Alan Redpath has been described at various points in his life as a 'man of action.' His detractors may have intended it to mean he acts without thinking, but Alan knows the truth: he's a man who knows his own mind. He has yet to regret any of the snap decisions that have marked his life. They have not always turned out for the best, but given days of deliberation he would come back to the same answer each and every time: I'm going to do this.
This has led the twenty-nine year old through a whirlwind of vocations as he barrels through life. A registered locksmith, a stint in the military, and a career in clinging to the side of skyscrapers as a window washer are just some of the lines on his resume. Alan's last ten months have been spent tending this cabin and the surrounding forest, a purchase that has once again reduced his savings to tears, selling hunting rights and firewood.
Alan is a big guy. Boot camp taught him that staying in shape and being in control of your own body feels good. He has a fair helping of scars sharing space with a tattoo or three, but so far none have landed on his blunt face. His hair is of that intermediate shade that's certainly not black but too dark to fairly be called brown, grown unruly out of a short haircut.
When opportunity knocks, Alan answers. When Bigfoot knocks, Alan reaches for his camera.
Not a very traditional Bigfoot, Alan considers as his guest rattles through a long and timorous explanation as fast as she possibly can. He turns his heavy traditional camera over in his hand, checking to see whether the beat-up old thing even has film in it. He has yet to actually snap any photos of this, uh, Foxfoot currently pacing on his rug. By the set of her ears and the frequent lickings of her nose it's easy to see the fear that saturates her voice. She certainly hasn't allowed him to come between her and the still-open door.
"Let me see if I've got this straight," he wedges into a gap in the narrative. "Magic - which used to be real - is about to come back. I believe you. Just sit down, you're making me dizzy."
Thomas hesitantly parks herself on the tatty couch in the main room of the cabin, bumping her raised ankles awkwardly on the baseboard. Alan sinks into an armchair, hoping to relax his guest further. "And I'm going to turn into a werewolf like how you're a werefox?"
The vixen perks an ear as if listening before replying. "Not... exactly. I'm a kitsune, now. Uh, my name is... Kismet, by the way." She coughs. "You'll be able to shift forms at will. And you'll still be you, not a beast, so--"
"Okay, do it." Silence hovers in the air. "Y-You're sure?" "If it's going to happen anyway, why not? I believe you. Do you bite me?"
"Nnno, just... sit still. And you'll want to take your shoes off." Thomas takes a deep breath and raises her hands.