Alpha Omega

Learning How to Omega

You know those people who think they're so high above you, you can literally see their superiority leaking out of their asses? The Alpha is like that. I hated the man the first time I met him and, after some careful evaluation, I still hate his guts. However, for the sake of my mates and the poor innocent ears of the Queen, I shall refrain from using most of the four letter words Janet taught me. 

I respond to the alpha's self-satisfied smirk with my own carefully practiced sneer. It's a delicate balance of a curl in my upper lip, just slightly dipped eyebrows. I've practiced in front of a mirror for hours to get this sneer just right, and I'm pleased to report, even the Alpha King looked mildly nervous. I mean, he didn't show it much, but I know my mean-girl-face was going to haunt him at night. 

We're staring each other down when the Queen drops her utensils onto her delicate china plate. By the outraged look on her face, I assume that was her version of slamming them down. 

"The both of you stop now!" She turns to her husband, "I invited Kiya Rose here because I'd like to meet my new daughter and I'll not have your ego ruining this family meal." 

I snort, but my eyes widen when she turns her glare on me, "That goes for you too young lady. And please remember, you are a wolf, not a pig, I implore you not to make pig noises at the table, or at all if you can manage." 

I gape at her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ty smirking down at his plate and I stomp on his foot, smiling sweetly, "I'll manage, Luna." 

She nods decisively, returning back to her perfect posture and picking up her fork, "Very good." 

Ty nudges me, "I don't know who you're getting your intel from but these scones aren't the best." 

I gape at him, "My intel is fine!" To prove a point, I shove half a scone into my mouth, then wince. It's like eating vanilla-flavored rubber. 

Dom chuckles, "Still fine, Darling?" 

I nod, forcing a smile as I swallow and hope I don't choke, "It ain't my fault someone over cooked them. That would be like blaming Davinci if someone put a mustache on the Mona Lisa."

The Queen perks up, "So you made the scones? How interesting." 

I nod, then register what she said and shake my head, "How did you know I made them?" 

She smiles, looking a lot like an auburn-haired Mona Lisa in a turquoise dress, "In your analogy, you linked yourself to Davinci and the scones to the Mona Lisa. I'll assume someone else baked the batter, am I right?" I nod, perplexed, making her laugh pleasantly, in that disgusting way that you know whatever was said really had no humour but it is polite to laugh anyway, "I suppose it's a skill that comes from spending over twenty years in a court room, or possibly just being the mother of two trouble makers. You'll learn how to read between the lines in time as well." 

I hope not. I'm used to the basement, where we just say it how it is and the only 'reading between the lines' that we do is interpreting how Janet's cussing relates to her mood from afar.  

I shrug, "If you say so." 

"Kiya, please, don't shrug, it's terribly apathetic. Use your words to express yourself in favor of pig noises or noncommittal gestures.  Gestures and noises and swearing are simply unnecessary displays if ignorance and limited literacy skills. If you'd like, I'd be more than happy to teach you a few alternate strategies or perhaps things about manners. We could start this afternoon!" She says with a bright smile on her face.  

And this is where my patience for her airy, completely tasteless and breath-wasting politeness reached its end. She says body language is nonsense, but her's is completely contradiciting her words, changing each thoughful 'suggestion' into a judgement of me.