It was getting hard to carry around the damned stuffed animals. The blue messenger bag at Morgan's hip, previously filled with papers, portfolios, photographs, and an obscene amound of chewing gum wrappers, had been crammed with stuffed dogs and bears, ranging from the size of his fist to the size of his head.

He was either experiencing an incredible stroke of luck or cheating.

Morgan Walker wasn't a lucky fellow.

He had never really tested his accuracy or reflexes after he had been bitten by the werewolf. Healing was quick, and sure, he imagined he had a heightened sense of smell, that his balance was a little better, but he may have just been growing into his body. The werewolf lore in every book he had bothered to pick up and skim was slightly different, and he had long ago decided the only truly reliable source was himself.

"Ugh."

He halted on the gravel just in front of a hot dog stand, feeling just a little out of place. Tuesday was the most boring day of the week. It was early in the afternoon-- the place was nearly deserted, save for mothers taking children too young to go to school on the carousel and stragglers like himself, who belonged in the amusement park as much as he belonged anywhere else on empty days like that one.

Clouds were rolling in on the horizon and Morgan began to approach the trash can, getting ready to toss away a stuffed green lion with beady, lopsided eyes. Hell, he wished it would rain.

[EDIT: Possibly reserved. x3; I'm not really .. sure if my friend will want to join or not, so, er.]

(OOC: Of COURSE I'd want to join, you silly pillock. *snog* Unless you didn't mean me. Then that means, of course, that I'd have to delete this.)

BIC:

He really wished it wouldn't rain.

If there was anything Conan hated the most, it was the mangy dog-smell that seemed to cling to him whenever he got wet, no matter how many hygienical products he used. He showered, he Herbaled, he smelled like a scrubby dog that rolled around in too many rosebushes.

He sighed and swayed under an overhang of a booth, leaning against it momentarily. The wound on his stomach (and oh, what a wound, what a wound!) had healed completely, but it was still sore. The skin was tender—he didn't have a gaping hole through the middle of him anymore, but it felt like someone with steel coated skin had took a go at him. Needless to say, walking had become a bit of a chore, and breaks were many with several in between.

It was these times he had wondered about his hairbrained ideas. Feeling bad for Corey, he had decided, hey, wouldn't it be nice to get her a gift? Better yet, why not win her something from the amusemant park? How charming is that?

Totally, he had thought.

Unfortunately, Conan was neither lucky or a cheater.

"Are you going to play, or not?" snapped the pimply teenager behind the counter Conan was standing near. The werewolf started, then frowned at him and moved forward.

"Snotty little brats," grumped he. "Go back to junior high."

In the direction he was heading there was a man. Slightly odd, though normal enough. He hadn't realized there were other men in the world who would willingly wander an amusement park alone. But this man...

He scrunched his nose and moved closer.

Another one?

| ooc; Of course I meant you. >O! Poor little Conan. :D ..oh, and by the way, I'm not even sure Walker is Morgan's last name. I never checked. *is the brightest crayon in the box* |

The giddy little lion toy landed with a wholly unsatisfying 'thud' on top of a plate of old funnel cakes and a half-eated caramel apple. He shifted to the side, rooting through his bag for another ugly toy to drop in (he hadn't really meant to win them, and who was he going to give them to? Package to mommy dearest, love, Morgan?), when a chill twitched down his spine.

It was, possibly, a combination of the fact that an imploring, bitter wind had just filtered through the area and that another wolf was near.

Morgan made a 180 degree turn, nose tilted just slightly into the air and head cocked to the side. Thankfully he never realized just how much he resembled a faithful golden retriever at the time.

His eyes settled on Conan-- not accusingly, just inquiringly.

(OOC: Walker, Texas Ranger. :D And no, the question mark doesn't mean I don't know how to spell destination. He just isn't sure if and/or why Morgan's his destination.)

Conan kept his eyes trained on the little, unnerving lion, not quite willing to meet the eyes of the other werewolf at the moment. Not that the stuffed lion was much better to look at. It seemed to be looking up at him accusingly, as if he were the one who tossed the plush on top of the sticky treats.

He halted, finally, when he reached his destination(?).

Head cocked to the side, he offered a bemused look at Morgan.

"Hello."

( Hey. :D! Walker was a great show! )

"Hello."

Morgan pulled his hand from the bag, gripping another lion, identical to the first (if yyou ignored that this one was an ugly, mottled orange and its little button nose was clinging on by just a few threads).

He shoved it at Conan, then said, with all the elegance and grace of a walrus todding around on dry land, "I didn't turn you, too, did I?"

(OOC: I could never watch it. It was too goofy for me. :D)

He took the stuffed animal, surprised. Ugly thing, not something he'd want to give to Corey, but he held onto it anyway.

"Er, I'm not sure. I didn't exactly get the name of the wolfie who bit me. Did you, er, ever get your tail stepped on by a hapless midnight stroller? Not, er, one of those things people push babies around in, 'cause, um, I don't think those can physically step on a tail, but, you know. An actual person. Strolling."

He coughed and tried to rearrange the lion's nose. It came off at his touch, and he blushed and caught it before it could fall to the ground.

"Anyway. Uh. It's okay if you did. Did wonders for my self-esteem, you see."

He must have had a really horrible self-esteem before he became a wolf.

Morgan stared, having been pushed into a nearly stunned silence. His head piqued slightly to the side, lips parted, as if he had been preparing to talk, but couldn't really form and roll the words off his tongue.

This kid was a werewolf?

"...yeah." He straightened up, reaching to press with his thumb glasses that had slid down the bridge of his nose during his blatant stare-fest back to their original, comfortable position. Was this a joke? "I figured. I mean. The stroller thing."

He blinked again.

How did you respond to a spiel like that?

He plucked the toy from Conan's hands. "Piece of shit." Another pause. "This thing. Not you."

Morgan really, really wanted to laugh at him.

He sighed. "I need to get a toy for my friend. How did you become a werewolf, anyway?"

Leave it to Conan to say two things that were completely unrelated to each other.

He was completely oblivious to the stare he was getting—or maybe not so oblivious, but just really used to it. It wasn't something knew. People liked laughing at him, and not in such a nice way, either. He was, what, nineteen, and acted like an excited fourteen-year-old girl? It could get embarrassing sometimes. A lot of the time. But he was trying, really. It was better now that he was a werewolf, couldn't be picked on by puny humans anymore, but still.

The wolf metaphorically took a whiff of Morgan.

'e's not a nice one, this one.

"My name's Conan."

"Aww, how cute." Morgan gave Conan a bemused, lopsided grin, before dumping a number of cheaply-made amusement park toys into the younger boy's arms, not waiting to see (or really caring) if he caught them or not. "Give those to 'em. Say you threw your shoulder out of socket and spent forty bucks."

He had stopped staring, but he still seemed really, really amused. The kid looked like he'd be good for laughs.

"How did I become a werewolf? I was, ah, bitten." He coughed, not really sure how to elaborate any further. "And I'm Morgan. It's a pleasure, Conan."

As if an afterthought, he turned around, leaned down, plucked the stickie plush from the trashcan, and handed it to Conan, too.

Conan scrunched his nose at the sticky stuffed animal, then tipped his overstuffed (pun, yes?) arms so that the last one would topple from his arms. Before it could, though, he stopped himself. It was one of those times where he felt inexplicably guilty. How could he leave the stuffed animal here by itself, dirty, alone, rejected? No, he would take it back to his apartment and clean the poor thing up.

"Hey! Ah, are you giving all of these to me?" He was surprised, certainly. He had only been intending to give his friend one stuffed animal. "And, er, hello, Morgan."

A little stuffed dog looked up at him from the masses, and he smiled fondly. That one he would keep.

He was rather fond of dogs.

Just not chihuahuas.

(*has rolled over and died, just so you know*)

"Ah--.."

Morgan's eyebrows shot high on his forehead, his head tipping to the side again in a habitual, nearly-too canine gesture. Wow. He seemed--.. well.. sympathetic towards the stuffed things. He wasn't sure if he were amused or just a little creeped out.

"And, er, yes, I'm, ah, giving them to you," he said, not meaning that to coming out as harshly as it did, and not really realizing it had. "I'm not a stuffed animal person."

He paused for a moment, feeling just a little awkward, before opening his mouth to make some lame joke about Conan O'Brian (yes, Morgan is a bastard), before the clouds seemed to belch thunder. "..nice weather, isn't it?"

Conan winced at the mockery.

That was different.

He was used to people making fun of him, but that didn't mean he had to stick around for it. Wounded and humiliated, he gathered the stuffed animals close and started forward.

"Well, er, thank you for the stuffed animals. I owe you one. Sorry about being a bother."

He didn't bother to answer the last question, instead ducking his head down in case it started raining. He couldn't put his hood on, because that would mean setting all the stuffed animals down, so he was just going to have to deal with getting wet.

He hated getting wet.

Stupid dog.

Huh?

Morgan adjusted the bag at his side, blinking just a little dumbly at Conan as he turned and made his way off. Well, of course, dumbass, he chided himself, feeling a dark scowl curving the corners of his mouth, make fun of the kid. Give him all kinds of reasons to stay.

If he weren't as deperate for (semi-)human contact as he was, Morgan would not have sprinted after him, catching his elbow and tossing him a curious frown, would not have asked, "Hey, why do you think we're not trying to rip into each other's throats?" in such a curious tone.

Well, it was a legitimite question.

Conan looked faintly surprised at being caught like so, nearly dropping all the stuffed animals that had been shoved in his arms.

"Probably because I don't like fighting," Conan answered calmly, then offered a sheepish grin. "And probably because I got shot in the stomach recently, so I'm not all for the testosterone bonding at the moment."

Morgan snagged one of the toys, stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket, a thin green thing that hung loosely from his shoulders. "Oh, well, I guess. I don't really like fighting either, but, you know. It happens."

There was a pause-- he shifted his face over, then grinned at him. "You got shot? Not still bleeding, are you?"

Argh, he sounded too amused.

"Sorry to disappoint you, you horrible person." He hugged the toys closer again, glaring at his new companion. "And shouldn't you be able to smell it? Or were you cheated in the whole sensory advancements?"

Definitely being derisive. Conan was a pushover, yes, and quite shy, but...

...no one said he was innocent.

"Well, er, actually.." Morgan sort of frowned at him. "I'm not sure. I still need glasses," he scrunched his nose, "but I DO last a long longer than most people ini bed.."

Idle musing, yes. Apparently very little shamed this wolf. Not that, of course, he had anything to be ashamed about.

".. and hey! I'm not a horrible person. I was just curious-- I, uh, would've offered you a bandaid. Or something." Morgan smiled winningly at him as if saying 'you should think I'm awesome!'

Conan's eyes lit up with amusement at the fact that the wolf needed glasses. In fact, he even dared to chuckle. Well, okay, so he was flat out laughing.

Oh, that was rich.

Maybe he was a shy, pacifist werewolf, but at least he wasn't a blind one.

"Oh! Oh, I'm s-sorry!" He stuttered this time, because the laughter interrupted his words. "No, no, I'm really sorry! I just can't get the—haha—mental image of a wolf wearing glasses out of my head!"

He nearly burst out laughing again, at that. Oh, the pain in his stomach, the pain! But it was so funny!

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Morgan nearly flushed (well, the tips of his ears went an offended pink) at Conan's laughter. Uproarious laughter. "It's not that funny," he growled, not really angry, just-- ... he didn't like to be laughed at. It didn't happen often and he hated it when it did.

"You are not sorry," he grumped, unaware that Conan probably actually was. He huffed, shoulders drawing up. "Or you wouldn't be laughing at me."

He sounded like a petulant child.

"I am, I really am!" Conan tried, apologetic, really. It was slightly ruined by the fact that he was still chuckling. "It was funny, I'm sorry. What...what kind of perscription do you need?"

It was meant to be a serious question, but tears of mirth were standing in his eyes.

"N-nearsighted or farsighted?"

He wasn't mocking him. Really. He was trying to make idle talk, but it was really all too much. He had to swallow back the laughter, really.

"Nearsighted," Morgan huffed back, and it was his turn to be offended, folding his arms loosely across his stomach and tipping his head back in a 'hmph'-y manner. "And hell if I know what kind of prescription I use-- I don't mess with it. Don't really care, anyway."

He plucked the glasses off of his own nose, turning around and, in a quick motion, sliding them on Conan's face.

Maybe he'd stumble and fall or something.

Not that he wished the other were /harm/..

Conan, well...

He could pull off glasses.

They looked quite cute on him, in fact. It probably had to do with the fact that he was adorable anyway. He blinked at Morgan, then grimaced and reached up to pull off the glasses. They hurt his eyes. Made him a bit dizzy, in fact.

"It's cool, that there are so many other were around, though. Yanno?" He was loosening up a bit, the fellow was nice enough and he liked making new friends. "I met another werewolf earlier, we went and saw a play together—Bad Moon Rising, you heard of it? Met a, er, shapeshifter too. At least, I think that's what she is."

He offered the glasses back to Morgan. "It's nice there are so many magically inclined people running around here. Makes me feel less of a freak."

"Yeah, I've heard of that."

Was denied a part in it, in fact, but Morgan wasn't bitter. Nope. Not at all.

He sort of whistled under his breath as he reached up and plucked his glasses from Conan's fingers, sliding the thin, wire-framed things back onto the bridge of his nose. He wasn't blind without them, but was a bit inclined to running into things.

"And yeah. I guess it is cool." He coughed slightly, masking his mouth with his hand. He hadn't seemed so much like a.. well, chatterbox, when he'd first approached.

At least he wasn't trying to stake the amusement park as his territory.

He really wasn't naturally a chatterbox. Nope, not at all. He just talked a lot. And when he realized he talked a lot (which was right about then), he got nervous all over again.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I, er, talk a lot."

Sometimes.

Conan could be rather bipolar at other times.

Morgan gave him a sly look.

"Really? I didn't notice."

He didn't seem bothered, though, just stretched his arms high above his head and did his best to ignore the few, cold splatters of raindrops his felt dot his arms.

The man rolled his shoulders back, before dropping his hands and tapping them lightly on his thighs. "So, who're you getting the toys for? Your little girlfriend?" He paused. "You're still in school, right?"

"Girlfriend?" He blushed terribly. "N-no. She's, er, just a friend."

Actually, he had only really met her once.

And, er, he had been shot because of it.

Did that make them friends?

"Y-yeah, I'm at Keaton. Er, you?"

He was getting nervous again. The ice was back. Perhaps it was because it had just started raining, and perhaps it was because Morgan seemed like the character who made people like Conan nervous. Which he was. Nervous.

"Aww." Morgan lifted a hand, squeezing Conan's cheek in a 'how-cute' fashion. "You're blushing." He laughed, the sound short and nearly like a bark. "But you do that a lot, don't you?" He wasn't really trying to tease. Honest.

"And I got my diploma, but I'm fine with that.. dabbled for a few years in some fancy schools in New York.." He shook his head. "..but they were boring. Too methodical."

Morgan suddenly seemed to realize something. "Keaton? Isn't that a -- oh." Surprise. "..you're in college. Okay." Jeez, he seemed too.. young.

First he was being teased.

Then he was being underestimated agewise.

Conan wondered if he could get away at throwing down his stuffed animals and stomping away without looking like a jilted lover or a prepubescent brat. He did neither, favoring Morgan instead with a waspish glare. This salient character was starting to tweak his nerves, slightly.

"Yes, I'm in a university," he barked out, scrunching his nose. "I don't look that young."

He did. And he knew it.

"What did you major in?" It was time to move the topic to a safeground—he didn't want the semi-pleasant conversation to turn into an acrimony.

"Huh? Oh." Morgan stretched again. "Art. Well, really-- dance and theater. I'm an actor." He tipped his nose back in a mock-snooty fashion as he walked, before peering at Conan through a slitted eye. "I'm gonna be famous. Completely. Want my autograph?"

He didn't really believe it, and would have fallen down in surprise if Conan had, but it was a nice dream to strive for, sometimes. "One of the reasons I moved here, in the first place. More opportunities, I guess."

Lifting the toy he'd snagged from Conan from his pocket, Morgan held it up by its paws and made it do a little dance in midair. "What are you majoring in?"

"You're going to be famous? Really?" Like a one hundred watt bulb, Conan's eyes lit up! (And here the author inputs: Sorry, I couldn't resist the cheesiness.) "And I could have your autograph? What are you going to be doing?" And here Conan inputs his on taste for sarcasm: "...Deodorant commercials?"

He offered a small smile, letting the other wolf know he was just kidding. With a shift, he readjusted the stuffed animals, then smiled a bit more.

"I'm not sure what I'm majoring in yet. I'd like to be a teacher, though. That'd be nice."

"Well, no, but I was lined up for a Tic-Tac commercial audi--.."

Morgan looked at his watch.

"..fuck, nevermind."

He exhaled, tossing the little toy right at the side of Conan's head, before thrusting his hands down in his pockets and giving him a sour look. "Oh, sure, you'd make a terrific teacher-- make sure to control your temper, though.

"Well, keep in touch. Tell me how the teacher-thing goes. You'll be the coolest teacher ever, keeping in touch with a celebrity."

"Right. It was nice meeting you. I'll give you a call, or something."

Conan could get rather bratty himself, if spurred to.

"Maybe we could go romp, or something. You know. As wolves."

It didn't occur to him that that could easily be taken the wrong way.

Morgan turned, stepping in front of him and cutting him off.

The rain began to lash down just a little violently.

"Don't tempt me." He licked his lips, then turned his face up to the sky. "Have a car?"

"Tempt? Tempt you to what? And no, I don't. I can't afford one of those."

He looked despondantly at the rain splattering against the ground, hoping he didn't smell like wet dog. And that his hair wasn't frizzing. And that the stuffed animals would expand from getting wet. That would be annoying.

"Nevermind about that," he snickered softly, before reaching out and grabbing Conan's sleeve, hauling him off the grounds and towards the parking lot. "And I do. You don't live on the other side of town or anything, do you?"

He seemed quite unconcerned with the thought that maybe Conan didn't want to go with him.

"You're not kidnapping me, are you?"

It was a perfectly logical question. There he was, arms filled with stuffed animals, being dragged to some stranger's car.

Now he just had to figure out why he wasn't scared at all.

Because he was a wolf, maybe? But that didn't make any sense, so was the man dragging him around.

The instinctive urge to form a pack, maybe?

Who would be the Alpha Male? Morgan, duh. Or Cort, if he ever got wind of this. Conan couldn't see himself leading a pack of stray ducklings. He'd probably get them lost and eaten.

"Yes. I'm kidnapping you into my car, out of the rain, and to your house," Morgan answered blandly, letting go of him but still hauling ass to the parking lot. He liked the rain, but that didn't mean he liked FREEZING in it.

"Unless you have some sort of objection. Save me some gas money."

Morgan gave him a 'don't-be-a-dumbass' look.

"Er, all right. No objection."

How could he say no to that? Besides, he didn't want to be lugging around all those fuckin' stuffed animals for several blocks. Pain in the ass, really.

He frowned, suddenly. When did his mind become such a potty mouth?

The wolf coughed mentally, and Conan got his answer. Well, duh. He should have realized that in the first place.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to be had. Somehow.

Morgan chuckled under his breath, passing a few rows of cars and heading to a silver Intrepid. "C'mon, c'mon.." He fished into his pocket, seeking out his car keys and heading to the driver's side. "Get in already!"

Yeah. He was a bit demanding.

And he didn't really know why he had insisted on taking the stranger home; habit, maybe, or maybe this was just his good deed for the week.

"Address?"

He told the werewolf beside him his address, still a little overwhelmed by this really weird string of events. What in the world? It was all so surreal. With a shake of his head (much like a dog trying to get something out of his ear), Conan opened the door to Morgan's car and sunk down into the passenger seat, completely buried under the mountain of stuffed animals.

"Impatient, much?" he grumbled through the stuffed animals, voice muffled from all the cotton. "Are you sure you're not kidnapping me?"