Not so long ago I finished reading the Fianna tribe novel, the sixth installment of the tribe novel series based on the roleplaying game Werewolf: The Apocalypse. The books are far from good literature, with occassional attempts at "epicness" or profoundness making me squirm in my seat and blush, but they can be good entertainment all the same if you're a fan of the game, and provide you with some ideas for your own chronicle.
Anyway, in this novel there was this little exchange, between a son (who's a werewolf) and his parents, which had me giggling. Oh, and Fenrir, for the record, is the name for werewolves who are a member of the Get of Fenris tribe, who are mainly Scandinavian.
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"Mom, I can't stay. I'm sorry. My plane leaves from Dulles Monday morning. I'm going to be out of the country for a while. I wanted to see you before I left. I didn't want you to—"
"Did you hear that, Colum? Our son, the foreign correspondent. I expect you'll be rubbing elbows in London and Paris making a name for your—" She broke off suddenly, struck by a darker thought. Her hand fluttered to her mouth. "Oh, Stuart! You're not going to be one of those war correspondents are you? I couldn't stand to think of you..."
"No! Nothing like that," he interjected hurriedly. "And nothing as romantic as London or Paris either, I'm afraid. I'm off to Norway." He finished off with a half-embarrassed shrug.
"Norway?" Colum burst in, incredulously. "What could they possibly have over there in Norway that we haven't got here? Well, ice and snow I imagine. But we'll have that ourselves soon enough. To think a boy should have to haul himself halfway round the world just to avoid a few weeks' honest work."
Margaret glared at him. "You don't listen to a word that man says, Stuart. Dropped on his head as an infant and his dear mother never forgave herself. I am sure that Norway has plenty to recommend it to an up-and-coming young newspaperman. You'll have a wonderful time. They're not at war, Norway?"
Stuart laughed and her face lit up. She loved to listen to him laugh. "No ma'am. Least they weren't last night."
"Course they're not at war." Colum scowled. "Who'd want to fight over a great block of ice like that? So what does send you over there? Seems a strange place to just up and take a fancy to all of a sudden."
"Family trouble," he said. "Our dear cousins in the Great Frozen North. Again."
"Fenrir," Colum spat the word like an invective. "What is it this time? No, let me guess. They all got roaring drunk and sacked a fish hatchery or something."
"Well that would hardly be news," Stuart said.