(This is for Hm…x2. First draft. Beta Luke is running for his true mate.)
“I knew it!”
I glance over at the twenty somethings. They probably see me as the same. Werewolves do not age pass twenty five. I’m not known as a wolf here. I focus on my soup. I came in to eat. It’s good food. I highly recommend it.
The group of kids move in closer to me. The one who called out stands before my table scanning me. The action is so beta it amuses me to pick up on it. I’m being sized up by a human. But not for battle. Or at least not for anything besides a battle of wits. I’m going to have a dialogue. I can feel it. Battle of words. “You are African too, right?”
I blink staring up at him. His ability to stare back at me says beta. Although all marks say this person is human. A young human. If they earn the knowledge I wouldn’t mind dragging them back to Green Ridge. “I am American.”
“That accent is all American.” The one female comments with a whisper.
The second male huffs. “I knew it was too good to be true.” He crosses his arms moving to the waiter. “I’m getting us a table and a meal.”
“I want some tea!” The two females move after him.
I just stare at the beta human still standing before me. “Aren’t you going with your friends?”
“They’re not going far.” He waves it off sitting down. “My friend is black like you. She said there would be no one like her here and refused to come with us.” He sighs blocking my sight of his face. It’s a crush. He’s crushing on her. Whoever she is. It would be hiralous if the person was also a beta human. I’m a touch amused by this one. “Although you aren’t African.”
“Which country is she from?” I ask drinking up the soup. “Also, you should have the chicken noodle. It’s tasty.”
He shrugs looking aside. “Rwanda.”
“Is that where Black Panther is from?” I question with a smirk.
“No. You’re being stupid. Black Panther is from a country that doesn’t exist. She’s from the actual country of Rwanda. Close to the Virguna volcanos. Ever heard of Musanze?” He seems rightfully annoyed.
I shake my head. “I never studied Africa. Sorry.”
He sighs looking aside. “Even people who study Africa tend not to know about it. I can’t expect you to know. I was just…”
Being black draws attention. This is why I’d rather stay on grounds. Not that I typically get this type of interaction. He hasn’t insulted me in so many words. Although I feel partially insulted by him. My lack of knowledge annoys him. As if being black means I should be knowledgable about Africa. I wouldn’t be able to say where my ancesters came from. I know my family has one lot from Europe and another slaves. No idea how far back my European ancesters go. I never took any time to trace it. “My mother’s name is Moore. Ring a bell?”
He pales looking at me. “You mean… You’re a Moor? From Spain?”
I nod twirling my spoon in my empty bowl of soup. “Besides that, slaves. I don’t have a DNA test to figure out which country exactly. My father is white. So even though your first thought is African, I’m mixed.” I’m dark for a mixed too. Most of my cousins are light compared to me. “So you ask me about Africa and I shrug. My family has been on this contineunt longer than most.”
The guy pauses as if trying to grasp at straws. “You’re…”
“I’m American. I have a lot of different countries in my ancestry. Like most.” I pause looking him over. “Where does your family come from?”
He gulps as if realizing the half insult he offered me. It hasn’t been the worst. Just because most of my ancestry is European doesn’t mean anything. “Sorry.” He shakes it off. “I’m Newt.”