Finn's Bedroom

[Finn]

Finn smiling was a rare thing indeed, and for a good reason; the most common reason for him to smile usually meant something bad or misfortunate had happened to someone else. Finn had never claimed to be compassionate or sympathetic, and truth be told, he stayed in a pack because a pack was all he knew, and to be a leader of one… well, one couldn’t lead a pack without the actual pack.

Oh dear god…

Cursing his own reflexes for not reacting in time to avoid Samson grabbing his arm, he made short work of wrenching it free as the song started to belt out through his room. Finn wasn’t sure if he wanted to break something, or feel sick. “Stop that!” he commanded, practically snapping. “And do not call me Finny.”

[Samson]

There was an unmistakable pout on Samson’s face as Finn pulled his arm away, the male wolf slowly falling silent. Finn was just no fun today, no fun at all. Well… that was a lie; Finn was a lot of fun really, even if he didn’t know it himself. Even if most of the fun came from the fact that he was a moody wolf who didn’t want Samson’s company. Still, he seemed worse than normal today

“I was singing a song. Never said the song was ‘bout you… maybe there is some other Finny I know. Maybe Finny is a fish,” Samson suggested, the pouting vanishing to be replaced by one of his bright grins. He’d leave him alone soon enough – he was starting to suspect he might be really pushing the line today, but Samson couldn’t help himself. “I’ll just stand here and be nice and quiet. You do your things. Won’t even know I’m here. Honest.”

[Finn]

It seemed he had finally made some sort of impact on Samson’s accursed happy-go-lucky façade. No one could be so happy all the time unless they were hiding something; something dark and miserable. Finn was certain of it. It wasn’t that he pretended to even care, which made many wonder why he didn’t just go rogue and say to hell with it all, but there were those in the pack that he did understand and respect. They were just few and far between…

“No. There will be no standing there ‘nice and quiet’ while I ‘do my things’,” Finn explained, almost as one would to a child, one who was reluctant to pay attention. “I’m very busy, and don’t like company while I’m practising.” Well, to be frank, he didn’t like company most of the time anyway, save for one or two of the pack, but he had a feeling Samson wouldn’t have listened had he said as much.

[Samson]

Point of fact, Samson was hiding something, something that could potentially be dark and miserable. It wasn’t something he thought of very often, wasn’t something he let himself think about but he would deny until he was blue in the face that it had anything to do with his happy personality. Samson was just a happy kind of wolf, he liked being happy. He also liked being evil and tormenting Finn, but since being evil pleased him, Samson simply considered it another example of him being happy.

He hummed lightly under his breath as Finn told him no yet again. Samson was going to have to find that book he had been reading last week about the story of a man who had decided to say yes to everything asked. Some Englishman, he couldn’t remember the name off-hand. Finn could do with saying yes more often.

“Okay,” Samson said brightly, rocking backwards on his heels, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’m getting hungry anyway.” Stomach trumped Finn any day. “You never like company but that’s okay.” Shrugging he stepped towards the door, singing as he went.

“This is the song that never ends, this is the song that never ends and it goes on and on my friends…”

Continued in: Hallways

[Finn]

“Ugh. Thank god for that.” Finn relaxed his shoulders as Samson saw fit to leave the room, at long last, and rolled his eyes as he heard the song fade and fall silent as the obviously-insane werewolf retreated and vanished to wherever it was he had decided to bother someone next. There was a damn good reason why Finn never liked company, and Samson was a perfect example.

Ensuring everything was back in its place and undisturbed after the Greek wolf’s greasy fingers had roamed around, he returned to where he had set his violin, and gathered the instrument and bow in his hands again. Now, if he could just remember where he had been when that idiot had interrupted, he might be able to salvage some kind of good, or rather decent mood.

[Penelope]

POST TIMESKIP

Her hair fell around her face in several shallow waves, artfully crafted in the early hours of the morning, Penelope patiently sitting in front of her mirror, watching her reflection as the waves were formed in her hair, the female taking a great deal of pride in her appearance - and why not? Such things were important, people might say that it was what was inside that counted, perhaps that was even true, but it didn't stop people from judging your outward appearance anyway, from taking you in at a moment's glance and then deciding if you were worthy or not on that small thing alone. Once upon a time she would have had people to do this for her, delighting in making her pretty, perfect, a doll of such beauty that nobody could touch. That was the past and it was a past that Penelope was more than content to keep there, out of sight and aside from the odd memory, out of mind as well.

Only in the little moments, such as when she lifted a hand to touch at her style hair, thinking back to the dressing table, to countless days when she had sat pretty as a picture. Those memories made her who she was, vain perhaps, regal no doubt, aware of herself and her standing, of how powerful she truly was as a wolf and that power was not something she would lightly surrender, not even to try and lighten the mood or whatever inane reason Samson had for charging around without any care of what they all were. Penelope had lived a lie once before, it did not become her. Far better to be proud of what she was, to let it sing out with every tilt of her head that here was a strong and noble werewolf, no matter the state of the rest of the pack or the actions of some of the less... dignified.

Which was why she preferred spending her time with those like Finn, who not only understood but embraced those concepts as well, dainty turning a page on one of her scripts, content to sit for the moment in silence without filling it with inane babble. If they spoke, it would be because one of them had something worthwhile saying. It was a peace that was shattered by the faint breaking of glass somewhere outside the room, a twitch of distaste on Penelope's lips from what she assumed was another idiotic action by one of the more irresponsible pack mates.

[Finn]

What lay on the outside meant a great deal, regardless of what foolish, naive people might say about beauty being only skin deep, or anything uselessly romantic about whatever lay underneath being truly important. They said you should never judge a book by its cover, but Finn disagreed. You could tell a great deal about a person, whatever their race, by their exterior, that cover, and first impressions held so much power. That was why he was very particular about his own appearance, some might even say vain, always putting thought into what he wore and how he presented himself. To so many it was time wasted, but the opinions of those people meant so little to Finn. It was individuals like Penelope, their opinions, that mattered. Finn would never lie and say otherwise, regardless of who it was asking. Appearances could be deceiving, yes, but they could also tell you a great deal, and that kind of power was most certainly not to be underestimated.

The sound of breaking glass had lifted Finn's brown eyes from the faintly yellowed page of the old novel that he was reading, gaze angled towards the door, before he came to the same disapproving conclusion as his equally regal and composed companion. Sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, having granted Penelope the use of the armchair, his posture was relaxed and yet still proud and almost precise in a way, there was no slump or indifference in the way he held himself, back straight and one leg raised against which to support the open book, his other neatly crossed over underneath and behind it. "Guess who," he mumbled, more to himself than anything, gaze dropping once more to the words printed neatly upon the page.

Finn had read only a few more lines before the sound disrupted the peace again, his eyes lifted once more from the book and towards the door, a faint furrow disturbing his brow. Either a certain irresponsible Greek male had taken it upon himself to charge about with increased reckless abandon, the kind of frivolity and carelessness that could so easily shatter any number of breakables, or there was more than one member of the pack out to wreak havoc tonight. Finn wasn't sure which was more likely.

[Finn]

The sounds were escalating, the breaking of glass giving in to gasps and shouts of alarm or panic, the sound of running feet on the floors below. A scream. Thought shutting down in favour of that impeccable instinct of a wolf, Finn let the book drop to his bed without hesitation and rose with a fluid kind of grace from the bed, striding purposefully to the door; it opened with his pull and he stepped into the opening, looking left and right and then drawing in a deep breath that expanded his chest and flooded his senses with information. Fear, surprise. Smoke.

"There's a fire," he said, dark eyes opening even as he turned back into the room, leaving the door open, his gaze moving to Penelope's even as he crossed to where his rapier sat in pride of place on display at the side of the room, taking it up in one hand to swing it deftly around, giving him enough room to slide the blade free of the scabbard, as though to examine its readiness. Finn might not have been a fighter, he was far too self-involved and arrogant to see the need, but he considered himself one of the best swordsmen the pack had to offer, regardless of whether or not the others saw it for themselves.

The fire was spreading, he could tell that much from the sounds of screaming and shouting of names coming from different floors. They were under attack, and the smart thing to do would be to get out. If they had to defend themselves in the process, then for once Finn would do what was necessary and raise his sword to another in combat rather than to show off his prowess and hone his skills. "Whoever this is, I doubt they'll be waiting for us to get out before they bring the whole place down," he said to Penelope, watching her as she gathered herself together. "Put them in the case," he added, gesturing from her scripts to the flawless black case close to where she had been seated; his Stradivarius. She wasted no time in getting them organised and setting the scripts carefully but quickly beneath the instrument, and by the time she was ready, Finn was already on the move towards the open door.


CONTINUED IN: Hallways with Penelope.