Vito
Shady Rooster was a werewolf.

With a name like that it was almost poetic, fitting. More importantly to Florian, Shady had managed to sway Alma, managed to sway the majority of the anti-werewolf coalition into voting against the cage and in favor of waiting around for another three months. Another three months, _How many more people have to die_ he'd asked the gathered parties, _how many more people have to lose limbs, have to be ripped to shreds by those wolves? Of course they want us to let our guards down._ His pleas had fallen on deaf ears. More and more voices came to the defense of the wolves, his hand had been tightly clenched in Freddie's, who had voted no, along with his brother earlier. He'd not expected any different but it was good to see he wasn't alone in his convictions. Those voting against the cage, in his eyes, sided with the beasts. After a hasty, secret kiss on his cheek and a look that told Florian that his boyfriend trusted him to make the right call, Florian made up his mind. He'd been doubting, going back and forth, fidgeting with his hands as he always did when he was nervous. He thought of Aki, laying there in the hospital bed missing an arm, he thought of Owen's mother, he thought of Valerian, who was still recovering, he thought of Oswald, of Marianne, of all those who'd been hurt. He thought of himself only very briefly. _No,_ enough was enough. Something broke inside him, the support beams had lost their strength, burned and charred and the weight of the vote sent it crumbling down. If he'd been in a place where he could stand still to be aware of it, he would notice the last of his compassion towards his cursed neighbours slipping out with the words he spoke next.

"I'm voting no." 
_ _

A plan started forming in his head, he knew Shady, or rather he knew _of_ Shady. He'd seen his truck in Briar Ridge again. Shady had told Alma something, he knew things, maybe he knew the identity of the dark brown wolf that haunted Florian's nightmares. Maybe he knew something else, whatever the case, Florian was going to track him down and find out. Wherever Florian went, so did Freddie. The two set out, determined to get information no matter the cost. A pistol loaded with a silver bullet was tucked in the pouch hanging from the inside of his armrest. He didn't want to use it, but he would if worse came to worse. Alma had said Shady hadn't hurt anyone, but as Valerian had pointed out, they couldn't be sure of that. A somewhat beat-up truck was parked near the edge of the cornfield, and the two men approached it. Florian looked at Freddie, giving him a determined look as he pushed himself forward. 

"Shady! We want to talk."
Ruth
Shady Rooster was a werewolf.

He was also smack in the middle of important business, which had him shoving his back as hard as he could into the driver's seat while his thumbs pressed on the tube of Colcate's in his hands. The last of the shaving cream oozed free and he swiped it onto his ring finger, then reached out to adjust the mirror through the open window.

He'd just stuck the straight razor to the underside of his jaw when the sound of his own name made his heart somersault into his throat.

"Shit fire," He muttered, snapping the razor closed and furiously scrubbing his face with the same shirt he was wearing. Then it was coated with a slick of shaving cream and had to be yanked over his head, but not without smearing into and further disheveling his hair. He rubbed his bristled chin against his shoulder and repeated, "Shit fire!" With feeling. *We want to talk.* He'd had his shit kicked in enough times – and had done enough (but less) shit kicking of his own: Shady knew "*Talk*" Was subjective.

The truck door swung open with a shrill creak, and out stepped Shady Rooster shrugging barechested into his shearling coat. Suspender straps hung loose off his slacks, which were unbuttoned but hanging on for dear life to a hip bone. His eyes started their sweep, only to land on his visitors right away.
** **

Florian Barca – the name didn't come to mind, but he'd seen him around, sure enough. The other one, Lovejoy, he was newer to town. Shady couldn't guess how new; with other shiners taking root around Briar Ridge of late, he'd been scarce even before he hid himself away back home in Lost Cove for all these miserable months.

"Fellers," He greeted without a hint of friendliness, slippery knuckles fighting an itch in the center of his chest. "...What kin I do for yins?" Words and tone misaligned. He knew damn well what they wanted to "Talk" About.
Ann
Shady Rooster was a werewolf.

That was about all Freddie Lovejoy knew of the man. The shocked whispers that had rippled around the Coalition during the meeting had meant nothing to him, and what Florian had been able to fill him in on in the time since had been little; only what he knew himself, and of that, what was important.

It had been Florian's idea to pay the werewolf a visit, and at first he'd spoken as though he intended to go alone, but of course, Freddie wasn't having that. For Florian to venture out to the cornfields alone, to put himself at risk at the hands of what didn't bear thinking about... *No*. Freddie had insisted on coming with him, and he'd brought with him little more than his pistol at his hip, each of the six chambers in the clip loaded with a bullet. Five lead, and one shining silver, and though he had half a mind to simply use the latter the minute Shady Rooster came sliding out of his truck, he thought of its value, and of Alma Cooper's steely glare, and decided it was best for the weapon to remain in his pocket, at least until the beast gave him a real reason to use it (and a decent eye-line to the heart).

Shady greeted them cold, and Freddie grit his teeth - 'course he didn't have any hospitality in him, that was to be expected when they'd accosted him at his home, if you could truly call a beat-up truck backed up against the cornstalks a home, and that was without adding in the fact that he and Florian had made no secrets of their alignments with the Coalition. Alignment that Freddie was now beginning to regret.

Twelve members of the group had voted to reverse the plan entirely, and now seemed to almost feel *Pity* For the werewolves that had been rampaging at their will through Briar Ridge and leaving trails of destruction, of blood, of *Death* In their wakes. And Freddie was still supposed to trust those people with the protection of the town, of those who remained innocent in all of this. 
Of Florian, who had been attacked once already and who the thought of losing didn't even bear thinking about. 
So much for some bullshit book. So much for a cure. If there was one, someone ought to have found it already, but the wolves had taken enough from the town that Freddie loved, and he would not allow them to take all that he had left. 

"You been holdin' out on us all long enough, Mister Rooster," He said quietly, chin jutting out in brave defiance. Was he afraid? Perhaps a little. But it was none'a anyone's business if he were so long as he didn't show it. "We want'ta know what it is you know. Before anyone else has to die."

||
Vito
"Like I said, we want to talk." There was none of Florian's usual kindness in his voice, he was very nervous but doing a half-decent job at hiding it, Freddie's presence helped. Florian would not have been brave enough to go on his own. Maybe the two men weren't brave, maybe they were just fools. "You see my hands?" He raised them to further stress that they'd come under some pretense of peace. "No pistol in 'em." _For now._ His hands lowered again, settling in his lap. Just after the initial greeting by Shady, Florian had pushed down on the handles attached to the frame of his wheelchair, they snapped in place against his tires. They were a recent addition, the handiwork of Noah Owens: brakes. Florian could now stay on uneven surfaces without needing to use both hands to stop him from rolling away, which was mighty convenient. They also allowed him to use a hunting rifle without the recoil sending him flying backward, which was the real reason Valerian and him decided that brakes were more of a necessity than a luxury. He supposed he had the werewolves to thank for that, maybe they were good for something other than brutal murder. 

Florian wanted the werewolves dead, he did. Deep down he knew that shooting them while they looked like men might be beyond him. He wasn't sure he could do it, not yet. Stabbing a monster when it was all teeth and claws was something entirely different from shooting a monster wearing the face of a man whom Alma apparently trusted enough to hold off on the cage for three entire months. He felt the familiar feeling of anger bubble to the surface again, its comforting heat spread through his body as it pushed away the fear he felt.

He wanted the werewolves dead. This one was lucky he had information Florian needed. Shady had told Alma something that made her change her tune, she hadn't shared it all, better to get the information straight from the source, he'd thought. If Shady could identify wolves, maybe he knew who Florian was looking for. Maybe he _was_ who Florian was looking for.

The man in question looked like a mess, half-naked, with pants only partially done up and generally surrounded by an air of unkemptness. They clearly did not run in the same circles. He wondered how Alma had ever come to trust the man, maybe he was involved in the moonshine business? It was a very well-known secret that the Coopers dealt in shine, but Florian never bothered to find out much more than surface-level information on that. He didn't get involved in crime, condoned or not. He accepted the fact that a fair handful in Briar Ridge made good money from alcohol, it bothered him none. A dozen questions raced through his head, there was a werewolf in front of him, one with answers to the questions that had been on his mind ever since this all began. _Was it you, Shady, who almost killed my brother? Was it you who tried to kill me? Was it you who I stabbed, who Valerian shot? Was it you whose blood I tried so desperately to scrub from my hands? Is it you who I see in my nightmares?_ There were no scars on Shady's exposed torso to indicate it was him, but that didn't stop Florian from wanting him dead. There was a hateful fire burning in his eyes now. His right hand shifted slightly towards the pouch in which he'd stored the pistol loaded with the silver bullet.

"Alma said you can tell who's a wolf and who's not. We know of April and Eli Abrams, Mayor Cooper, Sheriff Rowe and now you. Who else?"
Ruth
He'd been warned about this. It didn't make Shady Rooster any friendlier toward his interrogators, but when Alma spelled it out for him, he'd gladly accepted the risk. No way in hell he would have a coupla months back – his sense of preservation was tougher than that or he'd have never made it this far. But death loomed now in every shadow and it was breathing down the back of his neck, whispering his name in the night. Better to die at their hands than his eldest brother's.

She'd said, *The rest of us'd be safe from you, but you wouldn't be safe from us.* Said he'd be a sittin' duck, if he went through with this.

But Shady was a different breed of yard fowl and his shrewd dark eyes did a lil' saccade whenever these two spoke at him like he was reading off a script only he could see.

Freddie accused him of holdin' out; Florian reiterated they wanted to talk. To *Talk.* Held up his empty hands one minute – Shady looked 'em over then set a skeptical stare on his face – then his hand was creepin' somewhere else shortly after.

They wanted to know what he knew. Specifically, they wanted to know who he knew. The names were listed off to him like death tolls. He clasped his hand across his mouth like he was hiding something in his expression when Florian got to the Abrams, then it slid down his scruffy jaw to hang at his side again. He felt the knot of futility and fear and grief tighten inside the cage of his ribs and knew its name was Weakness. It made him angry, too.

But he did not have the luxury of anger.
** **

"I'm a wolf fer one night," He told them, showing his empty hands and feeling keenly aware of the straight razor in his coat pocket, "An' a sheep fer twenny-nine'n a half. I ain't no danger to neither've yins right now, so they ain't no need for this wild west showdown yer doin'." His left hand turned into a gun, finger-barrel lofting from Freddie's face down to Florian's. He 'shot' em both, complete with low-volume sound effects before sticking the imaginary gun into an imaginary holster on a belt he (sure as hell needed but) wasn't wearin'.

Then his hands were raised again with the palms facing out, and he was coming closer – one booted foot in front of the other, fox-trot, saying, "Easy," Like they were a pair of wild horses he might spook.

"See," A step, "I been gone since all this ugly bus'ness started. Got good'n lost. Whiled my time away in a dark cellar 'til I knowed it was the moon what done it." Another step. "So, fellers, I'm afraid I ain't know much y'all ain't 'bout who is an' who ain't *Like me.*"

It crawled all over him, being one of *Them.* He wanted desperately to be *Us.* They were on the same side, weren't they?
** **

Another step, then he stopped and scented the air like a hounddog. Smeared the back of his wrist across his forehead with a relieved sigh. "Looks as neither've y'all've caught it," He told them with a doctor's bedside manner. "If you was gonna shoot me fer bein' useless, I reckon that's yer cue. Right 'bout here?" He pointed to his eye. He'd figured if Florian saw fit to point out he didn't have a pistol in his hand, it stood to reason there was a pistol, somewhere. At least one for each man, right?
Ann
Though Florian made no secret of the fact he had no hand on his weapon, Freddie couldn't quite bring himself to do the same, especially as Shady Rooster advanced on them. His gun lay in its holster at his hip, his hand resting over it, ready to pull it out should this turn into a fight. He didn't want it to - they hadn't come here to kill him. It was just as Florian had said, they wanted to talk, they needed to know who the other werewolves were if they were to get any closer to finding the one that had torn the Barca brothers near limb from limb and ensure that justice was served to whomever might be responsible. 

Freddie's jaw stayed set. Florian's anger crackled in the air like sparks, and he was close enough that he caught, too. He was the firewood to Florian Barca's lit match; one struck tinder and the other burst into heat and light at the merest touch. Freddie felt the fury that spilled from Florian's chest past his lips, and he shared in it, letting it course through his veins tenfold alongside an unfamiliar rage of his own. Freddie Lovejoy had not, historically, been a man who lent himself to wrath, but Briar Ridge, in all its shadow and blood and bone, had drawn a blanket over the sun's soft light, and spawned instead a blaze that burned through the interminable night. 

*I ain't no danger,* Said Shady Rooster, and Freddie bit his tongue to hold back some foolish retort of *I ain't so sure about that.* The trick would be to not let Shady know he was afraid, for to hand him fear would be to hand him power over them, and there was no power with which he trusted a man like Rooster, who was really no man at all, but a beast in a woollen coat, a sickening representation of the wolf in sheep's clothing, someone who had wormed his way into places he had no right to be, to commit atrocities he had no right to commit.

"You oughta have stayed lost," Freddie spit through his teeth. "Whole place'd be a damned sight better of if you'd never crawled your ass outta the ground at all." There would have been no debate had Shady stayed gone and kept his bullshit to himself instead of whispering poison in Alma Cooper's ear. The Cage would have been set for use for its intended purpose and the werewolf problem would be culled in due course, but no - the bastard had had to come and ruin it all. 

He watched Rooster sniff the air. Like the fucking hound he was. 

"You askin' ta get yourself killed? All's you've gotta do is say the word, mutt. I got a pretty silver round right here."

||
Vito
TW for brief (internalized) ableism

He was a wolf for one night? _No_, once a werewolf, always a werewolf, no matter what face they might wear. Wolves remained wolves, even if they didn't look it. Shady could hardly be considered a sheep, a prey animal, a member of a flock that needed protecting. But then neither could Florian and Freddie. Florian had been, once, and maybe he still was. He'd been sheltered, hidden in the basement with his sister beside him, he'd known what it was like to be prey. He knew he was more vulnerable than most and he _hated_ it. He hated needing to be protected. He hated feeling weak or lesser and not being able to do what others could. He hated knowing that he would always need help, that he would always need to rely on others. That he would always be a **Burden**. He hated that no matter how hard he tried to prove himself there would always be those who saw him as inherently being of lesser worth. And he hated that he believed them. 

Most of all, he hated that those who protected him got hurt in the process, got hurt because of him, and he was helpless to stop it all. Feeling powerless ate away at a person, and Florian was not far from being stripped bare, bones exposed for all the world to see. Fueled with the terror of being prey, see how quickly he seeks to become predator. If Shady wished for a silver-colored death, Florian would be more than happy to give it to him. So it seemed, was Freddie; the intent to kill (one Florian believed Freddie might make good on if given the chance), the hatred in his voice, the venom dripping from each syllable, he'd never heard such words come from Freddie. 
_ _

They'd both been so kind, so full of joy and light. Florian had fallen for Freddie's kindness, for his smile, for the way his eyes shone when he laughed, for his gentle words and the gifts he gave, for the sound of his laugh and the way their hands fit together so perfectly. _You've poisoned him, Barca._ his soul said _I warned you that your fire would consume those around you. Now look at your love, see how you've charred him._ and once again, Florian ignored it. Maybe one day he'd listen. Maybe one day he would be forced to hear.

"Is this some type of joke to you Shady?" He said, after the werewolf had playfully shot both of them with weapons formed from fingers. He wanted to punch him for it. How dare he make light of the situation. _His_ kind had killed _theirs_ and he had the guts to joke? He had the guts to act as if those like him were not to blame for the deaths, the losses, the pain that Briar Ridge had been through for months on end. "You might not _look_ like a wolf now, but you sure are no sheep. Sheep don't burn when they touch silver, now do they?"

Of course neither of them were werewolves, the thought of that hadn't so much as crossed his mind. They'd been spending the full moons together since February, armed with silver and a drive for revenge packaged to look like protectiveness. 
_ _

"You told Alma somethin' that made her change her mind. It must've been mighty important information. I suggest you share it with us too." He was itching to reach for the pistol, to have it in his hands. He wanted control, he wanted everything to go back to the way things were, he wanted to feel safe again. When had safety started to look like a bullet fired?
Ruth
TW: Very vague mention of || suicide. ||

"Oh, I ain't been *Found,*" Shady snapped back at Freddie, and he did have a wild look in his eyes just then. Or maybe it was the chaos of his hair, or the absurdity of his (un)dress, or the way he bared his teeth and looked from man to man like a coyote cornered in a trap. "Lord knows I ain't been found."

The mouth on that one was unexpected. The hatefulness, too – he didn't *Look* Like he had it in him, but color Shady impressed. And belligerent, of course. He spit on the ground and said, "Woof."

Until Florian further explained their visit, he'd begun to suspect – because his mind *Was* A circus, that they'd come to see the show. To take their anger and grief out on an easy target. A fair target, because the only good wolf was a dead one, and he wasn't dead. If there'd been any good left in him, he would've taken care of that the first time, right?

Hard to argue when you don't disagree. 

He finally dragged his glare away from Freddie when Florian brought up silver. The bristling hackles that were his stiff shoulders melted. One knee bent incrementally; he was slouching, head bowed, eyes lofted at the pair and still flicking between their faces. There was no answer for this sudden docility except that Alma Cooper had come up. He realized that his behavior reflected on her – that she looked unreliable at best because of him, and at worst, like a conspirator. Maybe like another wolf. A villain.
** **

It occurred to him for the first time what she had thrown away when she didn't shoot him the day he came 'round with flowers, appearing in her living room like a childhood nightmare reimagined. That she had risked everything when she let him live, when she listened to him.

He realized, too, that these were dissidents. They were here to prove Alma Cooper wrong.

"I tol' her I wanted to he'p find a cure," He said, metering his voice. "That this weren't no choice – it's a curse. An' whatever y'all believe about me, they's folks livin' this hell who ain't deserve it. An' she's givin' me a chance 'cause I reckon she knows doin' somethin's more important'n gettin' even. That doin' somethin' about it's more important than takin' her anger out. Than sowin' more death. I reckon she ain't ate up with hate yet so bad she cain't see reason no more, like some'a this town's been."
Ann
He was toying with them. Like they were brittle bones in the jaws of a dog that had never been taught to play nice. Shady Rooster barked, and he snarled, and Freddie wouldn't have been surprised if the familiar howls and shrieks of the full-moon nights had torn themselves forth from the throat of the man, who did not truly deserve the name of *Man* At all, foul beast that he was. Freddie had never seen a werewolf, but he pictured Shady Rooster as one riddled with scabbing mange, maw dripping blood and rot, and it sickened him. Before them was not one deserving of the label of humanity. What had he given them to lend them to trusting him in his claims that he had harmed none and killed no-one? Freddie didn't believe so much as a syllable spat forth from that spitting, snapping jaw.

"You might'a not been found, Rooster, but you been found *Out*," He declared. "You might'a been able to pull the wool over the eyes'a the Coalition but you rest assured you ain't gettin' shit past *Us*." He would not be the one to look away first. He held his gaze on Shady's face, ugly as it were to him in the moment, and continued on without blinking. "Tell us everything. We ain't here to play your game, 'cause it's a game that don't have no winners 'cept the wolves, and we're not lettin' you and your *Pack* Win this. It's over, ain't you seein' that? Either you explain what you mean with your cure crap and we come to some kinda agreement, or you keep your fucking secrets and they go with you to the grave you can only hope some kind soul puts you in. 'Cause if I shoot you, I ain't got neither shovel nor reason to go diggin' you more holes'n you've already dug yourself. This town's buried enough of its kin thanks to you and your kind."

A lesser man not raised by a mama so good might have spit in the dirt. Freddie Lovejoy held back the impulse. 

"Who d'ya think you are ta be talkin' about anger and *Hate* Anyhow? Don't we deserve to be angry? You- you and your kind been killin' us. Tearin' folks limb from limb without a care in the world. Ain't that enough to be worth more'n hatred?" 

||
Vito
Shady bared his teeth and barked at Freddie, like the beast he was. Like it was some kind of sick game to him. Like the grief and pain the two boys felt were funny to him somehow. Freddie held his ground, his love did much more than just hold his ground, his words pushed forward. If Florian hadn't been burning with a similar rage, he would have been terrified by Freddie at that moment. Leaving Shady's body for the crows to find, not even giving the man the dignity of a proper grave, and threatening a man's life so openly, it all should have horrified Florian. But it didn't. The thought of killing a man had never before seemed so justified. 

He watched as Shady's body language suddenly shifted, he'd struck a nerve by bringing up Alma. Could it be? Did the man truly care for Alma? Did Alma truly care for him? Shady Rooster was a werewolf, he reminded himself, werewolves were monsters even if they looked like men. He was one of the beasts that had ripped Aki's arm from her, one of the beasts that had killed Owen's mother, one of the beasts that had killed Oswald, that killed Addie, that killed Mrs. Bigby, one of the beasts that had almost succeeded at killing Valerian. Shady was one of the beasts that had attacked countless others; Jade, Dimitra, Riley, Beaux, Charlie, Rafael, himself, the list just kept going. The list would keep going if someone didn't put a stop to it.
_ _

He would have listened to Shady's words once, he might have even truly heard and understood them. They held an echo of Owen Barnes' words, _I don't think they mean the harm they're doing_. "I tried bein' kind, Shady. I tried to see the humanity in y'all but that becomes mighty difficult when there's a pair of claws rakin' down your leg and you find your brother ripped to shreds by those same claws, bleedin' out, havin' his goddammed _time of death_ retracted! _Your_ kind did that! And they've done _nothin'_ to prevent it from happenin' again!" There was pain in his voice, he truly had seen humanity in the werewolves before that fateful moon. He'd believed they were victims. Now he knew better.

Freddie was right, the only winners were the monsters. (Were they not becoming monsters in their own right?) This wasn't about getting even, this was about survival, about protecting them and theirs, this was about making sure what happened wouldn't happen again. More people kept getting hurt, kept getting killed. It needed to stop. He just wanted it to stop. _Please, make it stop._

"This supposed cure, what do you know of it? How do you know it's real? Alma didn't believe in it and now suddenly she does. You're goin' to have to do better than just tellin' us you want to help find the cure. Better make it good."

A new death warrant hovered in the air, unsigned, for now.
Ruth
The spell cast by Alma Cooper's name lasted: Shady Rooster's snarl reconciled into something less hostile if not *Friendly –* Contemptible at best. Particularly once he was told he'd been found out – like he'd been snuffed out of a hiding place. Like this story had a hero.

"I ain't playin'," He said. "I come forward to dig secrets up, not to keep 'em. Reckon folks is lucky y'all wasn't the doctors when they was dyin'a pox an' yella fever, huh? Demandin' secrets from people what's rottin' in they bed an' pullin' guns on 'em on account'a it was catchin'." He bared a sliver of his teeth before he metered that as smooth as he could, too. "...Done nothin'." He spit again.

But he was listening. Only when Florian started to speak did he tear his gaze from Freddie's, and he didn't lash out again.

It wasn't that he didn't want to. If it wasn't her reputation on the line, he might have acted a whole fool. And that was still certainly in the cards, but for the time being he could see where they were coming from. He thought he could imagine how he'd react to this same scene if he were on the other side of it. He wanted to work together, but maybe all that came from where he stood. 

He groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and rubbed. Then, he dropped down to crouch on his haunches, hands dangling over his kneecaps. Now he was the one who had to lift his eyes.
** **

"I reckon it's a hex," He said, eyes flicking from one face to the other. He was wary, and he preferred to fight rather than hold this conversation – but they were right about one thing: their anger was righteous and justified and the mere fact he was here to fall under their scrutiny spoke volumes about his character. None of it was nice. "An' hexes, they kin get placed. They kin get took off, too, by somebody what knows how. If they's folks who's immune to it, and they's things it's scared of – silver, an' all, – then I reckon it makes sense somebody could get healed of it. People get healed 'a all kinds'a maladies, don't they?"

For a split second, he was asking them for reassurance, eyebrows furrowed, eyes seeking an ounce of hope in either angry gaze. That earnest vulnerability was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I's tol' somebody found sum'n. A book. But they's things at work tryna keep y'all from it. I ain't hardly know nothin' 'bout that. I jest said I might as he'p look, on account'a I cain't get more cursed'n I is. An' I tol' Alma I'd make sure she weren't dealin' with no wolf ain't revealed hisself yet, neither."
Ann
"I don't see you *Rottin'* Nowhere," Freddie couldn't help but interrupt, when Shady spoke of plagues and fevers, as though those were even halfway comparable to Rooster and his ilk. "Be better off if you were. Whole town would be." He'd have paid a handsome fee to see this man incapacitated in a hospital bed - but then again, did he deserve one? What had he done to merit the care of the town's good doctor and nurses when his *Pack* Had been the cause of half the town finding themselves in that ward come daylight for months of full moons? The wolves had brought nothing but pain and loss to Briar Ridge. This town owed them nothing less than vengeance. 
Vengeance which Freddie was beginning to think might be down to none other than him to enact.

The silver bullet burned a metaphorical hole in his pocket.

Besides his little outburst, though, Freddie was quiet. Not for Shady's sake but for Florian's, because the last thing he wanted to do was poke the bear - or wolf. Though he itched to not only speak his mind to its fullest, but to *Fight* For the right to do so, none of it would be worth placing the man he loved in harm's way. Because wasn't that the point of all of this? Keeping Florian safe? He had come here for him. Because Florian had thought that Rooster might have the information they needed. And if it were information that led to Freddie being able to hunt down and kill the werewolf that had left brutal scars upon both him and his brother, then letting the beast before them live a little longer would be worthwhile. 

Shady Rooster dropped to a crouch, just as Freddie had begun to think he couldn't be any more of an animal. 

"A hex?" He repeated, doubt clear in his voice even with just two simple words. "I ain't a believer in that kinda shit, Mister. Don't make no sense to put faith in any'a that witchcraft when we got people dyin' thanks to the likes'a you. An' it's all well an' good sayin' you *Reckon* And you's *Told* These things. We ain't come to hear your guessin', we want the facts. The *Truth*. So we can save the people of Briar Ridge seen as nobody else is doin' a single thing for 'em 'cept tellin' us all to barricade our windows and pick up our guns. Like we ain't always got our guns at our belts these days."

He huffed out a breath through his nose. 

"Where's the book? I want ta read it, if they been lettin' bastards like *You* Read it, why cain't I?"

||
Vito
Dying of pox and yellow fever... Diseased members of a society were isolated and sheltered away from others to protect those yet unharmed. Doctors looked for the cause of an illness and fought it, they cut out the cancer. The way the number of werewolves grew, how their bodies stank of rot, how they towered over people before ripping them apart looked mighty like a malignant mass to Florian. Freddie was right, Shady wasn't rotting. _Not yet..._



Florian would never walk again. He'd barely been seventeen years old when he had his whole life ripped from him, and now he feared it would be ripped away again, by monstrous claws this time. There would be no miracle cure against Florian's death, not again, not a second time. _People get healed 'a all kinds'a maladies, don't they?_ He feared that this curse would end much more violently than his own had. There was no cure for werewolves other than to take out the infected. It was those monsters who were tearing their way through Briar Ridge, the solution was clear as day to him. And hexes? He didn't rightly know if he believed in those.
_ _

Shady could tell who was affected, somehow. "Will you be sharin' that information with the rest of us, or do we all get to go on guessin' who amongst us is _hexed_?" What made Alma so special to Shady? What made her worthy of information while the rest of them continued floundering, dredging through the murky darkness of not knowing? He wished he knew what was going on, he wished he had all the information. S&C knew more than they let on, Valerian had said, the coal company had somehow known that silver would be an ally in their fight. The smug bastards had refused to share anything beyond that. There were people in town who knew about the cure, who apparently held knowledge that supported its existence. He was getting tired of being kept in the dark.

He'd heard about the journal and its contents, gossip on the streets said Maeve Lefevre had last been seen with it in her possession. He didn't know if it had since shifted hands, he suspected it may have. He wanted to read it, to see what this mythical cure was really about, if it was mere fairytale or if there was something of substance there. Florian wasn't medically trained in any way, but he'd trust his own judgment over that of a werewolf any day. The only thing keeping them from knowledge was Shady.

"Suppose it is a hex, ain't they placed by people? Who would stand to benefit from the likes of you rippin' us apart, huh?" Werewolves, that's who. Florian didn't think it was a curse, he thought it had to be some kind of infection, spread through the attacks. The wolves that had been killed had been victims of attacks. _What if his brother was one of them..._ No. No, Valerian couldn't be. He'd been at the estate, he'd voted against the cure. He wasn't one of them, not all who got attacked became infected. "No, I reckon it's an illness, spread when y'all attack us, and this whole cure crap is made up. The book, Shady, who's got it?" The only way to stop the spread was to stop its cause; the existence of wolves.
Ruth
It wasn't that Freddie had not found the very thoughts that nagged at Shady Rooster day in and out: he'd thought them, too. *Verbatim,* Or close to it. He could not argue: Briar Ridge would've been better off had he never come around. They would all be safer if he was dead. He even thought, right here and now as he balanced in a crouch, that these two might just be doing the town a favor if they wasted him here in the cornfield and let the crows deal with the mess.

A strange thing, to have to justify your life to yourself. The only way he could was this: he would do something useful. He would be, someday, *Good.* He would have to work tirelessly to make his own life worth something, *Anything,* To reconcile it. He did not scramble to explain himself to Freddie and Florian, however. Their hatred was a gift to help them through it all, and he didn't have the means nor the will to take it away from them.

"Oh, I *Cain't* Read it," He told Freddie a might smugly. "I'm jest the oven mitt. I'll hold it for 'em, jest as soon as I kin find it."

He'd been told how, but things had changed since then – and he wasn't willing to share this information, anyway. Doing so stood to jeopardize folks he hadn't even met, yet.

"'Course I's gon' share," He answered Florian next, picking up a stiff piece of straw and corkscrewing it where canine met premolar. "I want the same things y'all do. I want the wolves gone. I want this place safe. I want folks I care 'bout to have the peace they deserve. The revenge, if'n they need it. I reckon neither'a yins believe it, but it's true." He inspected his straw, then stuck it in his mouth to chew the end.
** **

Who stood to benefit? He had to ruminate on that, and in the end, his shoulders rose and fell. "I dunno. I sure's hell ain't benefitted none though, has I? Got a truck in a cornfield an' you fine fellers comin' up to visit whenever yins like. Got a shine empire back home in Carolina I ain't gonna see a dime from. Hell, I cain't even hold a dime, y'all know that?" He flipped up his palm, where he did indeed have a few half-circles burned into his skin. "Not to mention the, y'know, overwhelmin' and unassailable *Dread.* I kin assure y'all, it ain't jest me. Ever wolf I met – an' that ain't nobody y'all ain't already know, so don't gitchyer britches in a knot – feels the same. Say I bit you right now." He worked his jaw, see-sawing the husk of straw. "Be awful easy to. Say I bit him," And he gestured vaguely at Freddie. "How'd y'all feel 'bout 'im, then? Is he alluva sudden the big bad wolf, or's he somebody y'all care 'bout whose cursed?" 

Eyes on Freddie, "An if'n I bit him." A nod to Florian.

"I dunno where the book is. I ain't no use to neither'a yins." (Or anybody else, he suspected they'd say.) He took his piece of straw from his mouth and set his hands on his knees again. "Still yer move."
Ann
If Shady Rooster were looking for pity, he would find none of it in Freddie Lovejoy. There was none left in him, not for a werewolf hell-bent upon being nothing but a nuisance, a roadblock in their search for answers. 
Answers they had come for, and Rooster had none, and Freddie was tired of him already. If not for the threat of Alma Cooper coming and raining down the fires of Hell on him for it, he'd have shot the beast where he stood before he'd even finished speaking.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had, for as soon as Shady voiced even the *Possibility* Of biting Florian, anger surged up in his chest like none he'd ever felt before. Though he barely acknowledged the suggestion that he himself could be afflicted with the full-moon's blight, the mere reminder that Florian was at all vulnerable to the wolves was simply too much to bear. 
It was not with his gun that Freddie advanced upon the man, but with a clenched fist. He was, for a moment, thankful that Shady hadn't lifted himself from his crouched position, as it made it all the easier for said fist to meet his face. 

It was a weak punch, truth be told. Freddie was in no way a fighter, and even less so skilled in what might be considered hand-to-hand combat. Chances were it didn't hurt Shady all that much. The poor form meant it actually kind of hurt *Freddie* When knuckles met cheek. He grit his teeth, still for a moment, finding his voice once more.

He wasn't sure what had come over him. He didn't think he'd ever hit a man before. Had never imagined he'd have to. But hitting him sure felt a damn sight better than putting a bullet in his brain would have. 

"You ever," He spat, glaring down at Rooster, "*Ever*, even so much as think about puttin' your rotten teeth near him again an' I'll do more'n hit you, that's a goddamned promise. You're damn right you ain't no use to us and if I ain't know it'd land me in a cell right alongside ya, I'd beat your ass to hell here an' now for even considerin' it." 
His hands were shaking. He tried not to think about it. 
"Bastard werewolf. I ain't think you're deservin' of no cure. Shoulda never come back here."

||
Vito
Shady hadn't even gotten his disgusting claws into the journal. This whole cure shit was based on rumors that he couldn't even confirm the legitimacy of. Why had Alma ever listened to Shady, what on earth had gone through her mind? Placing the lives of Briar Ridge at stake based on a man who couldn't even back up his outrageous claims? Did Shady have something over her, had he threatened her? Florian was going to stay with the Coalition during the moon and make damn sure that they at least stuck to the promise to shoot any beasts that were spotted roaming the streets. Maybe Freddie and he should pay Alma a visit next, albeit a much less violent one. There had to be something that she knew that they didn't. Florian cared for Alma, he trusted her, and he regarded her as something that came awfully close to a big sister. The Coopers had always been there for his family, they had been around the Barcas for as long as he could remember. Alma was smart, there _had_ to be a logical explanation for all of this. Right?

The werewolf was right, Florian did not believe for a second that Shady was working towards the same goal that Freddie and he were. Florian let out an angry huffed laugh. "Sure you do." 
_ _

_Be awful easy to. Say I bit him._ Florian seethed, the beast had crossed a line. Florian could deal with the thinly veiled threats that had been tossed their way, but openly flaunting just how _easy_ it would be for him to bite Freddie, to turn his lover into one of them, to infect him, to attack him, all without shame, that was unforgivable. Shady flaunted the fact that he the monster, held the upper hand, that he the beast, could tear into them if he felt like it. If Florian had any pity in his heart, any shred of humanity allotted to Shady, that vanished right there and then. Only an animal would threaten such a thing, only someone who took joy in seeing fear in the eyes of humans would even think to utter those words. And fear did show in Florian's eyes. He knew he was an easy target. He was incredibly aware of just how simple it would be for Shady or any other werewolf to tear him limb from limb.

Shady was no man, Shady was a monster, a beast, a wolf masquerading as a sorry excuse of a man, a man who held no real claim to humanity. How _dare_ he? Florian's rage burned so bright it hurt. In one swift motion, he pulled the pistol from its hiding spot, a resounding **Click** Indicated the removal of the safety, and he would have shot the werewolf down and watched his black blood paint the earth if it hadn't been for Freddie.
_ _

Freddie Lovejoy, a man whom Florian had not once known to be truly violent, had moved forward as if he were the silver bullet the artist had failed to fire. Clenched fist met lying face as Freddie punched Shady square in the cheek. Quite frankly, he didn't know Freddie had it in him to punch a man. Venom flew from his words as he spoke to Shady with a barely contained rage. Florian knew that rage all too well, and he shared in it. Freddie stood between Florian and Shady, in the line of fire, and the safety was promptly returned to the pistol. The weapon remained firmly in his hands though, lest Shady start thinking that he was safe. Florian flipped the brakes from his wheels, intent on leaving before Shady made good on his words. He didn't tell them much of use, nor was he going to, all he did was show his true colors, show them that he was a beast, show them that he didn't deserve even a shred of forgiveness or sympathy. _An if'n I bit him._ If and when I bite you. A promise. A threat. This was personal now.

"You best _pray_ that cage holds you Shady, I'll be waitin' if it don't."

|| shady i am so sorry
Ruth
Shady Rooster was none too sure what set Freddie off, exactly – or if anything had. Maybe he was done with the conversation and this was the way he chose to tie a ribbon on it. He watched him walk up, hands limp on his knees, then tanked a fist to the face likely to bruise and skin up the slugger's knuckles. It sure as hell was gonna bruise the wolf, too, but beyond his head whipping to the side and a coupla stars sparking off behind his eyes, he was alright. He blinked hard a few times, then stood.

Shady didn't exactly tower over anybody, but he was a fair bit taller than Freddie, and fuller-bodied. There was a none-too-distant time he might have relished in that advantage and hit back, but it didn't cross his mind, now. For starters, Florian was back there lowering a ready pistol now that his companion had stepped into his line of fire. Shady didn't have the luxury of lashing out; he did not have the crutch of anger.

Their anger, meanwhile, was all-consuming. He didn't know either man, but he knew it defied the people they'd been before. That it was new and raw and borne of fear and agony. He wasn't an empathetic creature, but he couldn't help but be cognizant of the ache that had brought them here, to this moment. It felt like they were both gnawing for any excuse to end him, desperate for a salve for their own wounds. He supposed they knew, too, that it'd be a short fix, letting his wolf's blood soak into the dry cornfield. A short relief 'til the next moon.

None of this inspired kindness in Shady; resignation wasn't kindness. 

"I got a cheek left for ya," He told Freddie, then split a blood-slicked grin at him before his eyes cut over his head toward Florian. "I pray it does, an' I pray yer a damn good shot. Now, I reckon you boys oughta git."
Ann
If Freddie's hands shook, he would not allow Shady Rooster to see them. He shoved them deep into his pockets, and took a step backwards - *Not* Because the werewolf had told him to, mind, but only because he desired to return to Florian's side. He'd said his piece. Given the man more than a piece of his mind, but a taste of what might happen if he were to again threaten the safety of anyone Freddie held dear. Next time it would be more than a punch.

It would be a death sentence, in silver-bullet form, and Freddie would not look away as he pulled the trigger. 

But for now, *Git* They would, it seemed, as Florian didn't speak up again, and blood filled the gaps between Shady's teeth. Whether it were the red of a man or the black of a beast, Freddie didn't feel the need to look close enough to tell.

Had they won this fight? Or had all parties lost in their own ways? 
They had learned nothing that they ain't already know. The existence of some book was all well and good if they weren't to be trusted with its whereabouts or contents. 
A waste of damned time, if you asked Freddie. 

Perhaps April Abrams, in her cell, would prove a more fruitful source of information. 

Freddie turned, laid a hand on Freddie's shoulder, and they departed the cornfield without so much as another look in the direction of the monster left behind. 

 ~

||