Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Jacob shot a look as he shook his head. Bella and the cousins registered this as Bella casually pulled Jacob aside. "You want to go look at tide pools?" She asked him as Dylan and Audrey followed them. Bella sent her best smile to him. As they wandered near the water, she nudged him. "So, what did your friend mean about the Cullens not coming here?" She asked. "Oops. Caught that, huh?" Jacob asked as he moved closer to us, lowering his voice for mock secrecy. "Dude, everyone caught that," Dylan reminded him.
"We all caught that," Audrey agreed. "I'm not supposed to say anything," he added. Bella gave him her best alluring smile. "We can keep a secret...," She told him. "It's just an old scary story," Jacob asked us. "Did you know the Quileutes are supposedly descended from wolves?" "Like fur, fangs.....doggy breath?" Audrey asked. Jacob chuckled. Bella smiled and prompted him to continue. "So the legend about the Cullens is...," she asked."Well, they're supposedly descended from this, like...," he spoke in a mysterious voice.
"'enemy clan'......But they claimed to be different, so we made a treaty with them." "Didn't they just move here?" Dylan asked. "Or just moved back," Jacob said. "Riiiight. So what was this treaty?" Bella asked. "If they promised to stay off Quileute lands, we wouldn't expose what they were to the pale-faces...," Jacob told us. Bella's face paled. Jacob pauses dramatically. "AAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!" Angela screamed as Audrey squealed. Bella jumped at the bloodcurdling scream, as Angela ran past, chased by Eric waving a dead crustacean. Jacob smirked and started back to the group. "Wait... what were they?" Bella asked him. "It's just a story, Bella," Jacob laughed as he walked away.
-𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗱 𝗣𝗢𝗩-
A collection of haphazard shacks and boat docks, connected by wood plank sidewalks. Waylon Forge, the hippy logger who used to play Santa Claus, scraping paint off his boat, swigging a pint as he listens to his prehistoric Walkman. His old dog lay next to him as the sounds of the forest and river chirp and buzz. Waylon sings along to his Walkman. Suddenly, the sounds of nature abruptly silence themselves. The dog raised his head and started to growl. Waylon doesn't notice as he keeps singing and working... until he looks up and realizes the dog's gone. "Jerry?" He asked as he pulls off the headphones.
He whistled. No dog. Waylon walked up a walkway, then saw a dog leg, sticking out from under a bush. "Come on, Jerry, you old mutt...," he said as he pulls at the leg. It's detached. He reels back, stumbling onto his boat, frantically untying the line, and pushing out. He floats, breath short, listening acutely. Someone pulled the boat back and he turned to see a woman. It's Victoria, a 26-year-old with chaotic red hair filled with leaves from the woods. "Hello," Waylon smiled at her as her mate jumped onboard. James, a 30-year-old pale white. They were vampires. But their eyes, unlike the Cullens, are deep, sinister burgundy, and lethal.
His catlike movements are always on the edge of a crouch. "Nice jacket," James smiled. "H-how did you do that?" Waylon asked. "Always the same inane questions...," James asked as another man came up. Waylon spun around to see Laurent, a 28-year-old man with glossy black hair and olive skin, lounging on his boat seat. All three Nomads wear frayed clothes, and all three are barefoot. "What do you want?" James asked. "Why are you doing this?" Victoria added. "....James, must we?" Laurent asked with a French accent.
