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Was the sun up? Yes it was. When was it up? Oh around 6:30 am. How would he know this? The fact that the broken blinds resting under the windowsill let in the full power of the sun the moment it rose up over the horizon and the beige walls reflected that sunlight like it was full of mirrors. Not that Saul minded too terribly, he was used to this by now. Of course he was.

It was fairly common to be up before the rest of the pack--mostly because he was never sure who had done what during the night and it was a good way to be prepared for someone coming back to the pack house injured in some way, shape or form. Most of the others had gone out into the town and gotten jobs of some sort. Saul was one of them as well. He had Addie to manage the pack house and he'd go into town and help with the Emergency Room Medicine every so often. Usually his schedule was a ten or so hour shift two days per week. He was part time, after all.

Today was not one of those days, however. Which let the medic of the pack sift through what he had in his closet.

His room was a small room adjacent to the "medical wing" in the pack house. The much larger room was full of cot-like beds and cabinets and sinks and the likes. A medicine wing. Which was the most common place to find him.

He crouched down to sift through one of the cabinets, making a mental note of things he needed to restock in the main room with the inventory he had in the closet. Then, he'd have to update the numbers in his books. He did everything by hand and by paper. It wasn't that he didn't trust "modern" technology, but that he was just too lazy to actually move it over and paper trails were easier to follow.

He knew how to do the technology and whatnot from the town. He just preferred the old school way.

Saul stood up with a faint noise, stretching out and huffing before he made his way to the closet and went on the usual morning routine. An hour and a half later, he shuffled out of the room and toward the kitchen, stifling a brief yawn.

Ciaran | Male | Lone Vaewolf | Mentions:

His Boss (Indir.)

Ciaran groggily woke up to the alarm blaring on the nightstand beside his bed, his arm emerging from the sea of plushies and slamming his hand down to silence the alarm on his phone. With a groan, he rolled onto his side, the plushies moving with him, drowning him entirely of softness with a few scented ones burning into his nostrils. He exhaled, his mouth immediately filled with the fake fur of an axolotl plushie lying beside his head. His mouth clamped shut and recoiled back. “Sorry,” he muttered softly to the plushie, whose beady eyes were looking at him with such empty intensity. Silently accusing him of assaulting it with its mouth unprovoked. Ciaran frowns, turning the axolotl plushie away from so it faces the wall, before working on carefully removing the rest from his body. It took quite a bit, but he freed himself from his fuzzy engagement, heading downstairs to get himself something to eat.

Walking by more of his plushie collection; all of them scattered around the place like they were the ones paying the bills and he was the intruder. Ciaran entered the kitchen, making sure to pet one of the snake plushies hanging from the ceiling on his way there. Ciaran opened his freezer to see what he had. Frozen meat. Great. All of it was meat. Now, time to check the fridg- also meat. He should really expand more on his diet instead of just meat. With a sigh, he grabbed a packaged wrapped raw steak from the fridge and a frying pan. Getting ready to make himself some steak and steak (would’ve been eggs if he bothered to stay at the grocery store longer) then prepare for the rest of the day until his shift tonight. Ciaran removed the plastic wrap, and immediately, the smell of raw meat and blood intruded into his nose. His mouth wetter than the ocean itself as his fangs steadily increased in size as he eyed the raw delicacy in his hand. The copper eyes illuminating in the dark with such hungry intensity it puts shrews to shame. The pupils dilated, turning into slits as he prolonged staring at the food in his hand as his claws that sprung from his fingers dug into it.

He was about to chow down on it, yet he paused when he noticed something staring at him from the dark. A singular cow plushie posted on a table in the hallways directly in front of the entryway to the kitchen; gazing at him with a judgemental look. Quietly calling him an animal from the way he’s behaving, which is rich coming from a cow plushie that can’t even talk…or judge anyone for that matter. Ciaran snapped back to reality, his face fell as guilt overcame him. Him and the cow plushie having a staring contest from across the kitchen to the halls. Ciaran’s appearance reverts back to normal, the ferocity he once displayed diminishing, with his human empathy clouding his sense of beastie cravings. With a soft exhale, he placed the steak down and washed his hands, then strolled over to the cow plushie. His hands now cleaned, he gave the cow plushie a few pets, before turning it around so it faced away from him. “Sorry,” his voice gentle like a breeze, a small barely noticeable frown on his face.

A soft huff left him, scolding himself for his shameful actions as he re-entered the kitchen once again. He combed his fingers through his hair, his fingers then moved to twist the piece of white hair that adorned the dark locks. A habit he does when he’s anxious. Now that his mind was clear from exhaustion (and a bit of guilt), he was able to remember what will happen at work tonight. A big event that the owner of the House of Cards planned, and he could already tell that it would be one busy ass night. Socializing with people is bad enough for him, but when a mass of people are drunk, then it’s basically purgatory. Him standing behind the bar and unable to leave until his break, serving more and more drinks to a stampede of partygoers, being flirted with by people way out of his league as they screamed at him to talk over the loud music blaring in the background. By the Fangs, why did he apply for the job?

His eyes shifted to his paycheck that he left on the dining room table from last week, noticing the triple digits on the check, plus the $500 tips he earned just working three days was convincing him that it was all worth it in the end. More money equals more plushies to buy, after all. “Just hold on, Ciaran,” he reassured himself, “it’s just one night.” He felt a sense of reassurance fill his mind; granting him the confidence he needed for tonight. Just then, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, so curiously, he took it out to read it. A message from his boss popping up on the lockscreen that reads: “Good news! The event will last for an entire week!” Ciaran’s face couldn’t have gone even paler as he read those haunting words - staring at it like they were some forbidden ancient verses he shouldn’t have read. Damn it. He had celebrated too soon and jinxed himself.