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 Parkception, open
  • 49 yrs
  • Taken
  • Ian
Posted On: Dec 31 2016, 08:09 PM
punk is prehistoric

As she often tried to tell her children, it was the little things in life that could make it worth crawling out of the warm cocoon of one's blankets in the mornings. Not that Ian didn't have his own rather formidable arsenal of methods for getting his wife moving, but there were some things that Park could subsist on nearly as well as coffee. Tormenting the PTA was one of them.

She grinned to herself and scrubbed a hand through the back of her short-cropped, bubblegum pink hair. Up until a few days ago, it had been electric blue with mousy brown roots beginning to show. And down to her chin. Made a hell of a mohawk for the last meeting before winter break kicked in. The kiddos were holed up at home with their homework, and had been arguing the merits of approaching their English essays with deductive or reductive reasoning when she'd walked out the door.

The shifter still savored the quiet looks of disdain and scandal she collected every time she showed up at Mazi in jeans stained by gun oil, a ratty old army tee, and her most scuffed pair of combat boots. Her favorite bomber jacket probably didn't help matters; she'd never quite been able to get the last of the bloodstains out of it, and Ian was forever trying to tell her that jacket was no longer fit to wear around civilians.

Park wore it out of sheer spite, at this point. She knew damned well that the average citizen would find the rust-colored stain on the faux fur collar disquieting, and the stitches holding old cuts closed wouldn't be much better. To be fair, since he'd caused them and Park had taken retribution with some of Mama Weissenbeck's old stories and a few eager ears, Ian refrained from commenting on those.

Her sharp, reptilian eyes raked over the park, watching someone play fetch with their dog, another cluster of people playing with a frisbee, a couple murmuring with their heads close together on a bench. A child peered up at her as he passed, visibly startling and nearly tripping over his own feet. Park waved, grinning widely. The lack of a visible white to her eyes, combined with vertical pupils and an inhuman color and pattern to the irises tended to pull reactions from people.

Most of the regular shifters she'd met (and most of the anomalous ones too, come to think of it) had more obvious traits from their animal side, fangs or claws or ears, or some other appendage. Hell, one of her friends swore she'd dated a horse shifter who was quite literally hung like his animal form. Wild one, that Debbie. She laced her fingers together and stretched them above her head, yawning.

All her baby boot campers were probably grateful for the day with a more conventional officer, instead of Park leaping out from strange places and attempting to maul them. It was totally training, no matter what strange looks the sargent gave her. Park got results, and that was all the higher ups cared about. Well, that and the popcorn she and Ian provided for their little inspections. Watching former special operations operatives torment train newbies was quite the spectacle.

Stopping dead in her tracks, Park slapped a hand over her face. "Oh my God, Ian's going to kill me." She'd completely forgot to mention that there was going to be an inspection in a few days. The shifter pawed through her pockets for her phone, cursing colorfully under her breath.

@Ian Weissenbeck, anyone really
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