I'm not saying I'm one for violence

Max Klein · 07-05-2012, 07:05 PM

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Setting	Location	Form	NPCs
Location: Forest of Nod, IF Date: 05 July Weather: Overcast, muggy Time: Afternoon			Rémy Lebeau

(450) Max is sulking and has been MIA for about two weeks, lololol. Don't mind his angst.

art by crypsis

It had been exactly two weeks and the anger in his chest had finally settled to a dull roar.

Ezekiel is gone, Myrika had said. He’s left. His perception of the world had shattered with her voice and he had tripped over himself running back to the caves. He had gone through Ezekiel’s home and looked for something--anything--to explain why he had gone. There was nothing. In a fury, he had torn apart the place. He had cut his hand pretty badly and the pad ached sorely, but he wouldn’t see a medic. Not that he could, he had thought bitterly. Enkiel was gone too. Why had Zeke taken him and not Max? Why hadn’t he even said goodbye?

So for two weeks, Max wallowed in despair. He rode his horse hard and looked for fights, even when there were no threats to be found. New scars came to join the large one on his side. The freshest of these was a gaping cut above his eye, just to the right of it, where a dagger had cut nearly to the bone. It had been a stupid fight and he didn’t remember much about it, but the wound was angry and deep and had bled for hours before he had finally gone to Rémy. The coy-dog had cursed him up and down, ranting on his funny way of speaking, and stitched him up as best he could able. After being swatted around and called several hundred names, Max had been told to earn his keep and help feed the clan.

That was why, with fresh stitches on his head, Max was sulking and trailing after the older coy-dog. They were on foot and in the forest behind the Mansion, and Max’s angry gaze was locked on the patch of black that formed an amorphous shape along Rémy’s shoulders. The crossbow was slung over his back and a quiver hung from his hip. Rémy had his stick and a large leather sack, but they were far from proper hunting grounds and as such, the endless drawl was trailing back from his companion. “…I jes sayin’, Maxie, t’ain’t nuttin’ personal, but you ain’t doin’ no good t’anyone actin’ like a cat wit its tail stuck in a door.”

Max said nothing, but a low growl reverberated through his chest. Rémy shook his head and waved a free hand in a loose motion, as if he was batting a fly. “Oooh I’m real a'scared,” he chided. “Maybe we go use you as bait n’see if we can fine us some-tin’ that likes t’eat pourri.”

The white dog considered loosening an arrow right into the Cajun’s back, but thought better of it.

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