MetaDeprivation - 26. MetaPrompts 619: Tale (MW8)

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Colt whispered when he looked into the mirror. Slowly he put the blond wig on his ¼ inch cropped head, pushing the braids behind his ears. Nonetheless, the tips landed where the wearer of such braids should normally have tits. He sighed again. He might have killed Evil itself, two vampire queens, fuck over-sized wolf marines and nowadays having turned 40, impress even Isaac with his marksmanship, but after all, he always was the girl … and today showed it again. It was a stupid idea. No, he contradicted himself; it was a rather smart idea. For his pack to dress him up in embarrassing ways – as he did with camouflage, jockstraps, lederhosen, or cowboy hats – was just the cherry on the cake. He rolled his eyes in defeat and tried to rearrange his braids, but he gave up. He looked stupid in any case.

He had successfully vetoed the skirt. They had compromised on a kilt. Not that made a lot of difference for the kids on the streets, but he felt he had protected a thin veneer of manhood. Nonetheless, even in a kilt his skinny calves and bony knees were barely of the Scottish hunkiness he had hoped for. He rearranged his unisex white shirt, replaced the braids again, but to no avail. He just looked horrendous. He guessed that was the purpose of that exercise in the first place.

Slowly he put the red cap on. It wasn’t a baseball cap, nor a cover, or a woolly hat that CE loved to see so much on him when they took long walks through the woods – even if the wooly hat made him look like one of those gartenzwerge Andreas couldn’t stop pointing out … of course that lead Andreas to be puzzled as he had though Colt was Snowwhite and not one of her dwarfs – though his physique suggested more dwarf. Colt pushed the thought aside and rearranged the cap to sit straight without deranging his very blond braided wig, but he couldn’t help, and his braids landed wrong all over again. After several attempts, he had finished. He looked as moronic as the day required. “They will so pay for this,” he threatened, heading for the door.

Before he could open it, he turned around and picked up the basket that had been prepared for him. An empty bottle and the poor excuse of old bread peeked out of the red-white-checkered cloth hiding the goodies in the basket otherwise. He picked it up, pushed it into the cradle of his elbow, took another deep breath and walked downstairs onto the dark street.

He had never liked Halloween. He had seen too much real horror and drama to enjoy the celebration thereof, but today it seemed to be necessary. So he started to walk.

And it took only 30 seconds until a creature, tall, dangerous, golden, bared its gigantic fangs. It seemed to ask with no pretense of any friendliness: “What are you doing out here, little girl?"

"I'm on my way to a gay leather bar,” Colt snarled. “I need to shove this bottle up some innocent baby marine’s pussy … they squeal so nicely when stuffed.”

The beast growled, its teeth shining in the moonlit night. It came closer.

Colt could smell it. He pushed his hands into his hips and shouted: “Oh stop that nonsense, Prime. My knees are freezing, let’s get this done.”

Prime’s wolf tilted his head in slight disappointment but lifted his head as if addressing the moon. A bone-shattering howl filled the LA Halloween night, and soon thereafter more wolves, some even bigger, some faster, but equally scary and beautiful at the same time filled the street, surround little red-hooded Colt.

“You’re such a drama wolf,” Colt tsktsked and started to walk; but the wolves seemed to hesitate. “What?” he shouted with a hint of annoyance.

A silver wolf’s snout came too close, trying to lift Colt’s kilt.

Colt quickly grabbed the chain around the wolf’s neck and hissed: “Brian, you do that once more, and I rip your balls off here and now for everyone to see. Understood?”

Brian’s silver wolf yelped and took some careful steps back, the head bowed in submission.

“And I do wear underwear; I’m not Scottish!” Colt explained.

“But, red-hooded girl,” another wolf seemed to approach him, nearly white, stating: “What cute long blond hair you have.”

“So I can better strangle you.”

An ocher one pushed his snout towards Colt’s boots: “and big army boots.” It seemed the wolf had taken offense.

“So I can better step on your dicks.”

When finally an enormous anthracite-colored wolf seemed to ask: “And why does such a cute girl have such a big …,” Colt hissed: “So I can fuck you bloody after a shift, and let’s fucking do this.”

And with this ten wolves started to move; they’d giggle if their wolf snouts could.

Colt was tense. Not because he was dressed like a Little Red Riding hood drag queen, not because it was Halloween on ‘their college,’ not because the Halloween costume was actual wolf shifters surrounding his pitiful drag act, but because he was surrounded by ten wolves; but not ‘his’ ten wolves. Eight were his: Prime, Brian, Gavin, CE, Sam, Isaac, Warren, and Bradley. But they were led by two other wolves, outer circle wolves of the White Wolf Pack, to conclude an open chapter that had been started well before their pack had been formed. To do this on Halloween, and in this ostentatious non-disguise was just a little trick they liked to play to get what they wanted. How else could ten oversized wolves roam the college without creating havoc?

The two outer circle wolves led the pack; then Isaac and Warren; Colt, aka Little Drag Red Riding hood, was surrounded by Prime and Sam, with CE on their six. Brian and Gavin flanked them. It was indeed quite impressive how a nearly white and a silver wolf dashed around to check for threats.

And they were needed once they reached the streets with people; most dressed up in their usual Halloween costumes: horror movie characters, monsters, (fake) vampires, and zombies.

Everything stopped when the wolves showed up.

Some girls screamed, looking for comfort in some strong boys’ arms. They seemed to calm them down that those wolves are just a projection, and there was no reason to be scared, but even Colt could smell the fear. It was one thing to say those monster wolves were projection, but another to believe it given the perfection they showed. Of course, nobody would think they were real wolves, except those frat boys who were young wolf shifters themselves. But those made five extra steps back as they immediately recognized at least three alphas, some vicious betas, and a collection of the most brutal enforcers they had ever witnessed.

Once or twice an intoxicated, and therefore over-confident, young man, came too close, wanting to touch the ‘simulations’ with his hand, when he faced himself quickly with saliva-dripping fangs the size of half his face. The sound effects – the growls – did the rest.

Of course, most could smell some distant dog scent to complete the whole performance, but Colt knew better. A sweet potpourri of strawberry, cherry, forest, plum, orange, apricot, apple, and malt filled his nose the longer he walked surrounded by furry wolf flesh. He didn’t even have to try, but cream and coco added themselves smoothly. And a smile crossed his lips.

Nearly passively he grabbed the chains on around Prime and Sam’s necks when they approached the building they had targeted. As expected, a horde of onlookers had followed them and stopped right now with some safe distance.

Some younger men exited the building to confront the wolves. Colt smelled courage, but lots of fear. And he saw torn jeans, scruffy faces, long hair, and disorganization.

Time to straighten things out, one of the wolves seemed to think. Colt was surprised. It hadn’t been one of ‘his’ wolves, but maybe he just knew what he would think.

Colt turned around facing the impressed onlookers. He reached into his goodie basket and aimed with a kind of gun with an oversized barrel. A thin black cloth shot into the air with a harmless boom. It unfolded and slowly descended, covering all of the wolves and him. And like with a David-Copperfield-act decades ago, the wolves were gone, and ten very attractive, very hunky and very sweaty men in gym shorts pushed themselves out of the cloth.

The audience was oooh-ing and aaah-ing and breaking into a resounding applause. Colt bent as if communicating that the performance was over. And indeed when nothing more happened, most of the college crowd dissolved to continue with their own celebrations.

And with this, a young man, tall, dark-haired, with a thin layer of fur on his chest and lean legs, took a step towards the young men ‘protecting’ the building. “Who is your alpha?” he barked.

The alpha might not look as intimidating as the two others, the red-haired and the blond, but his self-confidence was the same.

Nobody answered.

“Who is your senior beta?” the alpha continued. One of the younger wolves had lost control over his bladder, and everyone could hear the stream hitting the pavement.

Then a pudgy man stepped forward, collecting all his courage and spoke. “Alpha, I’m Elijah, the most senior enforcer present.”

The alpha snarled and issued his orders: “I’m Iove. I hereby claim the alphaship of the Golden Chestnut Pack …”

There were barely protests, only confused whispers.

“This is Jackson, my chief enforcer. If you resist, he will fight you for my role. If you declare war, the White Wolf Pack will fight with me.”

Elijah smiled. Indeed he smiled. “Iove, I’m not familiar with the customs of the Golden Chestnut Pack since we have lost our first better, General Stiller, years ago. But our pack has a special requirement for its alpha.”

“Colt?” Iove’s voice turned oddly soft and respectful.

Little Red Riding hood stepped forward and said: “If anyone of you snickers, I’ll ask Iove to have you all castrated!” The threat seemed to work, all the young wolves quickly bit their lips; their balls were too precious. “And here is a copy of Iove’s Ph.D. diploma from Yale. That should meet your criteria.”

Elijah lowered his head. “Alpha, I will not challenge your claim, and ask humbly to continue to serve our pack.”

Iove nodded gracefully, and then he and Jackson, the first son of Prime’s Gamma Jackson, joined the disheveled young men and entered the main building of the old Golden Chestnut Pack.

Prime nodded with satisfaction. They had placed another alpha, to be allied with another of the most influential packs in North America. He was satisfied. Then he turned to Colt and said: “So tell me Big Red Riding hood, why do you have such a big mouth?”

“That I can bark my orders loud and clear like a US drill instructor, you maggot,” Colt bellowed with a mischievous smile. When he noticed Prime’s grin, he added quickly: “Anyway, now that I look like a very bad drag version of Judy Garland, which made me endure any gay stereotype ever conceived, I should enjoy it more.”

“How?” CE asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

“Oh, I want my wolves on the way back … those scents make me horny …”

And within seconds, eight men had ripped their gym shorts and turned into mean beasts again. And on their way back home he said as if talking to himself: “They say the lion and the tiger are stronger than the wolf; but the wolf doesn’t perform in a circus. I guess nobody has ever done this to a wolf.” And with this Colt loosened his boxer briefs under his kilt and stepped out of them to whirl them into the air like a makeshift whip.

And eight lust- and pain-filled wolf howls filled the night air as it was expected on Halloween.