fandomhigh | BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday morning

Malia had never been out of California before. Or Beacon County, for that matter. She'd barely been out of Beacon Hills proper, and that was mostly as a coyote hunting for food.

So this was new and exciting! Or, you know, new at least. She was going to school. One that didn't, as far as she could tell, require her to learn math. So right there it had one up over BHHS. It also didn't have Scott or Stiles, which was not a point in its favor, but in the end, she'd decided that not having to struggle through eleventh grade math beat out getting to have the few people she knew around, especially when Scott agreed he could try to teach her control over the internet.

So here she was. Her ears still felt stuffed full of cotton from the plane, and the whole airport smelled like cleaning fluid and anxiety, and she was managing to claw tiny holes in the upholstery with claws that didn't want to stay hidden away like they were supposed to, but hey. At least she was having an adventure?

[IT'S NEWBIE SHUTTLE TIME! Up early-ish because work has been dumb this week and I might be slow.]

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"I am," Clare said. "My friends back home are terribly jealous. Hello," she stuck out her hand to shake. "I'm Clare."

Malia got most of that. At least enough to work out that there was a name in it, and also some reference to other people.

She shifted the heavy bag to her other hand (still holding it up like it was stuffed with feathers) and shook Clare's.

"Malia. My friends back home are . . . probably fighting something evil that wants to eat them."

And thus maybe a little jealous, as well.

"...something evil that wants to eat them?" Clare repeated. "Metaphorically?"

She'd spent a lot of time only half paying attention in Mass.

Right, that was one of those things normal people didn't say out loud, wasn't it.

"Sure," she said, shrugging. "Where are you from? You sound like a character from a fantasy movie."

They watched those sometimes, back at Eichen House. Someone had had the idea that people who didn't always have the best grip on reality would enjoy movies that didn't resemble reality much at all.

"I'm from Derry," Clare said. "In Northern Ireland?"

It was a good thing she clarified there, because Malia definitely didn't know where Derry was.

"Oh," she said, bobbing her head in a little nod. "Are there, like, fairies there?"

"Not unless you talk to Orla for too long," Clare said. "She's not altogether right in the head."

". . . She turns people into fairies?"

Look, it wasn't the weirdest thing that Malia, a werecoyote most recently from a mental institution where she spent time with banshees and lost her viriginity to a guy possessed by an evil kitsune, had ever heard of.

"Och, no, it's her aunt who might be a witch on account of telling her aunt to drop dead at a wedding and the aunt obliging her," Clare said. "Orla's just peculiar and still believes in fairies despite not being ten any more."

“That’s. . . something only ten year olds do?” Malia had never been a human ten year old. “But killer witches are totally a thing.”

There was no judgment in her tone at all. Or irony. She was actually trying to work out what was normal where Clare was concerned.

"Well, killer witches aren't generally a thing, but best to be careful there, just in case," Clare said.

Malia nodded. "That makes sense. Since they're killers and all."

She was definitely going to get classified as the American Orla here, wasn't she.

At least by Clare, yeah.

"Well, I'm sure Erin's ma didn't really mean it," Clare said.

Malia wasn’t sure how to answer that, so she said “okay.” And then sat there awkwardly watching her.

BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday morning

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