The fanfic is based on the new Telltale game; A Wolf Among Us. It will follow Annemarie Smith during the game.
Things will be made up or slightly AU since I cannot predict the game's outcome or choices. I slowly move through each episode. After I have cleared one, there will be a pause until the next one comes out. I know nothing from the Fables comics. So every piece of infomation about the Fables and their world I take from the game, from their fairytales or I make it up myself (but I want to avoid that).
Rated T for violence, language and possible minor adult situations. Rating may go up!
Remember: English is not my mother-language. So forgive any bad grammar.
Chapter 01: Welcome
Cracked walls with isolation spilling out here and there, bad electricity that threatened to fall out at any given moment, an old wooden floor with obvious signs of water damage screaming for replacement and no insulated glazing in the windows. At least it had some satellite TV and a radio.
It was a poor maintained, small double room apartment located in South Bronx that needed some serious work.. or should simply be demolished. It was located in a bad neighbourhood where carrying a gun could probably save one for being robbed from their money and their life, but..
"It suffices. I'll take it," Annemarie Smith muttered, grabbing the large hand of the landlord who was the owner of the so-called Tennement Building that had now become her home. "It's better than nothing."
"Damn right it is lady. I except your rent later this week, understand? I can throw you out just like the previous owner if you don't meet up our agreements," a greasy, grumpy old man barked. Drops of spit got caught in his unkempt beard here and there.
"Understood," Ann simply said giving the man a firm nod with her hair of faded, obviously painted, red hair wobbling in the lousy bun at the back of her head.
"Good. Do with it what you want, girlie. But don't destroy it or blow it up or else.." He murmured, but didn't continue, and turned his back to her. Happy that he got another desperate poor soul that he could leech on.
"Don't worry.. I won't.." She muttered. 'Not that there is anything left to blow up.'
So here she was. All the way from England as an aspiring writer with the American Dream playing over and over in her head. And where did she end up? In fucking downtown New York.
Ann sighed and started to unpack the few things that she had brought with her and survived their journey from England to this wretched place. Once she had the money to travel around the world for her novel. Once she would have the riches to pay for one of the luxury apartments up-town Manhattan and life the American life. But alas it didn't turn out that way.
She looked at the few belongings that she had left and unpacked sprawled out in front of her on that hideous dark wooden floor. There was a pink toothbrush, some books, a pair of bed sheets, some clothing and shoes, her laptop and some photographs aside from some other mundane objects. Ann couldn't help it, but let her fingers brush one of the photograph's dark frames. The one with her and a young woman, both grinning mad.
Ann felt a smile tuck at her lips as she took in the photograph and let the memories of that moment flash before her mind's eye. Her hair was its natural blond back then and her vivid green eyes were just as sparkly and alive as the hazel pair of the African girl next to her. Who had her arm draped around her shoulders. She even had less wrinkles back then.
"Hey.. brother! There's an endless road to rediscover.."
With a sigh she laid it away and her eyes swept across the apartment. It clearly needed some cleaning up before it was deemed inhabitable in her eyes. So Ann draped her black trench coat over a dusty chair. It was a nice coat. Excellent for autumn and early winter as it could stand the rain (until a certain point), accented the feminine form of the wearer at the same time and had a delicate fringe at the hem.
"Hey.. sister! Know the water's sweet but blood is thicker.."
She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, pushed a window open and as the fresh air (what one could call fresh with all the pollution) wafted inside her new home, she vacuumed, scrubbed and washed until her hands shrivelled. But after a few hours of some hard labour, she was done. Ann stood back, wiping with the back of her hand the sweat and the sticky strands of her fringe away, and admired her work whilst the radio softly emitted some music through her small apartment.
"Oh! If the sky comes falling down, for you.."
The floor was no longer sticky and the cabinets held no dust anymore. The kitchen and bathroom were clean and reeked no longer. The single chair and couch held no curious stains anymore, though they were in desperate need of replacement it would have to do. Ah! She could even see through the windows!
"There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do..!"
Knocks on her door pulled her out of her little mind. Swiftly, Ann turned on her heels and opened her front door revealing a short, stout man. He scraped his throat and held up an awkward hand as his eyes shyly casted down to his bare feet.
"Uhm.. hi."
"Good evening."
The man seemed to be in his late forties, was bald aside from a few stray hairs. He was unshaven, sweaty and had a beer belly that his smudged white shirt didn't quite cover. Beneath that he wore an equally smudged green sweatpants with a few holes here and there. There was an awkward pause as Ann watched him and waited for him to continue.
"I.. uh," the man muttered, his large slightly bulging eyes shifting from side to side as if he was afraid that they were being watched. He reminded her somehow of a frog with his plump appearance. "I heard that someone moved in next to us here on the ground floor. The place has been empty for months.. but, uh.."
He wiped his large sweaty and slightly trembling hand on his shirt and held it out to her. Ignoring the strange smell that emanated off of this man, Ann gently grabbed it and shook it. It seemed to give the man some courage, for his voice was far more steady this time and he seemed less nervous.
"Welcome to the neighbourhood. I'm Mr. Toad."
The name made Ann snicker a bit. It was fitting. "Well, I thank you for welcoming me. I'm Annemarie Smith, but call me Ann."
"That's a pretty name!" A small voice chirped, causing Ann to raise a slight eyebrow and look down. A small boy stood at Mr. Toad's side. He shared the toad-like features like his father, but didn't seem inherit the shiftiness nor the baldness from his dad for he had some wild, unkempt chocolate brown hair on top of his head and lively eyes. Ann judged him to be 10 years old, give or take.
She kneeled down and looked slightly up at the small boy, a grin on her features. "Well thank you. I can see you are properly raised." Ann could see Mr. Toad's chest swell up with pride in the corner of her eyes. "What's your name?"
The boy giggled and pressed his thumb at his chest. "I'm CJ! You have a funny voice! Where are you from?"
"Britain. England to be exact."
His dark green eyes seemed to grow and his mouth formed a small 'o'. "Wow, that's a long way from home! Why are you here then? Don't you miss your family?" This boy was quite a straight-forward little fellow.
"Now, now CJ. I am sure the lady has her reasons to live here, just like we have ours. She has just arrived and surely wants some alone time, don't you think?" The boy casted down his gaze and directed it towards his feet when his dad scolded him. Ann rose on her feet and gave Mr. Toad a small appreciative smile. His attention turned from his little boy to her.
"Well, miss Smith. If you need anything don't be afraid to come to us. But knock first, alright?"
It caused her to chuckle and nodded. "Alright, I will. Thank you for you kindness Mr. Toad." The man gave her a small nod as if he told her that it was of no trouble. CJ waved her good bye that she returned with a smile. Ahead she could see the pizza boy come in and relieved him from his burden that was her ordered pizza.
She had food, a roof and some neighbours who were odd, but likeable. That left one more thing; a job. She was a writer.. a novelist to be exact and made some pretty decent money with it. But something in her gut nudged her that it wouldn't be enough in these tough times. The economy had significantly dropped and her publisher had been more strict and demanding. They only took the best right now.. and sometimes she didn't fit those demands.
Ann munched on the last bit of her pizza as she stared at her laptop where the first words of a new novel had been written. But she had a problem, one that all writers had to cope with; a writer's block. The condition in which an author loses the ability to fantasize new things, let alone produce. The condition varies widely in intensity. It can be trivial, a temporary difficulty in dealing with the task at hand. At the other extreme, some 'blocked' writers have been unable to work for years on end, and some have even abandoned their careers.
It was her nightmare; not able to write anymore. Writing was what she studied and observed. It was where she excelled in, what she loved and breathed. So the inspiration loss that she was now experiencing was dreadful to say the least. Inspiration loss meant no decent novel and thus no income.
But where to find inspiration?
'Well, where a lot of people with stories are. That means a bar.. but where can I find a decent bar around here?' She thought to herself and opened her internet browser.
"Google is your best friend," Ann silently murmured as her fingers flew over her keyboard. After a few mouse clicks she had several addresses that weren't too far away and a short drive with a cab, or at least a half an hour walk. And although she wasn't keen on visiting those bars let alone work there for she wasn't quite the outgoing type, but she had to do something for a living, right?
She scribbled the addresses on a post-it and stuck it on her fridge. It would have to wait until tomorrow. Now, she needed to refresh her resume and think of a plan.
She would be best female bartender they had ever seen.
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