Battered Beginnings

Sicarus de Ericeto · 03-23-2010, 08:05 PM

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Word Count: 575 First of all, sorry this post is so long. >_< I really got to rambling. D: Second, I have a gift for you. Big Grin Have an avatar?! You can update it here in your User Control Panel if you'd like to use it. It's 138 px wide, 187 px high. And of course if it does not fit your perception of your character, let me know! It's an Ethiopian wolf, but I could certainly edit it better to make it look more like Istabel if I totally missed the mark. Smile You could reply once more if you'd like here, but you don't have to. :3 Feel free to post while you're waiting to be titled; an administrator should be around to nab you shortly.

In Character

Sicarus was not generally the type to lend sympathy; he had known none in his short life, and he could just barely identify the emotion by name or the way it felt. There was none within him, of course, but he could at least recognize emotions in others. He was not completely ignorant to the emotional ways of his own kind, even most of them did not manifest within him. The tawny-furred werewolf knew he ought to have offered some sympathetic gesture toward her, yet his training and conditioning dictated he show no such thing. At first, the woman merely shrugged, remaining quiet still; Sicarus remained silent and withdrawn himself, having already made the assumption she either would not or could not speak. Perhaps in time she would find her voice, perhaps not. It did not matter much to Sicarus (and not that Sic knew it yet, but he'd be dead long before this woman was even fully settled into the pack).

All at once there was motion from the other canine, and she tipped forward almost absurdly at first. A true gentleman would have leaned forward and made to catch her just in case she did fall, but Sicarus made no such moves, instead still standing where he was, staring blankly and wishing he was anywhere else in the world. At least this woman was quiet; he couldn't stand chatterboxes most of the time. There were old things locked onto her, and as she walked toward him they made noise; the chocolate-furred man flicked an ear, his golden-yellow gaze drawn to the items in question. Old chains and lock-ups? He wondered where one might acquire such items—and why one would leave without relinquishing possession of one. It had not occurred to the man that she might be an escapee of some sort, and in any case it did not particularly matter—just a passing thought from a firing synapse somewhere in the Italian wolf's generally bleak mind.

There was a slight nod from the woman as she drew closer, and Sic raised a brow, for the first time the faintest smile coming to his lips—though of course, it was not a smile of happiness. He was simply glad to know there was still someone home; from the glint of her eyes the tawny man could see there was some life and determination in her yet. The large collar around her neck caught the man's gaze, and he squinted to read the unfamiliar word there. Istabel? At least she had a name—they could not go around referring to her as "that wolf;" things would grow quite confusing quite quickly. “Well, Istabel, is it? They call this place Dahlia de Mai, and I am Sicarus de Ericeto, the Charme—I am a servant of our most wonderful leader, Haku Soul. Surely he would not want to be bothered with the borders today, so I will allow you entrance to the pack, should you desire it. Your rank is Gazon, and you may roam where you wish in the clan's lands.”

He was silent only a moment before he continued speaking, turning and pointing in the general direction of Wolfville. “Head that way, and you will find the town of Wolfville. Most of us live there, and you may find someone to assist you. I must return to my patrol,” he said, sounding rather resigned to it. “Don't suppose you need anything else?”

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