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Language:
English
Series:
Part 3 of Merci Pour Le Venin
Stats:
Published:
2014-07-13
Words:
383
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
18
Kudos:
74
Hits:
1,013

Interlude

Summary:

Pete has plans.

Notes:

Written for my dear Pearl, on her birthday.

Continuation of a story in which Pete pretends to be a Werewolf in order to date Patrick, King of the Werewolves.

Quick beta by Luce.

Work Text:

"Wait, what?" Sean turned off the blowtorch and pushed his protective goggles up. His face was filthy with soot, except for the part where his goggles had rested, making it look like he was wearing a reverse domino mask. "You want me to turn you into a Werewolf?"

"No, no," Pete said, rolling his eyes. "I want you to show me how to pretend to be a Werewolf."

Sean just looked him over. "Turning you would be easier." He set the blowtorch down and poked at a pile of metal shards on his bench. They were half formed words, random letters, odd symbols shaped with fire and magic. "Less work."

"Maybe." Pete shrugged. "I got some meteorites for you." He pulled a handful of small, smooth rocks out of his pockets. "High nickel, a touch of iridium." He let them clatter onto Sean's work surface, not missing the gleam in Sean's eye.

"Meteorites, huh?"

Pete just nodded. Sean Van Vleet was a wordsmith, one of the best in Chicago. He worked primarily with metal, imbuing his talismans and charms with energy and strength. His creations were in high demand with writers and speakers, those who needed with help with their words.

Using iron-nickel meteorites made the talismans that much more powerful, and that meant that Sean could offer them to a more selective group of clientele. "Three lessons, half an hour each."

Pete scoffed. "Meteorites, Van Vleet. With iridium. Worth a hella lot more than that. Three lessons, two hours each."

"Four lessons, an hour each. More than enough time to teach you the basics of Werewolf body language and etiquette. Maybe go over some of the more important rituals." Sean eyed him. "Probably enough for you to pass as Werewolf for short periods of time."

"I just need to convince Patrick." Pete's voice got a little rough with emotion. He cleared his throat.

"Patrick. . .Stump? King of the Werewolves? That Patrick?"

Pete nodded, trying to keep the dopey grin off his face. His Patrick.

"Oh, Hell." Sean stood up, towering over Pete. "You are one crazy fucker, Wentz. Two weeks, two hours a day or it'll never work." He held out his fist and Pete bumped it with his, sealing the deal.

Pete loved it when a good plan came together.

-fin-

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