well behaved women

OMG she is so pretty.

Alice Greczyn, playing Helena Maddox in the theater of my head. I've been struggling to buckle down to my of_ficathon request, which boils down to 'no slash, werewolf involved love triangle.' I wrote the first part a while ago, and then left it to gather dust, but the realization that I have to finish it up before I let myself work on the 'stuffed animals vs vampire' story has put the spurs to me.

ETA: I've got a title! artillie: Bite at the Moon

First draft presents this: werewolf girl with robin for pet, who lives sometimes at her wolf Uncle's home and sometimes with a pair of human parents. She's decided that she needs to attend high school, laboring under the mistaken assumption that high school is a worthy learning environment and also that her Uncle will hesitate to bend laws for her comfort. No, she's going to go down there, absorb useful book smarts, and most of all not eat anyone.

She's grown out of chewing on anything that looks interesting. Mostly.

When she was seven years old, Helena found an injured bird in the backyard.

She'd picked it up, cradling it in her hands, and run inside to her foster mother. Her mother had clucked and cooed and taken the bird away, ordering her to wash her hands thoroughly and dumping out the scattered remains of pellets in their birdcage. “Otherwise the cats'll get her,” the woman sighed. Later, Helena would learn this was not advisable; at the moment, she had been puzzled. She'd wanted to eat the bird, but feathers and beak wouldn't go down well gulped in a human body, and Uncle told her not to shed skin when she was with her foster family.

She gathered fairly quickly she was not allowed to eat it.

During the hot, lazy days, Helena began to spend a good amount of time around the bird, as the cage was positioned directly under the fan. He never quite got around to liking her, but eventually he tolerated her presence without a flurry of indignant cheeping and she began to like the way he cocked his head at her, one bright black eye fixed on her movements. As though warning her; I know what you're up to, miss, don't think that I don't. He made her laugh.

Her uncle, when appraised of the situation by her foster mother during their monthly call, got on the phone with her real quick. Mrs. Larsen viewed it as cute, an amusing anecdote, an unexpected success at dealing with her hyperactive charge. He had a somewhat more realistic view.

“Helena,” he said patiently once he was on the phone with her. “Is he your friend?”

“Dunno,” she said happily. She liked talking to her uncle. “He doesn't like me much, I think. Always fluffy when I visit.”

“Do you want to eat him?” He asked.

She considered this for a moment. “I don't think so,” she said. “Not much anyway.”

“Then either you've grown out of this phase of wanting to chew on whatever you see, or he's your friend,” her Uncle concluded. “I'm guessing on the latter. I'm glad you have a friend, Helena. Don't growl at him. They don't take kindly to it.”

“Wouldn't!” She said, wounded. The one time she had to say hello the bird had gone frenzied and she'd spent the rest of the afternoon sulking behind the couch.

Her Uncle sighed. “Behave yourself, pup,” he said.

He was getting off the phone! She whispered it, so Mrs. Larsen wouldn't be hurt. “I want to come home.”

“I know you do,” he said patiently. “But you have to learn, Helena. You have to know about things outside of the mountains. I want you to be comfortable there. Eventually you'll need to be.”

She'd learned early on that tantrums only made Mrs. Larsen decide participating in the monthly calls were too stressful for her. She'd never actually missed a call--the temper had receded into pleading and apologies long before she was given the chance to carry out the threat--but Helena wasn't risking it. She chewed on the denial for a bit, her Uncle patiently waiting.

“I miss you,” she said finally, mumbling it under her breath. She was a little afraid to say it, but she hugely hugely wanted to hear him say it, and she hoped he would.

“I miss you too,” he said, and her eyes stung with tears. He made a low whuff under his breath, affectionate. She whined, a sad sound, and tucked her feet under her. The bird eyed her warily. “You'll come home soon,” he said. “Without you, the den is empty.”

She mumbled goodbye before she could wail to come home and hung up. The bird, feathers fluffed, was at the other edge of the cage. “What are you lookin' at?” Helena said to him, just to feel better, and then trotted off to go hunt mice in the attic.




The day before she left to go back home, the bird consented to hop onto her fingers and preen, grooming his wings fastidiously. Helena held her breath until she was dizzy, giddily delighted with this small triumph. “I love you,” she vowed to him, because saying that to a bird was harmless and also true.

The first time she ever saw her uncle look perturbed was when she climbed out of the car with the birdcage in her arms. “Helena...”

“I said I wouldn't eat him,” she said. “And I didn't. And now I like him.”

Her uncle looked faintly amused. When he reached out a hand to the birdcage the bird reacted as he had to Helena’s first overtures. Her uncle politely retracted the hand. “You'd better take him inside. I’ll make sure your cousins know he isn't to be touched.”

“I could!” She protested, following him up the steps.

“When you beat them up they're only more eager,” he replied, and there was definitely amusement in his voice now. “Have you named him?”

“No,” she said dubiously, looking down at the little bird. “I could call him Bird.” He held the door open for her. “Or Squeaky.”

“Mmm,” her uncle said noncommittally.

“I’ll call him Herakles,” she decided as they climbed the stairs to her room. “He’s very brave.”

“The classics. I approve.”

She set the birdcage carefully on her bedside table as her uncle knelt, and then whirled and flung herself into his arms, holding on for all she was worth and his arms folded around her with breath stealing force. He drew in a deep breath of her scent and his voice vibrated low in his chest, a comforting lupine note. Helena bit him just a little, to show how mean she thought it was that she had to leave, but not hard. His hand stroked down her back gently as his grip loosened. “Your cousins have been needing your discipline,” he said, laughter in his voice even if his eyes were dark and gentle and his mouth still.

Helena had stopped herself from chewing on anything nearly the whole time, and she was very proud of herself. Caleb and Ames, however, were fair game. She bared her small strong teeth and wrinkled her nose, happy pup-growl trickling between her teeth.

Uncle kissed her forehead and stood. “I’ll get your luggage.”