CHPT 12: Collision of Personas…..

Intensity. It rocked and swayed about the interior of the vet clinic like the tides of an ocean in the midst of a hurricane. Opposing forces— dominating natures, clashed like warriors on a battlefield.

A battlefield full of cuddly cats and sleeping puppies. They did nothing to ease the tensions that ran like a cord of lightning between Scott and Marco.

The two had said little more other than their names since Scott had entered the room. Since he had entered Marco's space.

All Shifters knew to respect boundaries. It was life or death in some pack territories— in most actually. But here in Beacon Hills, Marco was learning things were a little different.

Very different to be quite honest. The Werewolves of the north he heard so much about skittered in the night in droves here, but they lacked…..everything. And even so.

Scott had become somewhat interesting.

He held Marco's gaze unflinchingly. That same look of fearlessness lined his crooked jaw, setting it in stone in Marco's mind as they continued to look knives into each-other.

A welcome change to the horrified timid nature people usually held around him. Almost like he was back home for a moment. But towards the end, it had become a rarity at home as well.

"Why?" Scott said.

"Why what?" Marco replied accordingly.

"Why did you choose to work here?"

Marco looked at him differently from before, making sure the young Werewolf could see the cats slouched over his massive shoulders and neck while he let another rub against his stomach as it prowled across the operating table.

Marco couldn't help but notice one thing in that moment.

Scott was an idiot.

"Are you really asking me that?….really?"

Scott opened his mouth to reply defensively only to make no sound. He took a breath and leaned against the desk behind him that bordered the room, topped by supply cupboards. In one fluid motion he crossed his arms and restarted their game of predatory gazes.

"So….you like cats then…?"

"I like what likes me." Marco said, his otherworldly accent making the words

sound like an oddly translated quote.

Scott waved away the stray cat in the doorway that hissed at him as he spoke once more, "…..and do they like you because of your eyes….or do you have tuna in your pockets?"

Marco looked up from his field of felines and scented the air around Scott, he could still smell the battle the wolf and coyote endured only hours before on the werewolf's recently healed skin. Another reason the two had grown interesting. His eyes responded, slimming to sliver-thin slits wrapped in pools of gold.

"What do you think, Scott?"

Scott's eyes responded, shimmering gold in return, "I think I've seen too much to comprehend in the past week and you being my coworker is the very opposite of icing on the cake."

"Mhm." Marco shrugged, seemingly more interested in removing the gunk from one of the cats eyes that sat in front of him.

Scott was silent for a moment— a look of discomfort on his face.

"So…..Stiles was right then." He whispered.

Marco didn't feel like entertaining Scott's advances at the moment. He'd just learned to teach one of the cats how to play fetch. A young jet black Bombay Cat. It's fur shimmered under the industrial ceiling lights as it raced across the room to retrieve the thrown yarn. Graced lined its movements in ways he couldn't describe.

Scott pressed anyway, uncaring of Marco and his cat-whispering abilities that seemed to support some thesis made by Stiles after their first meeting.

"You're...you're a Were….

Were…..cat."

Marco froze. Letting the silence settle in for a moment.

When he finally regained movement, he stood up straight, nearly ripping his shirt with the flexion of his muscles. When he aimed his eyes at Scott, all the cats and puppies in the room followed suit, watching him with matching gazes of…..disappointment.

"There is literally no such thing….."

Scott set his eyebrows deep with determination, "WerePanther."

Marco continued to work with the cats, "Is that because I'm black?"

Scott's cheeks reddened faintly, "Wha— no!"

"Wow….that does work here." He whispered to himself in shock. "On a real note, they went extinct centuries before our time. Their cousin race was much more adept at survival with their Berserker Queens and such…"

Scott looked ready to faint, "I- is that real?"

Marco shrugged, "Who knows what truly is real in this world other than blood, bone and the floors we walk upon.."

"Man wha—"

Before Scott could finish speaking or trying to wrap his young mind around Marco's mind bending tongue, something flashed across their vision, smashing into the doorway and gaining a bothered hiss out of the cats.

"I heard WerePanther and Berserker…..DnD has educated me on these topics more than you know…." Stiles forced out in heavy breaths, uncaring of the social tensions snapping about inside the room.

"Impressive speed…." Marco couldn't help but notice. Once again he got that feeling. Scott didn't have an immense physical stature like Marco, but the young WereWolf had a strength. A dull flame within.

But Stiles. Stiles seemed to be laced with lightning.

"What..? Oh— hi, Marco— do you work here now? Scott's in need of help— he's late to everyth— we're late to everything...I may have taken some adderall from Deatons closet…..I may have taken a lot actually— holy hell, are you guys spinning?." He mumbled all the way to his admission of guilt before he ran a slim fingered hand over his buzzed head.

"I think you're school buddy is an addict." Marco mumbled.

Following his words, Deaton rushed into the room, his white lab coat fluttering behind him like a warriors cloak full of color coded pens and ID cards. Sweat lined his almond-skinned forehead as if he'd been chasing something.

"Stiles, you and Scott both need to be taking it easy. Especially until I'm able to understand your circumstances. "

Marco sat through the conversation as if they weren't there with him and his adolescent creatures tamed by man.

He planned to stay that way until he felt Deatons eyes on him. "So, how do you like your coworker?"

Such a fitting question to ask after hearing two inexperienced sixteen year old shapeshifters rave about WereDragons, Full Moons and perscription drugs.

Modern society was nauseating.

"I'd like for him and his living battery to leave...like now. They're disturbing the peace."

"Oh really? We're disturbing the peace? Not the massive sophomore from Africa with cat eyes and a guitar case as big as most students?…..man this room is still spinning." Stiles retorted.

Marco stared thunderbolts into the two canine shifters. Deaton laughed as he shook his head.

"Youth never drowns. Even in strife as deep as a dozen oceans." Deaton said with a faraway look in his eyes.

"I don't like when you get philosophical." Marco stated flatly as the cats began to purr in unison around him.

"Direct and brutish thinkers tend to feel that way…"

"Wait— you guys have spoken before? Hold on, Deaton— you know what he is? How long have you two been in contact?"

Deaton smiled before shrugging and checking his watch. "There's much you don't know. Very much…..like the fact that you're all late for school. I don't know if you've forgotten but it's surely not the weekend."

Scott's insides shrunk, "Dammit….if I miss another class my moms going to skin me."

"I'll probably just get shot in the face." Stiles commented, slowly beginning to look like his recently made serious and anxious self. It seemed the reality of everything was slowly returning.

"School is everyday?" Marco mumbled.

"What are you from Mars?"

"Fuck off." Marco growled as they all began clearing the room to get to Beacon Hills High. Their very own adolescent danger zone.

A danger zone indeed…