The mask and gloves begin burning holes in my pockets as I stare at the unlikely grouping of cars. I can probably deal with Rock’s grandfather, but Mr. Cutter was hired for several reasons, his quick wit and razor-sharp perceptions not the least of them.

“Something wrong?” Mrs. Whistles says, studying me with a concerned eye.

“Uhm, not exactly. Just looks like we have some unexpected visitors.” I don’t know if my stiff upper lip is due to some aspect of vampirism, but I’m grateful for it, whatever the origin. “Hey, do you mind if I visit Rainbow in the hospital?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject, “It’ll have to be sometime after dark. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all! That’s very sweet of you. I’ll let my husband and daughter know you’ll be coming.”

I hold in my sarcastic enthusiasm as I give her my mother’s cell number.

“I don’t, currently, have a phone; that’s my mother’s number. She’ll probably want to thank you for bringing me home. Her name is Remedy Glow, by the way.”

“What a lovely name,” she says, with a smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Gyre. I’d best be on my way though.”

“Likewise, ma’am.” I begin the motion to offer my hand, but she leans in and wraps her arms around my shoulders in a hug made awkward by the seatbelts.

“Thank you so much for bringing our daughter back safely.” Mrs. Whistles sniffles. “That silly girl is everything to us.”

Yeah, no kidding.

I return the hug with some hesitation, but say nothing. When she releases me, I give an awkward wave and exit the vehicle. She waves back cheerfully as she pulls away, and I take my sweet time strolling up the empty portion of the long driveway, until she’s out of sight.

I don’t bother considering the front door, as I left my window unlocked before I left. Just before stepping off the pavement to approach the east end of the house, I freeze in my tracks. Mrs. Whistles is too far away for the heartbeat I hear to be hers. Taking a second to echolocate, my eyes are drawn to Vice Principal Luna’s car. As if sensing my attention, the driver opens their door and steps out with all the grace of a film star. Vice Principal Luna looks to have forgone the dark blazer she usually wears in favor of a conservative blue-black blouse, most likely because it’s easier to wear with the sling holding up her left arm. She wears slacks today, and is still wearing that navy blue strip and clasp about her middle, albeit, somewhat loosely.

“Mister Strand,” she begins, cooly, “I’d like to have a chat before you go sneaking back into that house.”

“I wasn’t sneaking. It-It’s my house.”

“Really?” She walks to the rear of her car and leans on the trunk. “Go on in then. They’re waiting for you.” The steady gaze she uses to impale me holds neither mercy nor compassion. I don’t move. Instead, I cross my arms and return the best icy stare I can manage, even though my heart would have normally been pounding. “Mister Strand, I’m here to offer you a chance at some mutually beneficial introductions. I suspect you’ve found yourself in a rather difficult position.”

“What-what makes you say that?” I say, my attempt at cold indifference ruined by the stutter. I bite my tongue to force down the curse in my throat.

“Well -” she reaches into a pocket and withdraws a paper pack of cigarettes. She puts one of the foul things between her lips straight from the pack and talks around it as she lights the end with a slick, silver lighter she unclips from her belt. “- it could be the twenty-four hour disappearance, your stalker turning up without a head, the spree of bizarre crimes that coincided with your little trip, and about a half dozen other things you have no conception of. Not to mention the fact that, either you’ve acquired an extremely advanced set of contact lenses, or that red light in your eyes is a dead giveaway of something a little more extraordinary. How’s that?” She puffs smoke with her final words.

I clench my fists in frustration at the inconvenience my eyes have become as I try to ignore the acrid smoke prickling at my sensitive nose. I don’t need to breathe, but stray particles of the burning tobacco are still rather offensive.

“What do you want?”

“This isn’t about what I want, it’s about what he has to offer you.” Vice Principal Luna makes an elegant gesture with her cigarette toward the top of the hill. I glance up at the dark outline of the Ghastenhauser mansion’s roof, peeking over the rim like an anxious observer.

“Baron Ghastenhauser? What does my mom’s boss have to do with—actually, nevermind, this shouldn’t be surprising.”

“Ask him yourself. If it were up to me, your vulnerabilities would be researched and exploited to put you down at the earliest convenience.” She sees my startled expression as she says this and offers a more neutral look compared to the barbed regard I’ve been subjected to thus far. “Nothing personal, it’s just unlikely you haven’t already hurt someone, despite whatever valiant efforts you’ve made to suppress and manage your new hungers or thirsts. Or other metabolic urges. It’s just as unlikely you won’t hurt someone else, if left alone.”

I try not to let my body language give anything away. She doesn’t need to know what blood is on my hands, just yet. To mask my unconscious reactions, I begin moving in an arc around her, as if sizing up prey. Along with a heightened heart rate, Vice Principal Luna adopts a noticeably stiffer posture, trades the cigarette to her left hand, and allows her right to fall next to her hip. I don’t see a weapon there, but that’s why it’s called ‘concealed’ carry.

I glare at her, the intimidation receding behind some mixture of indignation and annoyance. “You think I’m some kind of dangerous monster, but threaten me in front of my own home? Believe me, if I wanted to hurt anyone, you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” As I think about what I’m saying, I find it somewhat unsettling that I mean every word. Still, it feels great to speak plainly. “But you have no idea what I’ve been through to make sure no one gets hurt, how many times I’ve nearly died for someone else’s sake, what other horrible things I’ve come across out there. I’ll put myself down before I become the kind of monster you think I already am.”

“Relax, Mister Strand—”

“Stop calling me that.”

“If you insist, Gyre. Look, there’s no need for hostility between us. I’m the one who advised your mother to call her attorney after all. Extremely fortunate for you that he’s an associate of the same organization as myself.” Her tone is reasonable, but the tension in her jaw speaks of tested patience. “Besides, the man who is offering you his home and resources has more than earned my trust, which has never come easily. He’ll do the same for you, should you give him the chance.” She drops her half-finished cigarette and steps on it as she returns to the driver-side door of the car. “We’ll speak again soon, just don’t get up to any more of whatever you did last night, or we’re bound to cross paths under less than friendly circumstances.”

Just as she’s lowering herself into the car, something occurs to me, “Wait!”

She breathes an impatient sigh and her eyes flick back to me, “What is it? I’m late for a date with something tall, dark and medium roast.”

“How did you know I was coming?”

She visibly considers something for a moment before answering, “You’ll just have to come by the estate to find out.” She gives me a satisfied smirk before something important seems to occur to her, as well. “Oh, but do me a favor—don’t tell my sister about the smoking.”

With that, she slides into the cockpit of her ostentatious machine and closes the door. It roars to deafening life and Vice Principal Luna glides away into the growing morning.

So my vice principal is part of some shadowy organization? I wonder how much of her conjunction with it was a matter of choice or circumstance. Some of both, I imagine.

Hesitant twittering in a tree nearby reminds me of the morning’s imminence. I spin in place and jog over to the east side of my house. Passing by the tall bay windows, a conversation hums through the glass to reach my sensitive ears, but I don’t have time to stand and listen. I scurry past, through an arch made of hedge bush and iron fencing. Here, a sort of dark, cozy alley is formed by towering hedges and the side of the house. Thankfully, my room is well past the next set windows that look into the living room. I gaze up at the second-story window, trying to gauge how much force is required for the jump. Ivy crawls up the brickwork, but nothing substantial enough to climb. My only purchase will be the window ledge. After a couple practice hops, I crouch and put a measured amount of effort into the leap, grabbing the ledge to keep myself from flying onto the roof. The window slides up without much sound and I roll through once there’s enough space, noting the strong smell of cooked eggs and, unmistakably, chorizo sausage. With the excessive strength in my limbs, maintaining stealth and grace is effortless. Wasting no time, the blood finds its way into my mini-fridge, behind the now-useless assortment of energy drinks and seltzer water. Though I long to be able to consume them without consequence, the thought of it elicits a sudden, instinctual revulsion, as if I had entertained the thought of drinking tar.

I close the fridge and strip, putting on the first things I see in my closet before stuffing everything I took with me into the backpack. While Sunny may have scrubbed much DNA evidence from the clothes, I'm more concerned that I was likely recorded on at least a dozen video feeds, so this outfit could be a link to me, especially with the bullet holes. There aren’t many places I can hide this for long, but the thickness of the hedges should serve for a day. Before dropping back out of the window, I take a moment to go over the story I planned on the way back, just in case. A nervous energy simmers within as I drop back down to the ground and make my way to the front door, quietly stuffing the backpack into a thick tangle of leaves and thin branches on the way. At least, I hope it was quiet; it’s hard for me to tell what humans can and can’t detect these days.

I hesitate for a few moments before ringing the doorbell.

Inside, I hear my mother’s voice say, “Oh gods,” as chairs scrape. A smattering of footsteps comes near. The door swings open and my mother stands before me, wearing disheveled blue scrubs, eyes brimming with fresh tears. She lunges forward and wraps me in a warm, tight embrace. By Tartarus, she obviously hasn’t missed a day at the gym. I return the hug, smiling over her shoulder at a haggard Rock, who waves back. I don’t need to breathe, but I still need air in my lungs to speak, so it isn’t until she lets me go that I can finally say something.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

She lets out a sharp breath and says, “No, I’m sorry, son. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all of this alone. I wasn’t around to watch out for you, I’m—”

“Mom!” I bark, not unkindly, “Stop. It...it’s not your fault. Neither of us could have known about Ace or he wouldn’t have gotten away with it for so long. Besides, I keep these things to myself for a reason. I’m sure you have enough to deal with...I realize leaving didn’t help.”

“My sweet boy, you know I’m happy to be there for you; I’m your mom. I’m just so glad you’re okay, kiddo.” She pats my cheek as she speaks and gasps. “Goodness, you’re cold. I’ll make some tea while you catch up with Mr. Cutter.”

With that, Mom gives me another long, crushing hug. She sniffles and holds my hand for as long as she can as she separates herself and slowly moves to the kitchen, patting Rock’s shoulder as she passes him.

“Hey bro,” Rock croaks, offering a wan smile. He’s already dressed for school in his usual all-black attire, but he looks like he might have slept in those clothes. We bump fists and follow my mom through the foyer. When we reach the living room, the farthest seat at the table is occupied by Mr. Cutter, a plump, mildly hunched man with a full head of neck-length, wavy white hair, in stark contrast to his dark brown skin. Just as my mom passes through the doors to the kitchen, Rock’s grandfather squeezes past, wiping his hands on a small towel. Strum Steady is an impressively built, tall man, whose stature is evident even when he’s seated. He sports a suave, short haircut, peppered with grey among the jet black while his eyes are a deep ruby, tinged with a hint of violet. His skin is an ashen caramel, but splotched in large, pale swathes by a condition called vitiligo. One such splotch crosses his face from the left temple to the right jaw, giving him the permanent appearance of wearing tribal war paint. I’ve seen less cool-looking genetic abnormalities.

“Ah, welcome home!” he booms, spreading his arms and nearly blinding me with his dazzling white smile. He sweeps me into an embrace as Rock and I approach the table. “I’m glad Mizz Luna was right about you coming back soon, mijito. Ora pues, everyone else just finished breakfast, but I left some for—”

“He just ate, grandpa. Big meal on the way.” Rock nudges me.

“Yeah, I stopped by an H-burger on the way home.”

“Sí, but an extra meal won’t do you any harm, Calaca,” he says, addressing me by a nickname that roughly translates to ‘skeleton’. I used to take offense, but I know he means well, so I try to think of it as a term of endearment.

“Thanks, Strum, but I’m full, honest,” I say, holding my hands up in supplication, “I think I had too much, actually.”

Strum fixes me with a playful squint and waggles one of his piebald fingers at me. “Okay, but those eggs better disappear by tonight!”

“Alright, I promise,” I laugh, suppressing most of my smile to keep my fangs hidden.

“Señor Cutter, do you have everything you need from us?” Strum asks the attorney. Mr. Cutter looks up from a set of documents spread before him and eyes me with flat, grey eyes.

“I have all I require, Strum. You can take your grandson to school now.” Mr. Cutter replies in a cold, but soothing intonation. His eyes return to the papers on the table and he makes a few marks on them with a stately, metallic pen.

“Bien. Aqui, take the keys, Rocky,” Strums says, handing a set of jangling keys to Rock, “Get the car started, I’ll meet you there in a minute, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Before turning to go back into the kitchen, Strum faces me with a solemn expression. “It’s good to see you home, Gyre. Your mama was even more worried than she seemed, you know. Please don’t do that again. You need someone to talk to, we’re all here, comprendé?”

“I know. Thank you.” He returns the smile I offer him and disappears through the double doors. I can hear him speaking to my mother in gentle tones a few moments later, but Mr. Cutter speaks up, preventing me from eavesdropping.

He continues to stare at the papers as he speaks, “Gentlemen, I should like you to know that our business is not only far from concluded, but that I suspect that we’re to become regular facets in each other’s lives. It is at the behest of an old friend that I acquiesced to assist with Gyre’s...unique situation. But should this become a problem, or if I feel you are being dishonest with me, I will not hesitate to withdraw my involvement beyond mundane matters of law. Do we understand each other?”

There’s a short pause before Rock speaks up, “Uh, can we rewind all that while I grab a dictionary?”

I bite my lip to suppress a laugh and turn to Rock, but by the expression on his face, he’s at least half sincere. Mr. Cutter glares at him with pursed lips.

“Rock, he knows.” I mutter.

“Knows about what? There’s nothing going on.” Rock says, unconvincingly.

“Just trust him.” I don’t actually trust him or Vice Principal Luna just yet, but it wouldn’t hurt to let them think I’m off guard. Rock considers me for a moment, then looks back to Mr. Cutter and folds his arms in a failed attempt to look more confident. I can hear his heart racing. “Alright, sir, we get it. What do you need?”

“Much, but nothing we can speak of in present company. For now, if anyone questions you on your recent whereabouts, you are to be extremely vague and non-committal. And I do mean anyone.” His eyes narrow at these words. “I will need a full account of your activities at the earliest possible convenience, but if you are arrested or detained beforehand, for any reason, you will use your allotted phone call to speak to me, and only me. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” I say.

“Very good.” Mr. Cutter stows the papers into a folder and begins to gather his things, “You have my number; I suggest you memorize it.” He moves toward the foyer, but stops before passing me, and murmurs, “It would be wise to visit the estate tonight, as Ms. Luna may have already advised. Don’t bother calling ahead, you’ll be expected.”

“What do you people want from me?” I murmur back.

“I understand your wariness, Gyre, I do. But there’s just no simple explanation.” He disappears into the foyer.

Rock and I exchange looks as we hear the front door open and close.

“You okay, dude?” I ask.

“Yeah, just got dragged out of bed too early.” Rock tries to sound casual, but the slump of his shoulders and red in his eyes speaks of a bone-deep weariness.

“Let’s talk at lunch. I have...so much to tell you. Also, that was some quick thinking with your grandpa earlier. Nice.”

Rock grins. “This is so cool! It’s starting to feel like a comic book, or something!” he hisses, before continuing in a normal tone. “I’m gonna go take a nap in the car, though. See you later.” We slap each other’s shoulders and Rock leaves.

I slump into a seat at the table, resting my head on my arms. Week One of vampirism and I already met a mutant werewolf that wants to jump my bones, learned of perhaps two secret societies, was invited into one by my vice principal, took sloppy seconds on a bank robbery, found out a schoolmate carries a monster-killing amulet that might be giving her unstable superpowers, got chased and shot by cops, fought a cop, probably put another two in a coma, faced off against a telekinetic necromancer, and...I killed a man.

It was almost easy to lose that last fact among the torrent of shocking new experiences, but there it is again, like an earworm tune that was almost forgotten. Now, it plays like a movie on the back of my eyelids. Yeah, I killed him, he’s gone, but that’s okay, isn’t it? A pedophile, probably a murderer and a junkie, too. I don't think I enjoyed it, but that's no comfort. I almost wish I felt anything about it. Anything at all.

Dad would know what to tell me. He was in the business of killing after all.

Presently, my mom and Strum come back into the room. Their heartbeats are slightly elevated and I hear her sniff back tears. I look up to see that she either forgot the tea or never made it in the first place. Good, I’m not in the mood to dance around reasons not to drink it. They embrace briefly while Strum offers what sounds like words of comfort in his native language. I know a few words, but not enough to understand full sentences. When they part, they turn to me. My mind lingers on the fact that Strum’s hand is still pressed to Mom’s back.

“Hey, kiddo,” Mom says hesitantly, “I was thinking—maybe we should all get together and do something. Weekend picnic or a trip somewhere. How does that sound?”

“I don’t know, it kinda depends. I think a lot of my daytime hours are gonna be occupied for a while. Maybe make it an evening thing? As in, at night?”

“Sure!” Mom says, cheerfully. She sniffs and looks away, brushing back a strand of hair. She usually does that when she’s struggling to say something.

“Something wrong, Mom?”

“No...nothing, hun. Hey, we’d better get you to school. Celestia called yesterday to ask if you were gonna show up for that community service. She sounded pretty upset when I told her you were missing. That’s not why you ran away, is it?” she asks with a hint of humor.

I laugh, “No, ma’am, I’m actually really grateful for the opportunity. Might be nice to get to know her a little better. She’s like everyone’s second mom, anyway.”

Mom and Strum chuckle and Strum speaks up, “Well, I’d better get going, I’m sure mis mijito is dead asleep already. I’ll call, okay?” He squeezes my mom’s shoulder and heads for the front door, calling back, “Stay out of trouble, Calaca!” I smile for show. Trouble is already what I’m in. Up to the neck and packed tight. And the tide is rising.

The nanosecond the front door closes, Mom’s demeanor flips like a switch. Her bloodshot eyes narrow and her back stiffens.

“Well, I suppose you should get ready. We’ll talk in the car.” Abruptly, she turns and steps toward the kitchen, pushing through the doors with subtle aggression.

Ah, crap.

I trudge through the foyer on the way to my room, grim possibilities bubbling up in my thoughts. Did Mr. Cutter or Vice Principal Luna tell her about what happened to me? Is she just upset that I left? Have I exacerbated some legal tension I wasn’t aware that we’re under? I growl and curse to myself as I climb the stairs. Gods, there’s nothing else I could have done! Rock can’t keep giving me blood, I have to find it for myself.

My head snaps around as I hear an extra beat that wasn’t one of my own steps. There’s no one on the stairs with me, but I can still hear the thumping, like…

No. No-no-no-no-nonononono—

I leap the last few steps, turn left in the hallway, and burst through the door to my room. A huge, dark, furry mass lays curled up on my bed. The open window has done very little to abate the buildup of heat radiating from the beast.

“Nice bed, bat-boy,” Sunny rumbles. “A bit small for me in this form, but comfy. I’d love to take it for a test drive, sometime.”

I try not to think about what she means as I almost slam the door in my haste to close it. I put my back to the door and hiss, “Sunny, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“What? You know where I live.”

“Fucking...so what? There were people here who know about us. Well, not us or you, really, but that we’re...not human”

“Yeah, heard your talk with the hot blue lady; way to put her on edge, killer. But you’re not gonna trust them are you?”

“No, of course not. They could be useful, if they really do want to cooperate, but I’m assuming their invitation is some kind of trap.”

“Good, seems like there’s a few brains to go with that beauty, after all. If you really want to investigate, I’ll back you up, but not until I’m sure I don’t have to babysit you.” She rises to her knees, the bedframe complaining, and pointedly flexes a clawed fist, “This body isn’t too hard to get used to. I just move quiet, move fast, my pointy bits go in enemy throats. But you clearly need practice. Got wind of a meeting between Hardywine’s mom and some mid-league cartel asshole. It’s happening somewhere in the warehouse district downtown. Couldn’t get a location, but we should be able to find it, given our particular talents. We’ll stop by, have a listen to their dastardly plans, and your conscience can be clear for when we tear them apart.” Her words take on a subtle mocking tone at this last sentence. I ignore it.

“What, like, all of them?”

“Sure, why not?”

I look at her incredulously, “Because it’s our food source. We can’t just go around slaughtering every scumbag we come across. First, that’s exactly what the lich wants, second, if we take them all out, the only people left will be innocents. When a wolf kills a few possums, it’s no big deal. But when the possums are gone, and it starts to take the local farmer’s sheep, there’s a big, happy hunt that doesn’t end until a certain furry head ends up on a spike.”

“Ooh, wicked analogy,” Sunny grins. A disturbing sight in her werewolf form. “But there’s plenty of possums in this big, happy town. We’ll be doing Canterlot a favor.”

“We just can’t take them all out. There’s already too much attention on us.” I find myself pacing as I speak before stoping, realizing I’ve been taking too long. Though I know Sunny has already seen my naked body, I can’t help feeling self-conscious at the thought of changing in front of her. My clothes are clean, but Mom doesn’t know that, so I need to put on a fresh set. “Can you...turn around or something? I have to change.”

Sunny growls a chuckle, “No.”

I roll my eyes and move to inspect my closet, feeling my face warm a little. Much of my wardrobe is the same black or grey with sparse cobalt or teal accents. I lack both the courage to wear anything bright, and the patience to try coordinating; fashion has always been lost on me. I pick out the simplest, darkest outfit I have, hoping to dull the barbs in Sunny’s inevitable comments. I could just take my clothes to the bathroom and change, but like choosing to walk on glass to build a tolerance for pain, I’ll endure the werewolf’s gaze and comments for the sake of building thicker skin.

“Are you trying to...flirt with me?” Sunny says.

“Shut up.” For some reason, I almost laugh. I bite it back, but not fast enough to hide the crack of an embarrassed grin.

“Oh my, I think he is.” Sunny crawls from my bed and begins slinking on all fours toward me, her bodily asymmetry contributing to a noticeably lopsided gait. I back up into my sliding closet doors as I struggle to don the shirt without tearing it apart in my claws. She’s close enough for me to feel her burning breaths on my skin when she says, “You never saw me in my human form, did you? It’s weird, but my clothes stay on it when I change. And when I found you at the station, I was only wearing my boots and underwear. Wanna see?”

“I-I wasn’t...I mean, I’m not—”

“Who are you talking to in there?” Mom’s curt voice cuts through the thunderous beat of Sunny’s powerful heart and shocks me back to a sobriety I wasn’t aware I had lost.

“No one! Just...myself, I guess!” I shout back. How does one get a werewolf to go somewhere far away, very quickly? If she were a dog, I’d just throw a stick or a ball. Or a piece of meat. Oh, gods.

‘If I take a rain check on that offer, will you leave right the fuck now?’ I subvocalize at Sunny. In what I’ll grudgingly take as assent, she cranes her neck forward and drags an appallingly coarse tongue across my right cheek. The undertone of blood that colors the otherwise stringent mintiness of her breath betrays her recent activities. I hear Mom’s heartbeat and footsteps draw near the door. I sweep around Sunny to throw my body against it, just in time to keep it from opening more than a crack. As I’m faced away from Sunny to keep the door closed against intrusion, I hear her transformation for the first time. It’s a bubbling, visceral straining sound that gives me the impression of some mass of meat on the verge of exploding.

“What in Tar’ was that?” Mom demands. I glance over my shoulder out of grim curiosity, but catch only the blur of a black boot slip beneath the outer window ledge, followed by an impact on grass, then a flurry of footfalls. I relent and let Mom push into the room, backing up with a thin, sheepish grin as I rub the monster saliva from my face.

“Uhm, a burp? I was really thirsty so I had a soda-water. Guess I chugged it too fast.”

She studies me with naked suspicion for a long moment before saying, “Hurry up and get dressed. You’ll be late for your community service.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I watch her leave and almost run a hand through my hair before I realize that I would be giving myself a modern art haircut. I settle for imagining myself breathing a sigh of relief as I button my pants and pull on a pair of grey chucks.

It isn’t until I reach for my regular school bag beside the nightstand that I notice the envelope sitting on the slightly dusty surface. My name is written on the outside in a neat, unfamiliar hand, and it smells of the same shampoo Sunny seems to use. I open it and withdraw a folded letter. When I unfold it, I can see something small and black is taped to the upper corner of the sheet.

You forgot your SIM card, dummy. You know these things still work without the rest of the phone, right? Add my number when you get this thing into something functional. See ya around bat-boy.

Beneath this text, is a phone number. Taking up the rest of the paper, Sunny skillfully drew the cartoon bust of a girl with untamed, wavy hair in a ponytail, tiny fangs, and wolf ears, smiling and winking at the viewer as she holds a hand to the side of her head in that universal ‘call me’ gesture. Her bare shoulders and unclothed collar bone seem to suggest nudity in the parts of the subject not drawn.

I feel like I’ve seen this character somewhere before. If Sunny had used color, I might be able to remember where. Why do I keep having this familiar feeling about—

“Gyre Strand! Are you ready for school?” Mom roars from the bottom of the stairs.

“Coming, Mom!”

Mystery Skulls - One Of Us

I know...I drew something a bit different than is canon. Might go back and fix this later. Also, Sunny is a better artist than me, so imagine that about four or five times better.
Somewhat nsfw full version on my tumblr

Edited by Schattendrache