(In response to Intrinsically Sweet)

Warm kernels, liquid gold drizzled across the top, sprinkled with just a hint of salt.

The smell of movie theatre popcorn was unmistakable and unforgettable, even for the most mundane of noses. Forever married to the magic of the silver screen, it brought back fond memories of childhood outings to see the latest of Disney's musical masterpieces or a stolen first kiss during a quiet moment of the latest super hero flick. From grabbing hands too tightly during a classic Hollywood horror show to sobbing on a friend's shoulder during the final scene of a drama, the smell of popcorn was inseparable from theatres.

So why was the scent lingering in the hallway outside Calley's room?

Someone had slipped a napkin under his door. Written upon it was only a time. A deadline, if you will. He had until midnight tonight to find the right place.
_________________________

Jocelyn stood in line by herself. She had worn her special three wolf moon t-shirt for the occasion. It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances. It was almost time for the show to start and Calley wasn't here yet. If he didn't make it in time, she probably would just go home. This movie wasn't going to be any fun to watch by herself. Who would she laugh with when the dialog was awful or the acting was cornier than the movie snacks?

She checked her watch. He still had 20 minutes. He'd be here. She hoped. And if he wasn't, she'd have to make a phone call to reschedule something else for a different night as well. She'd also have to go back to the pet store and actually buy some food for the half dozen feeder mice she had bought. The squeaked in her brown paper bag as if sensing these thoughts.

It was green; lime green, its packaging had proclaimed, but Calley had his doubts. After all, he knew what lime green looked like. This was more of an ultramarine sewage olive.

It was about a half an inch think. Had shiny steel hoops for connectors between the pieces. Did not have rhinestones--they didn't make an ultramarine sewage olive with rhinestones. At least, not for Rottweilers.

Still, Calley thought he looked pretty darn good in his new harness as he trotted down the street, nose to pavement. He followed behind himself at the end of a matching leash, a pair of sunglasses proudly perched on his nose. Sunglasses + dog = no one noticing his eyes were closed behind the shades. Trust him: he ran into fewer people this way. Rottweiler for dog = no one really complaining much when he did. The scent trail a certain woman had left behind wove under and through the smells of the city; of McGrease King wrappers huddled in alleys, and Astro Moose coffee wafting like smoke trails through the air, and the oddly persistent smell of airborne mice. By the time the smell of butter overpowered everything else, their destination was clear.

"Hey!"

Grumph-ruff.

"Sorry I'm late."

Snuff-snuff-wuff-whine?

"Hard to find pet stores that are open this late, and no one at the Sanctuary had a harness I could borrow." Lots of collars, in various shades of goth and spike, but no harnesses.

Sneeze.

"...Those are for sharing, right?" The shifter hopefully asked, his shaded eyes coveting what his other nose had so recently wuffled.

He made it. Just in time, too. Jocelyn grinned.

“Naw, you're just in time. And actually everything in there is for you.” The bag she handed him contained six currently unflavored feeder mice, a 'The Pack is Back' t-shirt, and a pair of pants: plain jeans in a size that she estimated would fit him. His prize for arriving at the final destination. Also a movie ticket.

“I wasn't sure if you'd need to change before the movie,” she added, as an explanation for the clothing, “I also have gummy bears that I'm willing to share.” She'd picked them up at the dollar store on the way over. $1.00 was a much more reasonable price for movie theatre snacks than four or five or whatever they were trying to charge now-a-days, even if she did have to settle for an off brand.

Jocelyn scratched the rottweiler under the ears by way of greeting.

Scritch, scritch.

“So, before we go in, there is a very serious question I have to ask you. Team Edward, or Team Jacob?”

Scritch.

“...Team Who?” Calley asked, even as he wiggled his way into a shirt that clearly professed his allegiance. First his arms popped out, then his head; some juggling of leash required. His hair came out looking about the same. He plucked at the front of the shirt, with a certain sense of novelty. “Hey, it fits. Thanks.” Insert grin. He accepted the bag of mice, and looked around. This really was quite the crowd.

“So what movie are we seeing?” Said the culturally illiterate young man, who was only beginning to notice how many other people had shirts like his.

Jocelyn gave a fake surprised gasp, “You don't know what team you are? No, no, I suppose you wouldn't have read the books.”

The undercover cop gave a satisfied nod when the shirt fit its wearer just right. She took pride in her ability to estimate the sizes of growing boys... or boys that had probably just barely finished growing.

“We're here to see Twilight, it's the premier of the third or fourth one... I forget which, now. They all kind of blend together.”

She took one look at his face and could tell it was going to need a bit more explanation than that. If he was going to help her make fun of this movie, he should probably at very least be informed about the plot.

“So, think love triangle between a a vampire and a werewolf both vying for one human girl's affections. The vampire is sparkly and fickle. The werewolf is loyal even though he has been relegated to best friend status.”

The people in the line ahead of them jerked to attention, there was movement up ahead!

“Ready?”

Calley hadn’t seen a movie in theatres in—what?—three years? Four years? Since his first date with Isabel. He’d forgotten how big they were. How all-encompassing. How much people didn’t like it when he shouted at the screen.

“Don’t do it! Don’t marry him!”

“Oh god oh god tell me when the vampire sex is over...”

“Kill it! Kill the abomination!”

Lupe had taken him to a horror film. And not the fun, people-in-make-up kind. They’d clearly gotten real wolf shifters for this; there was no way special effects had come along so far so fast. Not real vampires, though—vampires didn’t sparkle.

“That poor shifter. Enslaved to a vampire for the rest of his life. And—and everyone thinks that’s okay!” He looked to Lupe, hoping for some back up here—that wasn’t okay, right? It wasn’t just him? The buttery mice squeaked in their bag. He squeezed it a little closer to his chest, for comfort. Poor things—he’d been too distraught to eat them, and now they were all scared. He’d have to fix that later, when his stomach shook off its terror enough to uncurl.

“Imprinting is the worst mutant ability ever.” A definitive statement.

Team Jacob for life.

Calley didn't react the same way to the movie that Jocelyn expected. She wasn't, however, disappointed.

His shouting at all the most inopportune times probably partially ruined the movie for some of the people sitting next to them, which was, if anything, more entertaining than whispering to a friend about how awful the acting was or how terribly corny the lines were. Calley was just so... oblivious to the evil glares he was getting from the teen to twenty-something girls all around him, at least unti lafter the movie was over.

“Yeah, it really is a terrible mutation. Though, perhaps the person that imprints doesn't mind, because the person they love makes them happy, even if they are a monster. I wouldn't want it to happen to me, though, that's for sure.” Maybe because she didn't trust men, pr, at least, hadn't found one yet that was worthy of her trust, other than her brother, who obviously didn't count because he was blood.

She turned her cell phone back on and checked the time. They were right on schedule.

“You want a coffee or hot chocolate or anything? Something warm and comforting...” There was a coffee shop, on their way.

Calley shuddered his agreement; both to not wanting it to happen to him, either—hecks to the hell no!—and to the hot drink.

"Yes please," he said, with a nod over his mouse bag. He'd made his Rottweiler pull a disappearing act sometime during the movie—it had been taking up a little too much foot space, and inhaling a little too much of what made the floor stick to shoes. And to fur. Major ick factor.

The coffee shop came into sight; some dinky family-owned place that he remembered passing a few times but never going into. He wasn't much of a coffee person, really—more of a "hot beverages and sensitive cat tongues do not mix" person. Water was usually good. Carbonation, if he was feeling daring. But some hot chocolate did sound good.

"I don't think I've had hot chocolate since, since..." Since he lived in Jersey? Really? That couldn't be right. He definitely had it at the Mansion sometime. Just... sometime not memorable? No, he definitely remembered a towel. Over his head: he must have been sulking. And his tail had been twitching, but the fur had been wet. "Oh! Since Cafas drowned me."

Yeah, that was—

The Italian stopped walking. Out in front of the coffee place, parked all nice and neat, was a police motorcycle. Baby blue eyes shifted towards Lupe. Not accusingly, nope. Just... as a precautionary measure against future drownings, either literal or metaphorical.

"You're not wanted by the cops for anything, right? 'Cause if you are, now's the time to hit up the McGreaseKing dollar-and-five cents menu, instead."

Not to be rude or prying, or anything. But she had been trying to stab a guy the first time they meet, and it was so hard to take Order members to nice places.

“Wait, who is this Cafas person who tried to drown you? Should I be hunting him down and...?” She left the sentence hang like that, so Calley could fill in for himself what he'd like to be done to this person, if anything.

Except they shouldn't be making plans for that sort of thing when cops were about. Cops other than her, that was.

There, just as Collins had promised, her motorcycle was parked just outside the Munchin' Muffins. It was just waiting for her.

Inside the brightly lit little shop, they could see Officer Collins picking up his drink from the counter, then making his way to a little table with a newspaper. It was obvious that he was planning on being there for awhile.

Jocelyn shrugged to answer his question, “Not in this state.” Or any other state. “At least, not yet.”

She walked closer, rubbing her hand down the leather of the seat. It had been so long it didn't even smell like her anymore. It just smelled like parking garage. A mischievous grin split her face as she looked up at Calley.

“I'll race you. You go get two hot chocolates, and I'll have this thing ready to ride by the time you get back.”

Calley thought about it for a moment. He really did. Finally, he waved a hand of thanks-but-no. "Naw, I can hurt him just fine on my own."

Truer words.

And then she was stroking the bike seat like she'd just met a new friend, while he was discretely keeping out of sight of the coffee shop's windows. He flicked his eyes towards the well lit interior, then back to her and her dark little grin.

"On one condition," he said. "If the cop chases us we run, right?" These were necessary ground rules to lay out. Some Orderling races involved dodging cops; some involved stabbing them for extra points. Of course, if they both did their parts right, any chasing the cop would do would be followed by running on two rather fast wheels.

The plain looking Italian teenager, with his average build, average hair cut, and Three Wolf Twilight tee, walked casually into the coffee shop. Anyone watching through the windows could see that conversation was made with the girl behind the counter; polite, pleasant, forgettable. He paid in cash (don't use plastic before a felony grand theft, kids!), and walked out the door with two coffees in an eco-friendly cardboard tray.

"Coffee to go?"

“Of course we're going to run. I'm not Isabel, you know.”

Part of her training sessions before going undercover had been an official lesson in how to hot wire a vehicle. Jocelyn had not pointed out to her instructor at the time that she may or may not have had a prior experience or two with that sort of thing.

She worked quickly, removing this little panel here, jostling that little piece loose there, connecting this wire to that one. It was a simple concept, really.

By the time Calley returned, the bike was purring and ready to go.

“Thanks,” she grinned at him and took a brave sip from her cup. It was still quite scalding. A little bit of a wait while they drove would help it.

“Here,” she popped open one of the compartments so Calley could put the drinks inside along with the bag of buttery mice. “Oh, and this could be useful.” There was a helmet in there. What a lucky coincidence; they needed one of those. She handed it to her partner in crime, then mounted the motorcycle.

“Let's go, before he...” it was too late for that. The cop had just noticed them over the top of his newspaper, then started running for the door. They were out of time to chat.

No longer needing to keep the engine as quiet as possible, Jocelyn revved the engine, kicked up the kick stand, and took off, with Calley's arms tight around her waist and angry shouts fading behind them.

With a helmet safely tucked over his distinguishing features, the Italian was feeling a whole lot more playful. He gave the nice cop-man a wave (was that Officer Collins? he'd be sure to purr extra loud when the guy scratched his ears tomorrow), and wrapped his arms around Lupe's waist. That's what people in movies always did. Honestly, it felt a little awkward. His balance was pretty good; maybe he could just—

Lupe revved the engine, kicked the kick stand, and sent Calley scurrying to hug tighter. It wasn't his first time on a motorcycle, thank-you-very-much; it was his second. The first time, he'd had a fashionable red monkey tail as a seatbelt. This felt a lot different.

A little whoop escaped his mouth.

"Hey," he shouted, trying to be heard past helmet and over wind. "You should totally paint the Order symbol on this thing." If she was going to keep it. If she wasn't, could he? These things were fun.

“Maybe some Order-red flashing lights, too?”

She was definitely keeping the motorcycle, especially since it was hers anyway, but she didn't mind if Calley came along for a ride now and then.

The ride home was surprisingly uneventful. There weren't any open hardware stores at this hour, so picking up red spray paint tonight was out of the question, unless they were going to commit an actual crime. Still, the wind blowing past their faces was exhilarating and Calley's arms around her were warm.

It was a good night. One of the best she'd had in... quite awhile.

Back in the garage, Jocelyn was grinning as she pulled her helmet off and shook her hair free.

“Did you see his face as we drove away? Ha!” Her smile was genuine, she didn't have to pretend, for once, to be something she wasn't.

“Oh, and don't forget your mice,” she added as she opened the hatch for him, then leaned back, letting the motorcycle kickstand support her weight in addition to the bike's. Why couldn't she have this much fun on a real date? Because this wasn't a date. Because that would be weird. Because Calley was still a kid. And they were just friends.

And yeah.

“Thanks for coming, Calley.”