09-09-2013, 02:39 PM
Fern stares at Phoebe, then looks at the thing in her hand, which -- at her distance -- is mostly a white blob. She flares her nostrils, looking feral as any born-wild creature. She didn't look feral the first night that she was seen outside of Pints Pub. To mortal eyes she looks far more dangerous now, far more savage and murderous. Fern is among garou, though; outside of the city and outside of tidy little shoes and a Peter Pan collar and so forth, her animalism is a sign that maybe... finally... she's actually starting to get better.
She looks at the thing in Phoebe's hand, then at the ground in between them, like drawing an arrow. Her eyes dark right back up to Phoebe, questioning.
She looks at the thing in Phoebe's hand, then at the ground in between them, like drawing an arrow. Her eyes dark right back up to Phoebe, questioning.
my whole life is thunder.