Tabitha's van puttered up the highway and through the woods, headed back to Green Bay. She had some business to attend to; more bills to pay, more mouths to feed, and none of it for free. She turned to look at the skinwalker head in her passenger seat as she flicked on the cruise control, sneering at the rotting hunk of flesh and bone. She hated it, she figured; no other feeling was properly evoked other than disgust, and it was hard to be only disgusted with a beast that ate the flesh and bones of one's kin. No, she hated it. Hated all monsters, except maybe witches. Venefica made a strong case for them, even if she was a pervert, a junkie, and a troublemaker. She was... helpful.
Helpful was the best compliment Tab felt like she could give, sometimes.
Doom metal and grindcore poured from the radio in a crackling stream, washing over her and flooding the battle-wagon. It was good music that got to the core of how Tabitha felt: nihilistic, vengeful, essential. She was a necessary component to the natural order: if monsters were allowed to flourish, Mankind would die. If Mankind destroyed all monsters, Nature would revolt, or worse, the Craft would turn on it's practicioners. She wasn't sure how or why that would happen - it was just what Vene had said about it - but she was inclined to believe it.
The van ride was about an hour long, and it gave her some time to consider her stops in her head: first, Signor Vito's Pizza Familia for a box of something hot and fresh and easy to shove in her mouth. She'd already had pizza just a half hour ago, but she wasn't the only one she was buying for. Her next stop, the Healing Hands Rehabilitation Clinic (and Shelter), was about due for pizza night. After that, and discussing the next hunt with her... contact, she'd need to head uptown to meet her cash-cow, her pay-pig, the little bastard who bought her nasty gubbins from every hunt. A bastard named Thatcher.
In the blink of an eye the van ride was over and she was coasting into town, swinging past local landmarks, trying to take as many back roads as possible. Police didn't generally like it if your car said 'FUCK' on it in big black lettering, so avoiding the fuzz was a high priority; the fact she was uninsured, a vagrant, and smelled like weed and cheap perfume didn't help. Oh, or the fucking unexplainable head in her passenger seat.
Skirting as many side-streets as possible, Tabitha finally rolled her war-machine into the parking lot of her favorite culinary shithole. Cracked asphalt was only lightly concealed by thin snow, the restaurant itself was tucked into one of the most ghetto neighborhoods in town, and the neon lights in the sign flickered hard enough to make an epileptic reconsider Italian food. The windows were smudged or had the shades pulled, the front door's glass had been cracked for five years, and there was an ancient muscle car with no wheels eternally parked in the only handicap spot.
It was like home away from home.
Tab parked, shittily, and hopped out. There were only three other cars here, meaning Vito himself was probably cooking tonight. That was good. Vito wasn't Italian himself; he didn't even have any in his blood, and he'd never been to Italy. He was originally from Greece, but started going by Vito when he realized 'Konstantinos' Pizzos' wasn't going to catch on.
Tabitha brushed herself off a little bit, grabbed her wallet, and headed in. It was dark as night inside, save for the dim hanging lights over the booths, the glow of the kitchen window, and the various cheap knock-off arcade games that lined the right wall. She walked right up to the lamp at the counter and rang the bell.
"Eyyy, one-a minute-a! I'm-a cooka da pizza!" Vito's frankly racist attempt at an Italian accent never failed to make Tabitha snicker, mostly because the old geezer was so convinced it was good; it wasn't. It was bad. A few moments later an old man with skin to rival a leather handbag (with twice as many wrinkles) shuffled out of the kitchen, a mug of beer in his right hand. He wore a blue t-shirt branded for the restaurant and a white apron, with jeans below. The apron was stained with pizza sauce.
"Eyyyyyy! Issa' Tabitha, my smelliest customer! 'Ow about I get you a glass of watah so you'se can wash off befoah ya get grime all ovah my tables, gabeesh?" Vito smiled the whole time, his squat, bald little head wrinkling further as he gave a gap-toothed smile. Hazel eyes twinkled like a gerbil's from behind a pair of outdated wire-rim glasses, and when he laughed, his wispy grey beard shook like a tree in the wind.
Tabitha gave him the bird, smirking to herself, and he staggered back with his hands up as though he had been punched. "Oh! Ohhhhh! You rat! You scoundrel, comin' inta my restaurant and makin' such rude gestures at me! Oh, I should spit on your pizza, eh? Just a big nastie loogie, like mama used to make!" He laughed aloud now, and put his arms wide for a hug that Tabitha gratefully obliged. She patted him on the back, breathing deep the scent of cigarettes, beer, pizza sauce, and sweat.
"Fuck off, Vito. It's pizza night tonight; Im the big spender, yeah? Bettah treat me right, or I'll have to speak wit my boys about you! Gabeesh?!" Tabitha gathered her fingers into a stereotypical gesture, shaking both hands around as she spoke. Vito rolled his eyes, cutting the accent and clearing his throat.
"Yeah, yeah, alright, big spender. What do you want? Anchovies and onions again? You know, that little girlfriend a' yours loves a little fishy taste, she always gets a personal of anchovies, onions, mushrooms when she comes here alone. Little parmesan, too."
"Eugh, Vito, B is not my girlfriend. Why do you think any girl who knows me is my girlfriend all of a sudden?" Tabitha rolled her eyes, taking an order list and beginning to write down her pizza selections. Anchovie-onion-mushroom with some parmesan... did sound pretty good. Plus, making B happy generally meant better work.
"Look, Tab, sweetie... You look like a construction company could hire you to tear up carpets with nothing but your mouth. S'all I'm sayin'. You're the kinda lady who, if you took a bath more than once in your lifetime, maybe you could get in good with someone. I digress. Can I suggest a classic pepperoni, maybe? Or barbecue chicken?"
"Eugh. Look, if any 'construction companies' want to hire me on, I'll take it. In the meantime, pizza. Yeah, pepperoni sounds good. Maybe bacon-onion-chicken-barbecue? Oooh, or... Ranch. Ranch instead of barbecue." She nods, writing that down and handing the paper off. Vito looks at it, nods, and writes down something of his own.
"Hey, hey, what're you doin' to my order, old man? That pizza better be pristine!"
Vito only laughed, rolling his eyes as he walked back into the kitchen. Tab was left to wait, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. After a bit she slipped behind the counter to pour herself a beer, glugging it down as she awaited.
-
Some time later, her pizzas were ready - with an added order of Freak Sticks (fairly wild name for what amounted to cheesy garlic-breadsticks with a little pepperoni on the top, like mini pizza sticks), and two 1-litre bottles of cola. These additions were 'on the house', as Vito said, so Tab only paid about $30.00 for the whole thing. Pretty damn good, considering.
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Giving Vito one last hug, Tabitha headed back to the van. Opening the passenger seat, she moved her prize down to the floor and set the pizza up top - strapping it in like a real live passenger and everything. No way she was letting her 'za get road rash. The door is slammed shut and she hops back into the driver seat, revving the engine and kicking it into gear.
Next stop, the shelter. The drive over from Vito's is easy and quick - they're only about ten minutes from eachother by car, give or take a few with traffic lights, so she's barely had time to blink when she's pulling into the parking lot of Healing Hands.
It wasn't much better than Vito's, in truth: a mostly brutalist concrete building with a sign depicting two hands holding a red cross, it was about the most boring and depressing looking construction one could imagine in a Wisconsin early-winter snowscape. The windows were tinted (what windows there were, at least), the garden was off-limits due to the temperature, and the door was guarded by the world's most apathetic looking security agent. His name was Frisco, and he was nineteen; this was the only gig he could get to start getting security guard experience, and it showed.
"Eyyy, Artemis, what's poppin', moon girl? You get back from the woods again? Any hodags or some shit give you trouble?" Frisco grinned from ear to ear, making his head seem like an entire smile; he was lanky and pale, with short brown hair and dull brown eyes, so any change in his features was like a whole new man. Tab sneered when he used her alias; he had no idea about her real work, but B sometimes called her Artemis in public, so it sort of stuck that she was a delusional loon.
"Pshh. Yeah, yeah, me and the wolves had a great time hanging out. Really just a blast. Next time I'll have to invite you, Fris, you'd love 'em. I've heard you're a big fan of red rockets."
"Eugh. Piss off, weirdo. Get inside already, you're letting out all the warm air."
Tabitha snickered as she pushed her way in, pizza in-hand, ignoring Frisco's look of distaste. Inside, the rehab center was as generic a clinic as you could imagine: a few benches, all white paint with off-green carpet, a single nurse who looked like she was anywhere else behind the counter... Yep. Seemed about right. Tab headed straight past; she was a regular, and she'd check in with the head honcho soon enough anyways.
Into the main room she went, a sort of dormitory with cloth partitions between beds. The floor was concrete and there was a window to a soup kitchen on the side, with some tables in the center to eat at. Tab strode straight up to the table and slammed down the food and drinks, gathering the attention of the few people who were currently in the shelter - Healing Hands wasn't exactly jam-packed most days, but some regulars made themselves useful by doing labor for the shelter in exchange for extended stay.
One of these people was B.
B was 5'5, snotty, snarky, and full of trouble. She had a long brown undercut that fell to the right (her left side was shaved), she always wore an enormous blue cotton trench coat over her tank-top, and she was one of Tabitha's best friends. She was also one of the few people Tab knew who was aware of monsters, of hunting, and of the Craft.
The cream-skinned little lass ran up to Tabitha and punched her in the arm immediately, big azure eyes twinkling with admiration. B was eighteen, nineteen in a few months, but to Tabitha she was like a little sister - sort of. Tab pretended she was hurt, dropping to her knees and groaning, her un-injured arm going to spread out and open the pizza boxes.
"Urrrrgh! B, you rat! You dog! You got me right in my weak spot! Here I was, trying to bring you your favorite pizza in the whole wide world, and you punch me right in my weak spotttttt! I'm dyingggggggggg...!" Tabitha flopped onto the floor once she had all the pizza boxes open, shutting her eyes as though she was dead.
"Oh, shut up, you fuckin' dramatic bitch! I can't believe you got us pizza again! You've gotta save your money for other shit, you know? Like an apartment! Or a new van, your current one's a piece of shit... But, hey, fuck it, pizza's already bought. Thank you, Art." B leaned down to hug her friend, the embrace lasting a few moments before an authoritative throat-clearing broke the pair up. Tabitha opened her eyes to look up at a tall, well-built man in a polo shirt and khakis standing over her. His hands were on his hips.
"Tabitha Varna, you know you need to run this sort of stuff past me, right? Some of these people have very strict dietary requirements, and eating whatever Papa Vinnie's junk food you bring in might have serious repercussions to their... Well... To a lot! I bet these aren't even gluten free, OR vegetarian, OR-"
This was Jermaine. Jermaine was the head floor-manager of the shelter, and was, all things considered, a pretty nice guy. He was considerate, supportive, friendly... but his one bane was the stick permanently lodged up his ass. He had an undying need to comply with rules, regulations, and other tomfoolery that only hindered his treatment of those around him. By-the-book could get in the way more often than not.
"Jermaine, Jermaine, come on, man. It's just pizza. Hell, it's pizza once a month, even. It's not like I'm in here every day, slamming down hot tasty pies and letting whoever the hell is around come over and take a slice. It's mostly for me and B, anyways. But you can have some, too, if you want~" Tabitha winks, pulling herself back up with B's help. B immediately throws an arm around Artemis's midsection, pulling her closer like a protective puppy.
"Tabitha... I know you think you're doing something good here, and in some ways, you are, but please, at least check with me before randomly deciding it's pizza day? For my sake?" Jermaine fixed his pleading blues at her, thick ebony eyebrows arching in request. Tab sighed and nodded, relenting to his meagre demand; it was his shelter to run, after all. Plus, being given a heads-up was more than reasonable a thing to ask for.
Jermaine smiled at this, his teeth a dazzling white. B continues to cling, but she snakes a piece of delicious anchovie-onion-mushroom-parmesan pizza. Her open-mouthed munching is a soft backing track to Tabitha's own feasting as the three of them sit down for a meal, some of the other shelter residents drifting in and out to consume as they please - B and Tab get the king's ransom of it, of course. Soon enough they finish their food, and Jermaine pisses off to go do something else, leaving the two ladies alone.
"So. B. Business time... What've you got for me? Say something good, please something good. I need a big hit. This recent score was great, but Vene took some bits from it as pay and I'm not sure how much the Bastard's gonna give me for it. I'm thinking elves, or a werewolf, or a redcap. Can you get me anything like that?"
B frowned, pulling out a folded piece of notebook paper that she had scribbled on with pen. Unfolding it showed the image of a brutish-looking figure, hairy and tall, with arms like tree-trunks and a face only a mother could love. Artemis felt her gut drop as she considered the prey, but nodded. A Sasquatch.
"...yeah. Ok. Fine. Big guy, eh? Where's he at?"
B cleared her throat, pulling out another piece of paper with the details. "Folsmith Logging. An hour out of town, to the north, down like twenty backroads. Shit's spooky, I scouted it with Rex the other day. Folsmith's been defunct for like, decades, but the dude who owns it now apparently inherrited it from daddy. Actually came looking for me - well, he came to Rex first, but Rex sent him over to me. There's real prize money in this one if we can get it, Art. If you can get it."
Tabitha sighed, nodding. Prize money, eh? More like blood money. She liked it that way, though; good work for good pay. Plus, if someone in the know was aware of monsters and willing to pay for them to be hunted, they might have contacts in the same boat. This could be Tab's huge break, her and her 'team', of sorts. She reached for the papers, but B snatched them away. This made Tabitha smirk wryly, removing her wallet from her pants and procuring two Benjamins from within. They made their way quickly into B's pocket, and the papers were offered once more.
"Alright, twerp, enjoy your pizza. Me and Thatcher have some haggling to do across town. This scouting report better be good stuff or I'll come back her and belt your ass black and blue, got it?" Tab scowled, but B just winked and stuck her tongue out. Little shit that she was, the gesture still made Tabitha's demeanor softer, and she reached forwards to ruffle B's hair. The other girl whined in protest but made no attempt to stop her, even leaning into the affectionate gesture a bit.
Then Tabitha 'Artemis' Varna was up, stretching her legs with a yawn. One more slice of pizza, this time the chicken-bacon-ranch, disappeared down her gullet before she spun on a heel and proceeded out of the shelter, waving goodbye to Jermaine as she went. Stepping out into the evening air she gulped it down with distinct relief, happy to be free once more. B was crazy, assuming Tab would ever want to hole up in an apartment or something... She'd be happier living in the wilds, like Venefica. Maybe with Venefica. Like besties, or a coven, or something. People seemed to have thoughts about that sort of thing, though.
Fuck it. Let them think what they want. Tabitha hopped in her van and cranked the gas, peeling out and heading off towards the Department of Natural Resources office, and her hated frenemy, Thatcher.