longer.blue

@runawaywolf.bsky.social The coast becomes a wall of vivid greens and blues beyond their window as Jordan speeds down the backroads out of town. They trust the good sheriff has long since turned in for the night, leaving no one but the moon, forest and the ocean that lay beyond as sole witnesses to their usual nighttime rebellion. A smile twists Jordan’s lips as moonlight filters in through the open window, a welcome break from the rain this drive usually brings; but then again, the moon’s always been a soothing presence for them, steady and silent in its easy, warm companionship. Though they’re Indigenous, Jordan tends to find more solace in talking to the moon at twenty-three than in asking any Creator for guidance like the rest of their family tends to. Her brothers will snicker about how immature it is, how juvenile. But it doesn’t really bother Jordan, those differences between them…or it hadn’t, before, when the differences felt as insignificant as a puddle. Now, she feels an ocean away from the people who they should feel closest to, the waves as insurmountable as a tsunami. Maybe that’s a little dramatic given that it’s only their brothers who have betrayed her this way outright, but they’ve always had a flair for dramatics. And the Blackwood family’s always stood by their matriarch, meaning that if Mama agrees with Solace and Reed, then there’s little more to it. So if her own brothers won’t support them in their utmost time of need and instead only torment her to the very edge of the sandbar, her mother choosing them will be the proverbial fall into the ocean between. If Jordan had been smart, they’d have thrown their damn phone into the ocean that hugs the coastal backroad leading to the highway. But they’re a *bit* overemotional right now and so smarts aren’t tracking especially high on their survival to-do list as they haul ass to the closest airport. It’s not exactly in town and also a little nerve-wracking because Jordan’s never been on an airplane before, or at least not that they can consciously remember; her Mama swears that they screamed the entire flight from here to California as a baby, shrill and angry. That’s more or less exactly how she’d felt shoving all her savings from a shoebox under her bed into a duffel bag that’d serve as both a wallet and suitcase - nothing but shrill and angry, like the wind before a devastating hurricane. Her flight to a small town in Maine will take several hours before it touches down on the tarmac in a gray, rainy county that boosts some three thousand people. There had been whispers on Internet forums and gossip rags alike that the town and all its inhabitants are cursed, that horrible things happen there under the face of the full moon. But Jordan doesn’t care; she just needs to get away from *this* place, from *these* people…because they cannot imagine horrors worse than the ones that broke their very bones and formed them anew amidst their own screams, cannot imagine worse than becoming a raging, monstrous wolf without a pack to ground them. So welcome to Storybrooke it is. Or whatever the non-Natives call it; they’re ready for whatever horrors may come, because at least it’s better than being the bitter anomaly of her own hateful family.