the old gods have all failed.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 10-15-2010, 07:18 AM

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Slight powerplay, Melz0rs. :o

It did not take terribly long before the relative silence (save for the scratching of the raccoons, who were apparently displeased with their current location) was interrupted. The door flew open in a blast of cold, faintly moist air, and a shadowy figure stood in the doorway, features not even slightly discernible from the darkened backdrop. Harlowe recoiled, a snarl placing itself on his chocolate-furred muzzle, though his ears were folded back in fear. Bright, youthful teeth showed in sharp contrast to the deep brown of his muzzle and black of his lips, but this expression quickly faded into befuddlement, as the jaded-eyed youth peered in confusion at his uncle Larkspur. Why had he followed Harlowe here? Had Harlowe done something wrong? The youth frowned at this notion and the fear intensified, his ears flattened back against his skull as the sable-shaded man stepped through the door.

“Hello, Uncle Larkspur,” the youth muttered quietly, his widened eyes peering at the soaked man. There was uncertainty in the Dahlian's face, but he extended one skinny arm, pointing toward the drawer where the raccoon babies were. “Food in there if you want it?” he offered. Though there was clear nervousness in him, the pallid youth still attempted courtesy, trying to extend to his uncle the good manners his mother had attempted to instill in him. He still wished to make her proud in some way or another, though he knew quite well she could not see this interaction or know of it at all, not until he saw her again and he could tell her of such things. He was far too distracted by his uncle's presence to notice the movement outside.

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