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Matte black tipped fingers splayed as they gently shoved the front door to the tavern open with an easy push of a leather-clad shoulder. Crossing into the familiar bar, the blonde flicked her loose flaxen hair over her shoulder as she stomped across the well-worn floor, having worn the tread of countless feet over the years. No one beyond the Farkas Alpha himself could say exactly how old the tavern was, but it had operated as a central feature and meeting place for the well-settled pack for generations upon generations. As she trudged across the wooden floor in heavy motorcycle boots, familiar faces caught sparkling azure eyes. She nodded towards the same people that had witnessed her evolution from pint-sized trouble making pup to full-fledged rebellious detective, the woman that had blossomed despite the untimely demise of her father and loyal pack Beta. It was these people, gathered under the guidance of Fenrir, that had stopped her downward spiral, and helped her find solid ground again.
Grinning wolfishly toward an old friend or two, her middle fingers flipped up playfully as she dodged a handful of sailing peanuts aimed directly for her as she continued towards the bar, twirling away out of reach. Knowing Edon, the flying peanuts were likely deserved. Coming to the Ragnarök was nothing shy of coming home, a welcome sanctuary to the pack and its members. The sailing peanuts, fly as they might, were a sign Edon was among the ranks of her own kind.
Situated on the edges of the sprawling city, where city blocks turned to acreage and farmland, the historic tavern had earned itself a reputation; it was a place best reserved for its regulars. Even the locals gave it a wide berth, though few had any clue what actually happened behind its walls, gossip spurning myth and legend that dazzled the pack that called the Ragnarök home. Whatever untruths had spread, they kept the tavern and the pack safe. At least it kept most humans out of the bar, though a few curious passersby managed to find their way to the werewolves' watering hole. For the territorial wolves, it was a cross they bore with minimal commentary.
Edon herself was as territorial as the wolves came. Pack land was sacred. A lesson reiterated when her father was killed by a supposed ally on the very land he vowed to protect, murdered where he stood, unarmed, azure eyes staring down the barrel of a gun. In the wake of his murder, Edon's vow to protect her kind had evolved into something more. Encouraged by Fenrir, she miraculously turned her wild youth around and made a name for herself within the police department, despite her total loathing of bureaucracy and problems with authority. It even seemed a transfer from Vice to homicide was in her future.
Edon was far from the only werewolf on the payroll, several Farkas members having worked their way into law enforcement over the years. The alpha found himself policing more than just his pack and the rogue wolves that roamed through town, or even his brother's untrustworthy recently returned eclectic pack. Fenrir had the unenviable position of lieutenant in charge of major crimes. But there were others that found themselves among the rank in file.
Like Wyatt Hawthorne.
The pair had grown up together among the pack. Edon had been closer to Wyatt's elder brother Peter, close in age, friendship blossoming with ease. His loss had been a hard one to weather, opening up old wounds that threatened to never heal. In the wake of the death of another person she held dear, Edon had done the only thing Edon knew how and promised to look out for Wyatt and his twin. It seemed only fitting that she checked in on him, and working together at the precinct gave her ample opportunity to do just that.
Much like her younger sister, it seemed that the sure-firest way to persuade Wyatt to join her was an invitation to drink. On her tab. So she sauntered up to the bar, plopping herself unceremoniously on a stool, barely opening her mouth before a bowl of fried pickles and a strong margarita were set down in front of her. Grinning, her eyes flicked up from the food to a familiar face, "Awww....you shouldn't have."