The boy was talking about Shelly's RA, but she wasn't listening. While focusing on his neck instead of looking him in the eyes in order to keep her stomach intact, she noticed a few lines of black ink. "Was this distracting you?" he said, turning his head. "It's a family tattoo."

Shelly nodded as he let the door swing shut. "Does your sister have one? It's an interesting design."

She caught herself. Asking other people questions wasn't in her nature. It made them ask her questions out of politeness, and she'd much rather not talk about herself. She ran a hand through her dark hair and quickly looked down the hall to the stairs that would lead her to the third floor and to the safety of her room. Jessica would be there, but her presence wasn't anything a pair of headphones and some drawing couldn't cure.

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Francis rolled his eyes to look in Eleanor's face, to see if his submission had gotten through to her. He was shocked to see amusement in her eyes. The pain was a dull ache, and wouldn't cause any permanent damage. Eleanor opened her jaws and the upper half of his body, once supported in her mouth, fell hard to the ground. She sat back and stared at him, her mouth open and tongue hanging out in what could only be described as a smile.

So submission had worked. It pained Francis to have to do it that way, but if it helped him to live, then that's what he would do. His first run in with another werewolf wasn't going exactly the way he had hoped.

Laying on the ground, Francis changed back into his human form. His clothes had been shredded when he had become a wolf, but he wasn't embarrassed. He sat up, wincing from the pain in his shoulder. Small trickles of blood had dried on his arms. He sighed and looked up at the giant she-wolf sitting in front of him. "You really did a number on me! Next time I'm going to have to let loose and see if you can take what you give." Humor was supposed to alleviate the tension, but he doubt it worked. "So why did you decide to attack me but let me live, anyway?"