Thanks For What, Exactly?

WHO: Grayson and Pandect.
WHERE: The woods.
WHEN: Around midday.

Amy had asked him several times if he wanted to spend Thanksgiving with her in her small apartment, but he couldn't even imagine the agony of it. It was clear to him that Amy cared for him in a way that was singularly agonizing in its own way. It was hard to be cared for in such a brief fleeting pure way without the deep needs he had. The need to be loved. Needs which would never be met, so it was best not to think about it. Best not to reach toward those desires, they were sharp as razors and would twist into his hands like burs if he made the mistake of trying to handle them like he did his other thought. Running his hands over lists of repairs and history and how to act, how to turn peoples' eyes away from him.

He was stretched out in the back of his truck alternately debating whether or not he should have brought a bottle of whiskey with him. But he hardly was irresponsible enough to drive drunk, and the last time he tried to fly drunk he crashed into the loft of a barn and broken his arm. Not to mention the awkward religious experience discovering a hungover angel had on the farmer in the morning.

It had been rather awkward.

So in the end good sense prevailed and it was just Pandect and a box of sandwiches.

As a general rule, Grayson didn't buy into the whole Thanksgiving thing, whether it be the extravagance of the meal itself or all the hype of the preparation and the holiday with everything included, people taking time off and rushing around and family buzzing here, there and everywhere. But maybe on some level it was just loneliness and that loneliness warping into cynicism that kept him from enjoying the holiday as others did. Had they celebrated Thanksgiving in his pack? God, he couldn't remember, and that only made his disgruntled dislike for the holiday that much more intense. In fact, such was his dissatisfaction that he left Marquette altogether, or at least the inner hustle and bustle of it, all the cheer and anticipation, up and walking away from it, not wanting any part of it.

It had driven him all the way out of the town proper and into the woods. Having brought an old beaten rucksack with him, he had permitted himself to change, able to carry the weathered bag between his teeth as he loped along, the ground cool and firm beneath his paws and the breeze chilly but not to the wolf into which he had transformed, his thick, full pelt protecting him from the elements. On and on he loped at his own easy, smooth pace, moving in whichever direction he saw fit until something out of the ordinary caught his attention.

There, where it clearly didn't belong, was a truck. A flatbed truck. Grayson stopped in his tracks, bag still clutched between his teeth, and stared incredulously, the animal side of him not trusting the vehicle and its unexpected presence. Around the folds of material clamped in his jaws, he gave a low growl.

Half sitting up Pandect blinked over the side of the truck bed, he had sort of half fallen asleep. A nice slow sort of doziness that was rather enjoyable. But the low growl shook him back to wakefulness. He blinked and sat up straight, reaching for the rifle that wasn't there automatically, that probably wasn't the smartest of things to do considering his track record in the woods. And now this, a large wolf, not that he had anything against normal wildlife. They did their thing and he did his, but this wolf had an aura to it, which he supposed meant that this was a werewolf. (That and the wolf was carrying a bag, which granted he supposed that there was some wolf somewhere that had carried around a bag in its mouth it didn't really seem to be a sort of natural wolf thing to do.)

He relaxed and opened his posture immediately, letting his hands show over the side of the truck. The sudden appearance of an antique truck in the middle of the woods had probably just startled him (or her, he wasn't actually sure seeing as it wasn't exactly polite to check) and that Pandect could understand. The only thing to do seemed to be to wait for the wolf to make his move.

It most certainly was not a normal wolf thing to do, but for convenience's sake on Grayson's part. While he wasn't exactly shy about his body, being a born werewolf and all, it was just downright impractical to change back and be completely without clothing. So he carried a bag, even if it occupied his mouth when he could be defending himself should danger launch out of nowhere. But in those rare cases, he could -- or would, more to the point -- simply drop the bag and turn and fight. Usually he nudged and hid the bag under a tree but out wandering without direction or purpose rather necessitated the carrying of the bag wherever he went.

Bowing his head whilst keeping his eyes on the male, Grayson opened his jaws enough to release the bag and then show his teeth to the man. A man he recognized. Nostrils flaring, he pulled in the woodland air and with it, the man's scent. That told him everything he needed to know, triggered the full, clear memory. Bathory, two men, a broken bottle, tense energy and a near-miss. Then again at the motel. With a snort and a flick of his tail, Grayson hoped to communicate the fact that he recognized the man, lowering his jowls and covering his teeth again.

At this point Pandect's focus was simply being relaxed and nonthreatening, something that a wolf (even a wolfman [or woman]) would appreciate. When the wolf bared his teeth Pandect concentrated on being calm, trying to open his posture. The wolf turned its head slightly and sniffed the air. Apparently Pandect was acceptable. The wolf covered his teeth again and flipped his tail.

That was better than having to try to fly for the motel before the wolf could pounce. It was a large wolf, and it would have been close. The trick was not being too relaxed, that could almost be patronizing, a sort of antagonistic confidence. There was a delicate balance, maintaining the line between respect and being self contained. He shifted so the wolf would be able to see Pandect full across his chest, and both his hands were in sight.

"Hello," he said calmly.

Grayson was indeed a large wolf, thanks in part to his being rather large as a man. He was tall, and that translated nicely to his wolf form. There was no mistaking him for anything other than a wolf, that was for certain. It had helped him to win his title as Alpha back in Denver and ensured he kept it over the time of his reign of leadership. At least until Liam Moller had betrayed them all and brought the hunters down on their heads.

Considering he lacked the right kind of voicebox to communicate, he settled for a low grumbling, a kind of grumpy reminder to this man that wolves could not speak, and as such, conversation would have to wait. Wait for what, exactly? Well, unless he intended to just turn around and lope off into the trees, Grayson would have to change back. But while he wasn't uncomfortable with being seen in his post-transformation state, he still didn't know what to make of this man, and as such, he required some privacy. Summoning his wolfen voice and giving a deep bark that more or less translated to "stay right here", he dipped his head, recovered his bag, and made off to the left where he was soon concealed behind a thick wall of bushes and shrubs. Back there he could change without the man seeing him, recovering his clothing from the rucksack and pulling it all into place before stepping out again, looking for all intents and purposes very much like an ordinary man out for a walk, albeit with a now-empty bag in his hand.

Ah, yes. How very clever of him, wolves weren't really known for their ability to hold complicated discourse. He accepted the grumble in the attitude in which it was given (which mainly seemed to be a reminder that wolves weren't really known for their ability to hold complicated discourse), he would have been annoyed as well. The wolf barked at him in a manner that seemed to carry a surface annoyance at Pandect and perhaps the world in general as well as an order to stay put. It wasn't like Pandect was going anywhere anyway, besides, his limited experiences with werewolves (as well and the human population in general) taught him that a different sort of head space was required. If he let the order annoy him the wolf would no doubt sense it. Pandect let his brain relax into an amiable sort of space.

He blinked at the wolf when he returned, he knew this man, he had seen him at the Motel. And at the bar Rey had coerced him into, the barkeep. Still it got his back up a little to run into someone else he knew again. "Sorry about that. Wolves can't exactly talk. How do you do?" he tried to stay calm and relaxed.

Werewolves and lycanthropes as a whole in fact generally were a very perceptive species. They had their animal sides to thank for that, they could read energies and body language that much more efficiently than humans and a good deal of other supernaturals, and as such, relied a great deal on them. Grayson was perhaps that little bit more adept than most because of the time he had spent in a seat of leadership, just how often and intensely he had needed to read those around him in order to be not only a good leader, but the best he could be for his pack.

"Oh we can talk," Grayson correctly smoothly, "it's just that most people can't understand us." There was something about the other man's energy that was strained, like there was an effort behind his outward appearance. Nervous? Maybe. "I didn't expect to run into a truck out here in the middle of nowhere."

Scratching gently at the back of his head (a tell he developed, he didn't really have that many tells as easy as scratching at the back of his head, although his eyebrows tended to somewhat give him away if he didn't keep them on a tight leash) "Sorry to startle you, I just needed to get away for a little bit." He opened his posture again, the same way he would if a wild dog had come up to him on the street. Not that a dog and a wolf were quite the same thing, it was like the difference in being domesticated and living in a house. He almost added, 'Its Thanksgiving,' but that was a bit of a non sequitor. Pandect wondered why the man- the wolf- the wolfman wasn't with his pack. From what he understood pack was very much like family. Probably wouldn't be the best idea to ask about it though. He'd learned that himself the years before finally accepting the fact no one was looking for him.

"I hope I'm not trespassing or anything, I just found a place I could camp out at, but I don't mind moving."

Trespassing? That made it sound like the woods were Grayson's territory, and while the wolf in him would love nothing more than to call all of it his, he couldn't make such a claim, not without aggravating or antagonizing other lycanthropes in the area. Loners or small ragtag packs of one persuasion or another. Grayson simply kept his eyes on the man, one brow raised. "You might be trespassing, but if you are I wouldn't know about it." That was his way of telling the man what had just gone through his brain. "Strange place to spend Thanksgiving though."

Pandect tilted his head at that, if it wasn't the wolf's territory he wasn't going to split hairs about it. "I had to spend it somewhere," Pandect said with a half shrug, "pretty much everything is closed." (Not that he'd really want to go anywhere for this self same reason, people politely asking what his plans were, when they were actually limited to A) not getting drunk, and B) not to think about the implication of a family holiday when he had no family.)

It was a bit of a surprise that the wolf hadn't had a claim to the land. He moved as though he was used to being in front, being in charge. Being, what was the phrase?, alpha, but he was without a pack it seemed, at least right now. Not that Pandect was any expert on werewolf relations. "We met before at that bar, right?"

Honestly Grayson hadn't been in Marquette long enough to lay down any kind of claim on anything larger than his own shoddy apartment. Maybe in time, if he stuck around and didn't move along to find his enemy, he would make such a claim, but not now. Not yet. "I remember." It was spoken matter-of-factly. "Your friend wasn't exactly being agreeable, from what I can recall." It was the other man who had been the aggressor, Grayson remembered, but he hadn't seen and heard everything.

Making a face Pandect shook his head, "He's not a friend, just an old acquaintance making sure I remembered him I suppose." He extended one narrow hand toward Grayson and tilted his head at what he hoped was an agreeable angle, not quite enough to be showing his throat (he wasn't going to show his throat to a stranger, even one he had meet before) but enough to seem loose. He didn't know anything about this man except what he could gather from the man's posture, and he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. But even the man's posture may not be enough, he knew from his own experience that one's habit often extended beyond one's circumstance. Still though, the man carried himself like he was used to being in charge, at this point it would probably be best to act like he accepted the authority. At least respected it. "My name is Pandect. Nice to meet you. Officially that is."

Shaking hands wasn't really Grayson's custom of choice but he knew others appreciated it, and as such, he was only still for several moments before he closed the distance and took the other man's hand in a greeting. The shake didn't last long; despite getting the distinct sense that this man meant no harm, Grayson just wasn't a hand-shaker. Pandect was a strange name, but then, this individual was obviously a supernatural. It was often one of those things that just came with the territory. "Grayson," he returned, trying his best to seem less abrasive.

When Grayson paused to shake Pandect's hand he thought he had misstepped somehow, but the handshake itself calmed him a little. It was short and perfunctory, what he would expect from the cues he had already picked up from Grayson, and the man really did seem to try and be a little less aggressive. That was a good sign, Pandect had spent most of his life on the road reading people, trying to get their eyes to shunt past him, being as invisible and useful as a wrench or a toaster. Someone who was only seen as far as he needed to be to survive. He suposed it was a good skill to have developed for dealing with werewolves, esspecially one who seemed so used to being in charge. It gave him something to work with.

Besides after his talk with Doc he wasn't going to be afraid any more, it put him at a disadvantage. "Would you like a sandwich?" he offered, openning the top of his haversack and letting Grayson look at the plastic bagged sandwiches inside. Offering food was a sign of friendship and hospitality the world over, people were practically born with the inclination. It seemed like a good start. "I didn't know how long I'd be out so there's nothing that can spoil."

Thankfully Pandect was doing a good enough job of acting open and more or less submissive -- or as submissive as anyone not a werewolf could act -- that Grayson, along with the wolf inside of him, felt no need to act aggressive or dominant. There were no signs of anticipation or building energy in the other man which told the werewolf that there was no trick at play here. Pandect meant no harm. The offer of the sandwiches reminded both sides of him that he still needed to make himself some dinner later. Thankfully he'd known how to cook for years; what kind of Alpha would he have been if he couldn't even take care of the little things in the kitchen? "Not right now, thanks." He wasn't being rude, he just wasn't much of a sandwich guy if he could help it.

Shrugging Pandect wished he knew more about wolf etiquette, he had been sleeping for a while (well napping really) and a sandwich would actually be nice, but he wasn't sure if it was good manners to eat in front of someone else. "Later then," he tried to joke, even if his sense of humor was somewhat, as Amy said, 'lame.' "I suppose its only polite for me to ask what you're doing out here on Thanksgiving as well, and not somewhere enjoying yourself with your pack," it was easy to be relaxed now that he had a read on the man (well, not a real read, not the sort that would tell him what was on the man's mind, but the sort that gave him bigger vaguer, more useful direction) he knew how to act. He was large, gruff and businesslike, not surprising for a man who seemed to be used to being in charge. Knowing how he should act to keep the metaphorical peace actually gave Pandect a lot of peace. The man was stable, seemed to have a sense of who he was and people like that didn't hie off in odd directions and act in harebrained ways. As long as Pandect offend some wolf (wolfish? wolfen? wolfy?) custom which demanded his immediate eating or something of the sort. And the more relaxed Pandect became the more real his submission appeared.

The idea that someone thought he was submissive didn't really bother him the way some people (Rey to name one) thought it should. It was just another face, and it didn't hurt his pride any. He had spent so long with his shoulders up, being invisible, slipping out of sight in the corners of people eyes that a little throat showing meant nothing to him.

Pandect wasn't a wolf and wasn't a pack wolf under Grayson so he could eat as and when he liked. In a pack, it was generally frowned upon to eat if the Alpha wasn't, and it was a definite 'no-no' to eat before the Alpha. Alphas ate first, without exception. But right now, with this stranger -- they might have met once before and passed one another at the Lamplighter motel a time after that but they were still strangers -- it didn't make the slightest bit of difference.

What did matter was the mention of pack. Blue eyes shot through vividly with gold before Grayson could catch himself and his expression, that nonchalant mask, slipped just slightly. Grayson was a wolf without a pack, a wolf who had his pack destroyed, and all because of one terrible mistake on his part. It was something of a sore subject. "Not all wolves have pack."

Pandect knew that look. Without the gold. And the scary face. He made a conscious effort to relax, to be friendly. He wasn't completely sure how one made new friends, how one made any type of friend, but he was willing to try. His own experience taught him not to ask, not yet anyway. If someone's first question once meeting him (granted his first line of questioning with Grayson was more along the lines of offering him a sandwich, but he trusted his point was well made) was about how he caused the death of his brother through his irresponsibility and inattentiveness he would likely become rather resistance to any further contact. "Hmm," he said noncommittally, because this was usually the part of a conversation where he snuck away and he didn't have much experience with anything else to say, and 'Ah' sounded kind of patronizing in his head. He had been on Grayson's side of the equation and knew nothing really made it better. Not words anyway. Not any that Pandect knew how to use.

As much as he was over Kelsey's death, healed to it somewhat, the place inside him where Kelsey had space was still a little sore and concave, like the space a missing tooth used to be; and all the new age mumbo jumbo about always having him in spirit wasn't any comfort. The only comfort was letting go of anger and letting sediment fill in the crater, it was hard and painful and necessary. He leaned back feeling a little sundrunk and sad and closed his eyes for a brief second. "You can come jump in the back of the truck if you want, room enough for two. Perfect sized for people with no one but themselves."

Nothing made it better for a werewolf, that much could certainly be said. They were pack animals and thrived on that social interaction and structure. Without it, they... changed. That was just one small part of what really hurt Grayson, knowing that if he didn't find something to replace the family he'd lost so chaotically, then he might lose himself. But replacing them all just seemed so heartless, especially when he could see so many of their faces if he closed his eyes and concentrated. "That's okay," Grayson replied levelly. "I'm good right where I am."

Nodding, Pandect resettled his back against the hard rear window, he got that. "I think this is the part where we try and make conversation. I'm afraid I'm not that good at people so my attempts may be somewhat stunted. I don't suppose you'd mind if I asked you to take the lead."

It might help them, he didn't know... maybe bond or something. He hadn't really tried to do anything of the sort since he was still living in France, the best thing he could do was to do what he knew. Be amiable. Be honest.

Take the lead? Grayson might have been a dominant wolf accustomed to being in charge -- something Pandect seemed to have picked up on, to his credit -- but that didn't mean he was the best conversationalist in the world. He never had been, and knew he never would be, either. "I'm not too good with people either," he admitted, seeing no shame in doing so. "What exactly are two strangers supposed to talk about the first time they meet in the middle of the woods hiding out from a public holiday?"

Pandect thought about it, bringing up his bootheels closer to his body, even though he had a blanket down on the truckbed, moving from the space he had already warmed up to cold was disconcerning. "I'm not completely sure. I think normal people talk about sports or about something they read or stupid things they did when they were younger. I have a feeling we're not quite normal people though," he tilted his head a little to wait for Grayson to respond.