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Seamonsters, Finch decided.
He perched precariously on a rock at the edge of the bay in Lupus form, surrounded by a tumble of boulders, dead grass, and gray sand. He held very still, a sandstone sculpture of a coyote waiting on its rocky pedestal; not even his usually-restless tail twitched. Tiny wavelets lapped at the ends of his toes in an ineffectual attempt to draw him out, past where he could stand his ground, into the arms of their bigger and more violent cousins. But he ignored the insistent motion of the water at his feet; he was looking out beyond the little waves, at the wider bay beyond. He yellow gaze was fixed intently on something in the middle distance, something only Finch could see.
Seamonsters. They could, he decided cheerfully, be five times the size of a grown wolf; huge, but not so massive that they were cumbersome, or so that they were impossible for a determined hero to defeat. They could be built like seals, sleek and grey– no, dark green, he amended, and splotched with the inky blue of the sea’s dark depths. Their heads would be shaped like a bear’s, but hairless and with beady red eyes; they’d have jaws that could unhinge, like a snake’s. No, wait, jaws like an alligator: long and flat and deceptively smiling. The beasts had a long tentacle growing from the tops of their bald heads, with fur and coloring at the end capable of mimicking a drowning wolf. Those who rushed to the rescue of the false victim would find their bravery rewarded with… Finch’s thoughts ran on, spinning a fanciful (and rather brutal) world to lurk beneath the opaque surface of the bay. There was a distant but contented smile on his face, and he leaned a little further out over the surface of the bay.
There were undoubtedly much more important things Finch could be doing, rather than standing on a dirty, rocky beach in the middle of nowhere, daydreaming. After all, he had only recently joined a pack: he could have been getting to know his new pack mates, proving his worth to his superiors, finding a den, learning something useful. If nothing else, he could have been trying to keep safe and out of trouble, though the warning Faolin had given him about possible trouble from wolves had slipped from his mind barely a handful of moments after it was given. For the young coyote, however, the insubstantial world in his mind was more important than anything in the real world.
The insubstantial world had seamonsters, after all.
“Someone will have to go hunt them down,” Finch told himself brightly, his voice shockingly loud in the silence of the shore.
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Someone will have to go down and hunt them. Adelaida heard the words and knew what type of creature such words had come from. Not because she assumed that such hostile words came only from coyotes, but because from her hiding place among the rocks and boulders she had seen the creature in a quick peek, although such vile words certainly fit some vile creatures. Adelaida hadn’t meant to travel so far north, nor so close to the coyote’s clan borders, it had all been quite on accident. Mostly because until she had almost run into it she had not know where the coyote clan had staked it’s claim. Yet after finding that they had taken up one of the territories she had liked least in her childhood, she was a little less frazzled by their existence. So long as they had not also taken up the beach and her beautiful sunflowers, which she had not had a chance to visit yet since her return. Which is what she had been doing when she had scented a stranger’s scent on the wind, and had thus hidden herself among the boulders.
However, while she knew that there was one coyote and he seemed to speak threatening words, she did not know of whom he spoke or to who. Was there perhaps a companion with this male, or perhaps several? In which case should she try and sneak off the opposite direction, or should she stay hidden until they left? Suppose they came this way, what then? Deciding that for her safety she needed to assess the situation a little more throughly she allowed herself another glance at the male, for more than a quick second this time, and it was confirmed that he was alone. Yet who then was he speak to? Or rather, why was he speaking to himself? Curious. Adelaida watched, and yet the male just seemed to be staring at the ocean, nothing more.
Still, if he was so unstable to be speaking to himself, perhaps he was just plotting out loud some harm to some innocent wolf? Adelaida had heard enough stories of coyotes and even met a few to where this idea did not seem unjustified. Besides, he seemed young, and coyotes were built smaller than wolves, he was also alone, so she could approach him. Pulling herself out from behind the boulder, the female wolf did not approach in a friendly manner, everything about her was tense, including her voice, which once she was close enough (not so close that the male could spring at her) she spoke out firmly. "And just who do you intend to hunt down, coyote?"
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Finch was so focused on the surface of the bay that he didn’t notice the wolf approaching until she spoke. He jerked in surprise at the sound of her voice so close by so suddenly, and almost lost his footing on the treacherous edge of the rock. His front paws slipped forward, dunking him up to his elbows in the cold water of the bay before he could backpedal to safety. Secure on the rock’s dry top, away from the greedy little waves of the bay, Finch gave the water a disapproving stare, than looked back over his shoulder to find out who had interrupted him.
He was surprised to see the funniest looking coyote he had ever laid eyes on. She was big, easily taller than him, and her coat was a deep brown color he had never seen before on a coyote. Dark fur spread up her legs, as if her own shadow was trying to claw its way up into the light, and the same black was stretched across her face like a mask. Actually, he thought, peering more closely at the newcomer, her face seemed strangely wide for a coyote. Come to think of it, she really wasn’t very coyote-ish at all… could this one of the much talked of wolves? If it was, he didn’t see what all the fuss was about. As far as he could tell, the wolf was just a big, blocky (and in his opinion, much uglier and less elegant) coyote.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a ‘what’,” Finch said sociably, though he wasn’t really paying any attention to the conversation, or for that matter, to his seamonster daydream, anymore. He had, once again, new concerns. Was there a social taboo against asking someone if they were a wolf? Was it considered horribly rude? But how else could you know for sure? He turned in a neat little circle on his rock, so that he was facing the potential wolf, and flashed her a friendly smile. “I’m not sure seamonsters really warrant a ‘who’. And I’m also pretty sure I couldn’t hunt them down, since I’ve never actually tried swimming. Is it difficult?”
Finch was curious by nature. He liked puzzles, but liked the answers to puzzles even more than the actual process of solving them. He’d managed to keep the question in for a while, but not he just couldn’t help it anymore; his curiosity overwhelmed what little social awareness he had. Surely it couldn’t be impolite! And if it was, well, he’d just have to phrase it extra-courteously. “Excuse me, madame,” he inquired, barely a heartbeat after finishing his last question, “I don’t mean to pry, but would you happen to be a wolf?” | [/html]
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The coyote had been startled by Adelaida, which was a good sign, as it meant that he had not previously been aware of her presence and thus whatever he planned on hunting down had nothing to do with her. The sight of the coyote’s front half slipping into the ocean would have been comical, but Adelaida did not let herself be amused by the coyote. In fact, she did not allow any pleasurable encounters with coyotes, as she believed they were impossible. Coyotes only brought trouble, and this one couldn’t be any different. The stranger seemed confused but not at all alarmed by Adelaida’s entrance. He spoke of seamonsters and nothing that came from his mouth made any sense at all as far as Adelaida was concerned. Adelaida laid her ears back upon her head, her body becoming stiffer.
Was this one crazy? A screw loose? Adelaida knew from her father that many coyotes suffered from illnesses of the mind that made them strange and unpredictable. These types of coyotes were almost more dangerous than the ones that were outright hostile. At least if they were aggressive you knew what to expect, but the ones that acted like this were harder to know what they would do next. A unknowing wolf might even be fooled into thinking that they were friendly, harmless even, and then once that wolf had let his or her guards down the coyote could inflicted a great deal of injury. Well Adelaida wouldn’t fall for that.
"Are you mocking me, coyote?" Adelaida couldn’t think of a better excuse, it never occurred to her that this coyote could honestly not know what a wolf looked like. While she might have expected the question from a coyote pup, and she may have even answered him kindly (or as kindly as she could), this male was old enough to know the wolf species. If he didn’t, he didn’t have any excuse for his ignorance. "Quit with your foolery. What are you doing here?" Adelaida hoped that the male’s answer wouldn’t include anymore nonsense about seamonsters.
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Finch was rather surprised by Adelaida’s response to his questions. She thought he was joking around? He didn’t think he had said anything funny. It rather bothered him that there might be something funny going on that he wasn’t aware of. It also bothered him that she hadn’t answered the only important really important question he’d asked (although, he supposed the level of difficulty of swimming was fairly important, too) and he still didn’t know if she was a wolf or not. Logic said she was: she’d called him ‘coyote’, and she looked like she could be another species. He’d just have to assume she was.
“No,” Finch replied honestly, although not at all apologetically, “I’m not mocking you.” With a quick hop, he was down off his rock and standing in the dirty grey sand of the shore. He wriggled his toes, liking the feel of the fine grains, slightly warmed by the sun, rubbing on the pads of his feet. Why had he been standing on a rock instead of nice sand?
Finch’s jump had unintentionally shortened the distance between himself and the wolf. He didn’t consider it a minatory action, but then, he never actually considered possible dangers. Intentional or not, he was now likely within a single lunge of Adelaida. He grinned at her again, his tail giving a happy wag, and gave an odd little bob of his head which might have been translated as a bow. “The name’s Kirin, Kirin Kassarian, but mostly I just go by Finch. And I’m just here to watch the seamonsters.”
That’s it, Finch thought, suddenly excited, this wolf can kill the seamonsters! She could be the hero, she was big and strong enough. Hey, maybe she was even considered attractive for a wolf, though Finch still couldn’t see it. She could definitely, however, use some work on her charisma. Even Finch could tell she was about as good at being polite as he was. You’d almost think she wasn’t even trying to be nice!
But wait, were wolves allowed to be heroes? They’d always been the villains in his mother’s (terribly mediocre) stories, always defeated in the end by the clever and quick heroes, and he’d never once heard a story where the wolf did anything brave or honorable. Maybe it was another of those unspoken rules that seemed to thrive in the gap between species: heroes had to be coyotes. Perhaps he could find a way to work the wolf into his story as a villain…? Perhaps she could be in league with his imaginary seamonsters? | [/html]
[html] Sorry this post is so short >.<
As the male leaped off the rock Adelaida’s actions were instinctive. The female quickly backed up a few steps as the fur along her spine rose, starting at the base of her head to the base of her tail. Also her teeth become unsheathed, although she did not lunge. Not yet. Although the male offered his name, Adelaida did not care to think of this male as anything other than a coyote. A nameless nuisance. That’s what they all were anyway. If she allowed to think of them with individual personalities, names and the like, that would make her vulnerable to their tricks. It was far better to just lump them all as a threat, a pest, and something that should be eradicated from the lands. The male also offered an answer to her question, but it was not satisfactory. More seamonsters. And just what in heavens name was a seamonster? Something from a child’s story? Something this male made up, or really believe in, depending on his level of insanity? Or did seamonster have a different meaning?
"Well coyote, get back to your seamonsters then." The masked female wanted nothing to do with the seamonsters, whatever they were, and seeing as the coyote didn’t seem to be planning any attacks on innocent bystanders, she really did not have a use for the male either. There was nothing to prevent here, and she might have accidently gotten herself into something bad, a sticky situation. No matter how innocent Kirin’s actions were, Adelaida was blind to it, perhaps she was far too biased at this point, perhaps Finch’s odd ways threw her off, but she could interpret his actions as wrongs and bad, actions she needed to ward off. In fact, her discomfort had increase so greatly when he had leaped down from the rock that she had begun to regret coming up to him. Adelaida did not move, did not want to move until the male backed off. And yet she was still tense, fangs still bared and fur still bristled. Ready to pounce, which is what she would do if he made another step towards her.
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OoC: So is mine, so it's all good^^ Do you want them to get into a fight?
IC:
The nice thing about stories, Finch thought, was that you could always understand the characters. That was part of a storyteller’s job: to build characters that were real, believable, relatable. Finch could always actually understand characters in stories: they worked. Real people, though, like the wolf he now faced, did not work, they just didn’t make sense. Adelaida was the perfect example.
Finch could tell she was upset. Her bristling fur was enough of a clue for even Finch to latch onto– some body language was clearer than others, and angry was one emotion Finch could usually pick up on. Given enough time and clues, of course. What puzzled him, however, was why she was upset. Except for the outburst of curiosity that had resulted in what Finch suspected had been a rather rude question, he couldn’t imagine how anything he had said could have caused offense. As far as Finch could tell, the wolf was offended for no reason at all.
Perhaps she was just always unhappy? But how could anyone go through life that way? What was the point of being upset with the world, or him? As far as Finch could tell, it didn’t make a difference and certainly didn’t make life any brighter. You might as well just sit back and enjoy life. Finch just couldn’t understand it. He also couldn’t understand why she kept calling him ‘Coyote’ rather than Kirin or Finch or even Kassarian, though, so maybe she was just one big puzzle… just like everyone else who existed outside of mere words.
“If I’ve done anything rude,” Finch said curiously, sounding genuinely interested, “I apologize. Did I do anything rude?” With a flick of one tawny ear, Finch pivoted around again with all four paws nearly touching, as if he was the first quadruped ballerina, and leaped back up onto his seamonster-watching rock. He grinned back over his shoulder at Adelaida, one ear cocked slightly forward– a position which, combined with the single dark patch around his right eye, gave his whole face a distinctly lopsided look. His tail gave a minute twitch, the faint shadow of a wag. “Do you like stories?” he inquired hopefully.
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They probably should. Adelaida will only put up so much nonsense before she’ll turn tail and run from the scary, crazy, coyote.
The coyote was making apologies, and he did sound sincere, but Adelaida was unsure if that was the case. Before this moment there had been no doubt, but he persisted in his harmless act, if it was an act, and so Adelaida wondered perhaps if Iskata was right. Maybe some coyotes could be kind. Maybe this coyote was just really dedicated to the role he played. Either way, Adelaida didn’t wish to find out. Even if this coyote was an exception to the rule, a friendly, harmless soul in the sea of disgusting, vile creatures that are coyotes, she didn’t want to play nice. There had never been any use in her life for coyotes before, and she doubted that she would have a use for them now. If she trusted this one she’d either have to be more lax with the other coyotes, who were surely not as innocent as this one appeared to be, or she would be in for a terrible surprise when this coyote, Finch, showed his true nature. Both options did not seem favorable to Adelaida, and so it was best to just simply walk away.
Which in Adelaida’s mind was easier said than done. The coyote was still too close, if she turned now he could strike her, she’d be at a disadvantage. Although she was larger than the male, she did not want to be struck unaware, so she continued to face the male, maybe he would back off. Maybe she could lull him into a false security. Adelaida relaxed, the fur fell on her back and she covered her teeth, although she was still tense and knew that she could never relax completely, not around a coyote. "No, no, not rude. You see, I just don’t like stories or seamonsters, that’s all. You truly don’t know what a wolf looks like?" As she spoke she took a few careful steps backwards. If she backed far enough away, she could turn and run. That would be favorable to attacking the poor creature, because even if he was a coyote, and even if Adelaida thought he had no right on these lands, she did not want to harm him, especially since he had not said anything out right threatening. Yet his presence was threatening enough, and despite her words which were kinder now, she was still on guard.
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