A/N: Just another short drabble that came to mind.
I leaned back in my chair, sipping my coffee and watching the patrons of my little cafe come and go. Owning a hole in the wall like this brought a wider variety of people into my life than I would have thought possible. Most of them were humans: artists, musicians, radio hosts, policemen, Frenchmen, Germans, Native Americans, and Vietnamese. What few frequented my place, I had loosely bonded with. Humans made up 98% of my patrons, but this place wasn't built for them.
The remaining 2%, the Others, that's why I built this place. Shifters, vampires, fae if they so wished - fickle creatures born of desire, they are. Doubt one ever has nor would step foot into my cafe - all were more than welcome. For the shifters, I had free food of all kinds. Should they have needed it, I let them take refuge on my 20 square miles of undeveloped land until they were stable enough to move on. Several of my workers were (willing) vessels for the Kindred. Mind you, I never opened my veins for one, but I wasn't against the idea of catering to them as well. Hunters were welcome so long as they kept peace, and I held nothing against anything else that would have passed through these doors.
Something hit my nose as I took a swig of my coffee. Passing by was a very polished man. His face - what wasn't hidden by sunglasses, despite the cold of winter and thick clouds overhead - said mid-twenties, but the scent of rot and silk - covered by a store-bought musk - said much more. He stopped in front of me and slowly turned his head. His gaze raked over me like jagged claws; his scent carried more with it than just the Dolce and Gabanna he wore.
Realizing who this was, I gingerly placed my half-finished mug of coffee, rose to my feet, and offered him my hand. "Welcome to The Checkpoint," I smiled. He took my hand, and it took all of my will not to pull away from him. I knew what he was, and my body reacted accordingly. Fear. Any time I met a new non-human, I wanted to turn tail and run. However, twenty five years after being brought into the Real World, I was more than capable of composing myself.
"I don't suppose there is a place more appropriate around here, Miss...?" His voice trailed off, his eyes still glued to me with what I imagined to be apathy.
"Call me Justine."
"Ian Maker-of-Ways."
"Pleasure to meet you in person." I smiled, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. "I've prepared my office for you." The corner of his mouth pulled up in a slight smirk, and I led him to the back of the cafe.
My cubicle of imagination and make believe, office, bomb shelter, so on and so forth, was warded against eavesdroppers and any sort of spying, which I knew the Garou could sense. I allowed him to sit before taking my chair behind the desk. He smirked again, and I was well aware of what I had subconsciously done. The desk was between us, a sort of barrier to keep me safe. Not wanting to show weakness - not that there was an overabundance that saw it in such a terrible light, as I was human and prone to such things - I moved my chair out from behind the desk. There was nothing between us, nothing to protect me. It was... Unnerving.
The man removed his shades, revealing one golden eye and one blue. A horrible scar crossed over that gold eye, and I regarded it for a few seconds. Not many things kept a shifter from healing; I imagined a silver weapon had to have done that, and it wasn't terribly old. Maybe a year or two at best. "The Black Furies are confirmed to have died out," he said after a moment of silence. The grin was gone, replaced by something much more somber. "Even the kin are gone. That's the second tribe in five years."
My shoulders slumped with the news. I had made decent friends with some of the Furies, one of whom had taken refuge on my land for a few months. She was nice - Allison Wanders-by-Moonlight. "Next thing you know, the Get will die out," Ian muttered.
It was not something he meant to be funny, but I couldn't resist the laugh that bubbled up in my chest. "Oh yes, the Get. I'd wager money that the entire tribe will go mad and run around slaughtering humans for whittling down their numbers. All of Europe will be in hysteria."
The image was dark and terrifying to think about, but even the wolf smiled. "Suddenly, the number of Hunters goes up by two billion, and everyone dies even faster. How predictable of them." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "We're dying and can do nothing about it."
"Why do you think I have a refuge?" He looked up at me, a brow raised. "Someone has to do something to help. It might not do any good in the long run, but I have hope that it might make a difference."
The wolf sighed. "Teron mentioned you were naive, but I didn't want to believe it. Still, it is good to see at least one human trying to help fix the mistakes of your entire race." There was a pause. He furrowed his thin brows. "As well as our own." Ian's posture changed from strong to tired; he slouched in the chair, dipped his head, and sighed. "It isn't just us, though. The cats are almost gone, and I doubt the spiders are any less rare than them. The rats are fine, as well as the birds, but the rest of us are dying. Give it another century, and there will be nothing left of us but the smallest of Gaia's children." He snorted, then, sitting a little straighter. "Wyrm take them all, anyway. Humans, fae, all of them. Soon enough there will be another war, and the sun will be blotted out by the fallout. Then the leeches will have a free-for-all. Everyone dies except those they feed from, the Wyrm consumes everything in its path, and the world becomes a useless wasteland."
"What about the Wyld?" I asked, canting my head to the side.
He snorted again, this time looking at me. "Him? That fucker left ages ago. He's long gone. You might be able to find him in the places yet untouched by man, but those are few and far between. At best, you only get whispers of him on your little refuge. Wyrm take them all," he repeated bitterly.
Silence fell like a heavy weight between us, thick and intimidating. We sat that way for a few minutes before I dared to clear my throat. "So," I started, leaning forward in my seat. "What did you come all the way here for? Surely not to speak only of death?"
The question brought him out of the scary world he was staring into, returning to his properly postured self. "No. Not at all." He scratched at the back of his neck. "How much would you charge for my pack to stay on your land? Another wolf hunt has started, and we have nowhere to go. Untouched land is hard to find, harder still that is free from human intrusion."
"No charge."
Wide eyes met mine, his jaw loose with surprise. "Nothing? We may have to stay there for months, you know?"
I shrugged. "Honestly, I don't care how long you stay. I'm not the one that uses it. There is enough land to share between several packs, so don't start trouble and I won't bother you. Just let me know when you and your pack move on."
"Thank you." Ian stood and offered me his hand. I reciprocated in kind. "We will move in as soon as possible - a week at the longest." He held my hand a moment longer than necessary. "We are in your debt."
I smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. "One day, I will call on you for a favor-"
Ian laughed heartily. "Ah, you are Teron's sister after all, that old bastard!"
Maker-of-Ways came and left with his pack. I never saw him again, but hoped he was doing well enough. Never did I collect the debt, and never did I ask. My kind was ruining his, as well as countless others. The least I could have done was save them a bit of hardship in the harsh Montana winters.