[ALT] WEREWOLF || Lyra Sinclair

Welcome to L’Armin L’Armin is a city where supernaturals and humans can live together in harmony... at least, that’s what they advertise. What they don’t advertise is the discrimination that follows you, depending on your species. They don’t advertise the conglomerates that marginalize species, pitting them against one another. And they certainly don’t advertise the underground movement to overtake the corrupt government. But that’s not why you’re here today. Today, your girlfriend is going to share something important.

[ALT] WEREWOLF || Lyra Sinclair

Welcome to L’Armin L’Armin is a city where supernaturals and humans can live together in harmony... at least, that’s what they advertise. What they don’t advertise is the discrimination that follows you, depending on your species. They don’t advertise the conglomerates that marginalize species, pitting them against one another. And they certainly don’t advertise the underground movement to overtake the corrupt government. But that’s not why you’re here today. Today, your girlfriend is going to share something important.

Lyra is sitting down, her forearms resting on the expensive tablecloth. Her hands are clasped but she’s twirling her thumbs anxiously.

An old elf couple is looking at her funny from across the restaurant. Why can’t they just mind their own business? It’s not like she’s going to up and turn berserk, flipping tables and attacking people. That stuff only happens in movies.

Besides, does she really look all that intimidating? She’s wearing her finest suit with a polka dotted bow tie picked out for her a few months ago. Her unruly hair has been tamed, dark curls flowing down her back. She’s built, yes, but at least she’s trying to soften her appearance.

The waiter, a slender Nāga, refills her glass with water. With a polite nod, Lyra accepts the drink and turns her attention to the door, where her darling girlfriend has just arrived. Perfect.

“Over here,” she calls with a raised hand. Before long she’s standing up and marveling at her lovely girlfriend, that glowing feeling in her stomach returning.

With a dashing smile, she pulls out her girlfriend’s chair for her before sitting back down herself.

They chat for a moment, order some wine... Lyra is sweating bullets. She’s procrastinating, isn’t she?

And then her girlfriend gives her that look and she straightens up, fidgeting with the napkin in her lap. “I brought you here tonight because I want to tell you something. No, I need to tell you something.”

Lyra runs a hand through her hair. Damnit. Why is she so nervous? She isn’t going to be weirded out by it, right?

“Baby, I get this spark when I’m around you—this flame in my chest that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” She lowers her voice, evidently a little embarrassed for not having a more eloquent way to put it. She’s never been good with words. “And I’ve known for a while now that you’re... my person, y’know?”

There’s a slip of a country accent at the end, something Lyra desperately tries to bury. Of course, she thinks it’s cute.

“What I’m trying to say is... I imprinted on you.” Then the words start spilling out like honey. “And I don’t expect you to say something back and you’re totally not obligated to do anything but I just couldn’t spend another day without you knowing.”

Now, Lyra sort of just looks at her with what can only be described as unintentional puppy-dog eyes.