Raegan Northland

Blue Ridge Clan

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Raegan wrinkled her nose at the idea of Axl saying... anything to her family. If they found him here, they’d kill him. Instantly. She wouldn’t even get the chance to hold them off, and he definitely wouldn’t get the chance to think of any ‘creative’ curses. The most he’d manage was a startled yelp before her mother launched herself at him like a homing missile.

“Hm... I don’t think you’d get very far,” she mused, tilting her head as if considering his chances like some kind of sport analyst. “I can only hold them off for so long, and by ‘so long,’ I mean exactly 0.2 seconds. You may need to fend for yourself. Or, you know, make a mad dash for the back door. It’s always open for emergency getaways and pizza deliveries.” She tapped her chin. “Though, my mother isn’t a fan of cursing, directed at her or not. I think she might actually spank you first, then decide how to dispose of the remains.”

They’d still get to him one way or another. And once they were done rearranging his skeleton, they’d move onto her for bringing the young Jager into their home like it was some kind of charity event. How would she even explain it? ‘Oh, yeah, the guy who tried to kill me, landed me on a ventilator for six months, took my voice, and all my remaining ego? Yeah, I let him in for shits and giggles. Thought it’d be a good time.’

Honestly... that wasn’t far from the truth. She did let him in for shits and giggles, and she did think they’d have a good time, but it was more than that. She was trying to claw back something she thought she’d lost for good. When she was with him, she felt like that same dumb teen who made bad choices and laughed about them later. Not all the time, of course—sometimes she’d catch a glimpse of him in dim lighting or mid-dramatic expression and bam—there was that same haunted look from that night. She still didn’t understand why she hadn’t asked more questions. Why she wasn’t locked up at home like she should have been. Why she ran towards danger like an idiot when she should’ve known better.

But now? Looking at Axl, sitting in that unicorn suit, she knew she didn’t have to worry. He wouldn’t lay a finger on her. If she actually thought he was a threat, he wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t have given him her address, even if he probably already knew it. She was done looking at him like a monster. She wanted to see him as something else now—an ally, maybe even a friend. And sure, that was going to be an Olympic-level challenge, but screw it, she was willing to try.

Realizing she’d been staring into the abyss of her thoughts too long, she grabbed the empty pizza box and her plate, setting them aside before pouring herself a drink—her usual Vodka Coke, because, well, she was thinking too much, and thinking too much was dangerous.

At Axl’s joke, she snorted mid-sip, nearly choking. She turned to him with a raised brow, perching on the counter. “Oh, I’ve done it before! Well... mostly fingers. I’ve stitched fingers back on before.” She wrinkled her nose, thoughtful. “It’s shockingly easy to lose a limb. Less easy to reattach one, unfortunately. If it were, I’d have a hell of a lot more patients walking around in one piece.”

She gave a dramatic sigh, then waved a hand. She hadn't read that shit since her early highschook days. “Frankenstein? Pffft. Okay, so basically, this dude Victor got a little too ambitious with his arts and crafts, went full mad scientist, and played Build-A-Bear—except with human body parts. He stitched together a sad little corpse quilt, zapped it with lightning, and boom—instant regret. The poor monster wakes up, gets treated like a walking crime scene, and—shocker—develops some abandonment issues. So, naturally, he copes by going on a murder spree. Classic." She then wrinkled her nose, clarifying. "Yes, I do remember how Frankensteins Monster ended." She tilted her head, frowning slightly. "And yeah, I think there were dead dogs in there somewhere? I remember crying about that part. Honestly, the real horror story is whatever Victor thought he was doing. Like, dude, why?"

Grinning, she glanced down at her phone, tapping a few buttons before a soft whirring sound came from the tiny printer perched on her shelf. A moment later, a freshly printed photo slid out, and she snatched it up like it was a prized artifact. Holding it up proudly, she beamed. “It’s not a bad thing to be remembered as, you know. I personally think this is a masterpiece.” She plopped the tiny photo in front of him, eyes practically glowing. “Behold! The majestic Axlcorn, devouring pizza in its natural habitat.”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of Deadpool, and she found herself grinning in return. Ah, yes, the pure and simple joy of hyper-violent, fourth-wall-breaking cinema. Truly, one of the best things to ever grace this rock they called home.

“Probably,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because the movies started coming out right after we stopped talking? Duh.” She huffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The first one was gold. The second? Chef’s kiss. The third?” She sighed dramatically. “Too PG for Deadpool. Marvel just had to ruin the fun.”

She watched him eye the last slice of pizza like it was either going to kill him or turn him into a god, then grinned. “If you can’t walk by the end of the night, you can crash on the couch,” she offered sweetly, knowing full well that was code for ‘keep eating, I dare you.’ She bought food like she was feeding a starving army because, well, she kind of was. If you didn’t leave movie night feeling like you were about to explode, you were doing it wrong.

When he boasted about not dropping a single speck of grease, she gave him a slow, sarcastic clap. “Look at you go! It’s almost like you’re a fully functioning adult! Who would’ve guessed?” She handed him a paper towel with a smirk, pointing at his chin.

She groaned as he refused to pick a movie. “And all of those were great suggestions,” she huffed, standing up and grabbing his sad, floppy unicorn ear to drag him toward the couch. She grabbed the remote, plopped down with her drink, and started flipping through options. “Alright, here’s the deal. We can watch IT...” she paused, peeking at him for a reaction. “I’ve never seen Lethal Weapon, so that could be fun.” She flicked through more titles. “Aaaannd if we don’t pass out, we can watch Deadpool—because clearly, you need a refresher.”

She cocked her head, waiting for approval, then grinned. “Unless, of course, you fall into a pizza coma first.”

Axl Jager

King Clan

+++

He knew that he'd be dead before he had a chance to say anything- or run- but whatever. Although he didn't exactly want to be torn to pieces, and he would be slightly opposed to it, he kind of deserved it. No, he DID deserve it. Period. So he couldn't get too mad. Honestly, if her family did show up, he'd probably just sit there with a sigh and let them drag out the torture.

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"I agree." He mused, then arched a brow. "Yeah, no. I have no right to defend myself at that point." He snorted. He was in someone else's home and he had hurt their daughter- he was surprised they hadn't found him earlier and turned him into confetti. "My mad dash ain't gonna be that fast after all this pizza." He wrinkled his nose. "Oh, well that's Reassuring. I get a beating before dying. Thanks." He stated sarcastically, deciding to revert to keeping his mouth shut.

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He also knew that him getting caught would be detrimental for her, so he couldn't let that happen. After he was hung over the town like a trophy, they would turn their fury to him. He didn't want that to happen. If he needed, he'd protect her by leaving. He, of all people, knew that sometimes the best thing for the people you cared about was not the thing they liked. Not that he had to deal with it much, since by the time he had matured at all, his real family was a bunch o' crispy potater tots. Although he missed his parents, the only sorrow he felt now was for Sierra. Because of him, she didn't get to live a life. She hadn't felt the joy of gunning a snowmobile down a lake, wind whipping at her clothing, nor had she been able to get her own home and feel proud for accomplishing so much. She was the real reason he was doing this. Of course, he hated Konig for killing his mom, and all that, but at least they had lived, laughed, and loved. Sierra got none of that.

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Axl glanced at her while she was silent, familiar with the zoned out look in her bright blue eyes. He had always found her eyes fascinating- they were so bright, yet they had darker flecks of blue scattered throughout, and the black ring around her iris. Nevermind the fact they usually glowed and twinkled with a happy light. He grinned slightly as she almost choked on her drink, looking thoroughly amused. "Yeah, fingers won't even begin to cover it." He was pretty sure his fingers would be in pieces, too. Not even Victor could sew him back together after her family was done. "So I've heard. I know quite a few people missing fingers." He had long since decided that the pinkie would be the best finger to lose, but it wasn't like you could chose. "I can imagine." Reattatching limbs sounded like something that shouldn't be easy. If you were stupid enough to lose one... suck it up and live with your mistake. Be more careful.

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"Don't forget the went crazy and locked himself in a lab for months at a time." He offered with a tilted smile. "I always felt bad for the monster. I would be lonely, too." He mused, chuckling quietly at her question about what the guy thought he was doing. "Makes me wonder how authors think some of these things up." What's worse is when you read a horror story, then in the back it says based off of a true story? Yeah, no. He did remember being 8 years old or so and his mom was reading The Exorcist- he remembered her telling Otto that it was so scary she couldn't finish it. She threw it into the river. With that in mind, little evil Axl had pilfered another copy, ran it under the kitchen sink to make it wet, then put it on her nightstand. The scream was so loud his maniacal giggles and laughs were drowned out.

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His gaze flitted over to what he decided was a printer after a moment. His eyebrows drew together and he glanced at the picture before gagging. "No, I'm dying. Help." He flopped back dramatically, head lolling. "Axlcorn? I'm scared. Truly terrified." A shudder ran through him as the picture engraved itself very firmly in his mind. VERY firmly. It wasn't leaving any time soon.

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"...trueeee..." He wrinkled his nose, squinting his eyes off into the distance. Oh yeah. The movies had come out right after they stopped talking. How bout that. He never remember when movies came out- though he did distinctly remember the movie coming out and not watching it because he was depressed. (I cannot believe it came out in 2016. I feel so old- that movie is so NEW xD) "they kinda butchered the third. But still, it broke the record with the staggering amount of F-Bombs." He snorted. "Makes me wonder how people watch this with their children." Honestly, the whole suicide I don't give a shit about anything problem didn't help either. Still, it was a HILARIOUS movie that deserved fans.

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He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a moment at her faux sweet tone. "I will be able to walk, thank you very much. Drive is a different story. I might be pushing the bike home." He snorted. And that would suck- the things tires did not turn easily. He would be getting home one way or another. Maybe not tonight, but if he walked, definitely by the morning. Unless he fell asleep on the side of the road. That could happen.

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"I'm not a fully functioning adult, though. I'm obviously a 14 year old trapped in a 20 something year Olds body." He sniffed. He didn't even want to think about how old he was. He may have forgotten. 20... uh... 6? That didn't seem right. His expression crumpled as she handed him a paper towel. He took it and irradiated all pizza grease from his face.

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"Hey- wait a minute, I'm coming-" He complained standing quickly as to not have the hood pulled over his head again. "You could've just got up and walked to the couch and I would've followed." He huffed, sitting down on the other side of the couch with sufficient room between them. He was going to mentally be thankful it was a three person couch, or he'd be sitting way off to the side in a chair or on the floor. Honestly, the floor would probably be more comfortable. "You've never seen Lethal Weapon? You've NEVER seen LETHAL WEAPON?!" His jaw dropped open. "Stop, stop. We're watching that. You can pick something afterward, but we're watching that." Axl stated firmly. No room for argument there. "It's hilarious. Maybe not Deadpool rating, but really close." He nodded slowly at her suggestion, then threw her an offended glance. "I do NOT need a refresher- I know every word of that movie- but I wouldn't mind watching it again. If I'm conscious, as you said." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm hoping for no pizza Coma. Cross your fingers."

Raegan nodded sagely, lips pursed in agreement. There was no reasoning with people who had already made up their minds, especially not when those people were large, angry werewolves who happened to be related to the very nice young woman you once attempted to murder. There wasn’t exactly a compelling defense for slitting someone's throat, no matter how you spun it.

“Nope, you don’t,” she mused, glancing at him with a smirk. His defense would only worsen if she so much as opened her mouth in his favor. Her family would immediately assume she was under duress, drugged, or suffering from a severe head injury. And honestly? That wasn’t even the most outlandish assumption they could make.

A slow grin tugged at her lips when he mentioned running for his life. Oh, there’d be madness, alright. But dashing? Unlikely. Not after he’d just inhaled half a pizza, and certainly not after she was done forcing the rest of the food on the table into him. If anything, he’d be rolling out of here, not running.

“At least you get a telling-off before you go,” she quipped, tapping her chin in mock thought. “A real proper one, too. The kind that’s so severe you won’t even be cursing in whatever hellscape you end up in.” She snickered. Her mother could scold the sin out of a grown man in under three minutes, and Axl? Well, he’d be easy pickings. Raegan, on the other hand, had mastered the fine art of cursing exclusively outside the presence of Mother Northland. Friends, colleagues, unruly clients—sure. But her mother? No. That woman had a way of making you regret your choices in a way that lingered for years.

And if Axl did get himself caught, hanged, drawn, and quartered— Quick History lesson: you know, they used to do it in that order: first, they’d hang you, but not enough to kill you, just enough to be extra mean about it. Then they’d drag you through the streets so everyone could get a nice look at your suffering before finally—bam! Quartered. Four pieces. Like a really macabre pizza.

—then, somehow, the blame would probably land on her. What do you mean she was responsible for the tragic, gruesome demise of America’s youngest future billionaire? That wasn’t a headline she wanted to deal with. If that happened, Konig would personally see to it that both she and her entire family had a very unfortunate accident. If Axl insisted on making these visits a regular thing, she might actually have to tell someone. Just drop a casual. 'Hey, so, remember that guy I used to know? Turns out he's sorry for TRYING TO KILL ME. Oops.' Preferably before her family decided to handle the situation in their own, very final way.

She clicked her tongue. “Yep, fingers.” She had dealt with more detached fingers than she cared to count. It was disturbingly common in the hospital. Some people were lucky enough to have good friends who picked up their severed digits and rushed them in, allowing doctors to reattach them in time. Others? Not so much. There was a concerning number of people who, upon losing a finger, chose to sit around and ponder their life choices instead of immediately heading to the hospital. Like, what are you doing? Why is your first instinct not ‘Let me go fix this’? People are dumb as hell.

Now, stitching arms and legs back on? That was a bit trickier. Sure, if all the important nerves and stuff were intact, it was technically possible. She had once read about an attempted murder case where a woman’s throat had been cut so deeply that her head was almost entirely detached. And you know what she did? Held her own head on until help arrived. “Survival instincts go crazy when they need to,” Raegan noted, shaking her head.

She huffed at his Frankenstein remark. “Oh, please. Victor didn’t fix anything. He made it worse. Guy needed serious therapy before he started messing with corpses.” She smirked. “Me? I just put thumbs back on morons who yank their hands the wrong way and pop ‘em clean off.” People seriously underestimated how much they needed their thumbs. Until they lost one, of course. Then suddenly, it was the end of the world.

When he grimaced at the photo, she frowned and glanced down at it. “I like it. You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” She snatched a fridge magnet—one of many, many ugly ones—and slapped the picture onto the fridge. He could glare all he wanted. She found it objectively hilarious. The broody, tragic werewolf billionaire eating pizza in a unicorn onesie? Priceless.

“Oh, nononono, I liked the third one,” she admitted. “Just…not what I expected. It kinda felt like Marvel was holding up a ‘Please Give Us Money’ sign.” Raegan tilted her head, grinning at a particularly amusing memory. “I watched the third one with my mom in the theater. Never seen that woman look so—” she waved her hand vaguely “—appalled in my entire life.”

Her amusement faded slightly when Axl joked about walking home. She narrowed her eyes. “Walk? Home?” she echoed. “Oh, absolutely not. I’m not letting you push that thing around in the dark while you’re full of food and regret.” If necessary, she’d steal her brother’s car and personally drive him home. He could collect his bike when he was no longer in danger of toppling over like an overfed cow.

She watched him for a moment, then suddenly gasped, her hand landing on her chest as though she’d made a shocking revelation. “Axl,” she breathed dramatically, “you are closer to thirty than you are to twenty. It’s time to get your shit together.”

Which, granted, applied to her too. She was far too old to be hosting movie nights that could feed half the state’s homeless population. Oh well.

Flopping onto the couch, she wrapped herself in an unreasonably thick blanket, pulling her legs up to get comfortable. “I could have let go, but your ear was just so grab-able,” she teased, rolling her eyes as she turned her attention to the TV. She made a conscious effort to keep a reasonable distance between them—partly because she was about to turn the lights down, and the last thing she needed was him breathing down her neck. Just the thought made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t appreciate. No, tonight was about relaxing. Not triggering some inconvenient mental breakdown.

She looked a little surprised at his upset about Lethal Weapon, then let out a chuckle, shaking her head. "Nu-uh. Never seen it." Her brows pinched together in exaggerated confusion, and a slow grin spread across her face—one of those grins people when they were trying to keep a secret. With an affirming nod, she grabbed the remote, scanning through the options. "Is it really that good?" she mused with a teasing lilt. When she finally found it, she shot him a smug look. "See! I made you make a choice! Took the long road, but we got there. Are we watching the old one or the 2016 one?"