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As simple as it all was, it was really made into something more complex; plans that would have a definite outcome ended up being spread out across the table that was his mind as he lost himself in picking out the important pieces and trying to arrange them into a jigsaw picture of what he needed to do next. The coyote was not a calm one, but nor did he look particularly dangerous sitting on a boulder with his feet dangling into the hot spring he'd located, muzzle in one hand and the other holding tight to the blade he always carried with him.
But oh, it didn't make him any less so.
The hybrid hadn't strayed from Bordo Occidentale since returning to Bleeding Souls, choosing instead to remain in the deadlands and eat whatever unfortunate things found their way out there. He wasn't starving, but nor was he getting along with as much ease as he'd like to; he could've shrugged away all thought if not for the fact that his mind would not allow it. Carefully calculating, it was, trying to pick its way across stepping stones to the goal of killing Gabriel de le Poer.
Until that day he would keep on planning.
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Zadkiel wasn’t really one for relaxation. He was far more interested in being on the move, cutting up field mice, or playing with his siblings. However, the springs he’d heard about seemed awfully inviting, especially during such frigid temperatures. Even though the sun had come out to warm things up a bit, the temperature was still considerably low. Low enough, at least, to cause a chill.
And as he reached the springs that were located close to Acheron Peak, he realized that he was not alone. There was another fellow seated upon a large boulder, in his Luperci form, with feet dangling over the side and dipping into the springs. However, Zadkiel was blind to the fact that he was not a wolf, nor to the fact that he could not want company. His gold-green eyes saw one thing and one thing only. The blade.
Deciding that it would probably be safest to show that he had one of his own, the boy picked his own hunting knife (a rather intimidating one if he did say so himself) out of the pouch his father had given to him before he’d left on the boat for North America. Approaching the other cautiously, the cream-colored boy spoke up. "Where’d you get that blade?" he asked sharply, careful to project his voice over the bubbling springs. That was all, no greeting, no introduction, just a question. He’d never been one for small talk.
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[ooc] and as you're falling down
[bic] could i hear you scream?
His eyes lifted to the sandy coloured wolf that approached, and his sneer was hidden well. He didn't have much desire to just sit there and cloak his wish to kill the other boy, but neither did he believe that taking advantage of someone was simply trickery. He could be civil and reasonable.
He often simply chose not to.
One brow lifted lazily in the direction of the boy with the strange green eyes, and his ears shifted backwards somewhat, not at all disturbing his clean cut mohawk in the process.
What's it to you? came his smooth growl of a question, deep and emotionless eyes, like ice, boring into the wolf across the spring. It was all a waiting game with him. He could strike at any moment. He could hate without hating, but he could not love.
And he could even surprise the world by withholding all judgment and letting one guide themselves.
It was not usual.
It was not common.
But Andrezej Lykoi knew, too, the value in making alliances, even with the disgusting dog he faced now.
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