towards his fellow pack mate.
"Yeah, like there's no action, no defenseless humans to protect, no recent imprinters imprinting on imprints. You know, that kind of thing." Quil shrugged, leaning his elbows on his seat and stretching his feet out.
"Well, for protectors, peace is actually a good thing, you know." Paul rolled his eyes, shaking his head at his friend's stupidity.
"I know, but that's the point! We have to chase after something…" Quil shrugged again.
"What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you s'posed to be with Claire?" Paul scowled, deciding to change the subject once realizing Quil was right.
Quil's face fell, "She's out of town, visiting her aunts." He sighed.
Paul couldn't help but snicker at his misery. It was hilarious.
Quil scowled, punching Paul's arm, causing him to drop a screw. Paul turned to Quil menacingly, growling.
"Just wait until you imprint, Paul Lahote," Quil laughed, standing immediately when Paul threw his chair back as he stood, "You'll probably stalk her like Jared did to Kim."
Growls threated to erupt from Paul's throat as he stepped towards Quil.
"Or you'll probably be rejected by her like Sam and Emily," Quil continued, stepping back.
"Shut up, Quil."
"Or imprint on a baby like Jake and me." Quil taunted, knowing Paul wasn't allowed to hurt them because of his current punishment.
"And that's completely disgusting but everyone else is too polite to comment on both your situations." Paul decided to taunt Quil back rather than attack him like he knew Quil had assumed.
"Bitch." Paul shot back, smirking slightly as he sat back down, calmly picking up the screw from the floor and getting back to fixing the old little motor.
Quil scowled but stretched, letting out a huge yawn only these shape-shifters were capable of.
"Well, I gotta get home, Paul, I'll see you when I do." He clapped Paul's shoulder, purposely causing him to drop the screw again.
Paul turned to Quil with an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look. Quil grinned again, slamming the door behind him.
Paul was beginning to feel calmer. The silence and the faint smell of gasoline and rust always soothed him, remembering how his uncle and father used to teach him how to fix cars.
The sound of metal clinking and the feel of strong metal in his hands always calmed him.
But when he heard, "Man, Lord Jesus Christ!" he face-palmed himself.
Atlöe entered the garage, banging the door behind loudly like he always did.
Paul glared at him as he passed by but never stopped his hands from moving, continuing for his sake.
Atlöe opened the small refrigerator in the corner, getting out a Diet Coke and opening it with a loud hiss.
"Damn, that woman was freaky, I tell you, Paul. You should thank me for not letting you have her." Atlöe shuddered, shaking his head and shrugging as he chugged down the rest of the drink.
He was from LaPush, his descendants having been natives as well, but he did not know of shape-shifters nor had the genes been passed down to him.
Atlöe Pomeroy, half native and half British, was a twenty-year-old boy with European features. He had hazel eyes like his father and the pale skin as well. He inherited the Quileute dark hair and height.
He was tall, but not big like Paul or the other pack members nor as muscular.
He was not afraid of Paul, he was cautious of him at first…friendly, even. But after realizing that Paul was not going to hurt him (Paul would've beat him up a long time ago, but he knew he'd just end up in more trouble with Sam) he let show of the jerk he really was.
"Hey, you know this new family moved into this town?" he asked as he set the now empty bottle on the table. Paul simply glared at him, never removing his gaze from him as he set aside the motor and wiped his hands on his jeans, not caring that they got stained of grease.
"Can you believe it? This family moved to LaPush…Freakin' LaPush, man. I don't know what they were thinking." Atlöe shook his head, "I hear they're from Europe or something, that one chick I took told me."
Paul scowled at the mention of that one chick, the wolf stirring in disappointment at missing that one prey.
He stood and walked over to the water hose, rubbing his hands together as the cool water splashed on them.
"I hear they got like four daughters," Atlöe waggled his brows suggestively, "I think they arrived yesterday or some shit like that, I don't know, I just hear these things from secondary sources, you know."
Paul learned long ago that you'd be much happier if you didn't reply to Atlöe's retorts, he'd soon get bored and leave you alone.
"Perhaps we could get one to work here with us, eh? How's that sound to you, Paul?" Atlöe was asking just as Paul decided to leave early.
He slammed the door angrily behind him, having no pity in knowing that it suffered poor abuse of being slammed constantly.
He stalked off into the woods, his anger surfacing as his breath began to deepen and turn into angry gasps.
The wolf was now invigorated, wanting to be released after having had been so abruptly oppressed when Atlöe ended up taking the prey, so Paul complied.
He headed towards town.