Petya Mihaylov

1) Go HERE to generate 10 random numbers between 1 and 100. Generate a different set of numbers for each character you pick. DO THIS FIRST.

2) Then I will answer the corresponding questions from HERE.

Make sure that the numbers are different!

Keep in mind that random or not, chances are that the combination between questions and asker will likely make us both o.O.

A/N: for irinavolchitsa

Petya hated flying.

At least he decided so when he stumbled out of the plane at JFK, his foster father, who he was half a head taller than already, propping him up. Maybe it wouldn't have been that bad if his body hadn't literally been torn apart and reassembled by the transformation three hours before take-off. He was supposed to sleep then.

Not glued to a passenger seat, his body screaming at him as the increased pressure of lift-off pushed on him, and the turns made him dizzy and nauseous. Possibly it wouldn't be this bad if he was rested and up to it. Possibly it wouldn't be this bad if, even after twice seeing what his room looked like in the morning, they'd believe him and give him some time to rest.

But some things were hard to comprehend. Werewolves in actual life, apparently, were among them.

They arrived in New York on Saturday afternoon.

Petya curled on the bed in the nice, comfortable room, and didn't stirred for the first day and a half of the family's long-desired sightseeing in the city. He may have been young and spry, and he did usually recover from the transformations faster than most of the older wolves. But flight simply did not agree with him.

By Monday morning, he deemed himself ambulatory. Actually, he was correct, and the day was rather enjoyable. Warm, but not sizzling hot, which worked fine for walking along shadowy alleyways in parks. Or in museums. They had hot dogs from a stall for lunch, and laughed; with the exception of the whole werewolf thing, Marion and Isaac were very, very nice people to be in charge of him. Not Pack. Never Pack, nor anything remotely like, but nice.

Dinner was at a place called the Den, and they almost teased him about the name, then looked at each other and changed the topic. But somebody at the hotel had recommended it to them, so they had decided to try it. Petya went along. He was hungry; as per his age, almost perpetually. So a good food place? He had no objections.

Except that he froze the moment the door opened and he caught the first scent from the inside.

Familiar. There was pack there. And that didn't make sense. Marion had to pull him further in, dealing with the greeter, sitting on their table. By then, he'd sorted out. Two scents. One was a werewolf he'd talked briefly in London with. It was older, as though he was usually here, but not right here right now (and it also was another kind of familiar that made him nervous).

And the other was Pack.

"Irina."

"What did you say, dear?"

"Irina. My cousin. She's here."

"Where, dear? Will you point her out?"

"No, she's not in the room right now. But she's here."

"I thought all your family were..." Isaac's voice boomed a little, and Petya bounced.

"I thought so too! I thought everybody-- nobody was there, nobody came for me. But she's here."

"How do you know, dear?"

"I can smell her."

They looked at each other, then simultaneously leaned down to read their menus.

A door clicked, and Petya's face turned to it. And yes, there she was, the tiny little brunette who could make men four times her weight do as she wanted just by a snap of her voice, and who was still nice and wonderful and alive...

His chair clattered as it fell somewhere behind him; he didn't care. She barely had managed to step through the door when he was already there, arms tight around her, lifting her up and spinning her around. "Ira, Irina, Irochka..." And a stream of words in Russian, he didn't even know what he was telling her. But she was there and she was alive and right now, that was the most important thing in all the world. Even ore than how startling it was, even more important than the explanations and the questions.

The Pack was not all gone.