Idylls of the King

Pripyat Soul · 08-11-2010, 03:26 PM

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Character Name: Pripyat Soul
Character Birthdate (including year): June 2 2010
Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci
Species: Woof
Gender: Male
A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M): silentlycynical (AIM)
Currently played characters: Nayru
How you found 'Souls: Merp

Decided to make my joining post into a thread, Jefferson or Geneva (or both XD) if you guys have time. I would suppose Gen is in the lighthouse or not too far off. Hope this is okay. ^^

The sand was warm beneath his toes, still soft and free of calluses from the two short months he had had to use them. Only recently did his mother allow him to stray from her, and even then Geneva was always close, only a yelp away, but here he was with the long stretch of sand before him and no mother in sight. Bravely he took several steps away from the lighthouse, the only home he knew, and smirked when he did not see his mother appear to trail after him. Turning eyes that match the blue of the sky back to the beach, Pripyat sprung forward. His inexperienced muscles were unable to propel him too quickly but quick enough to give him the illusion that he was indeed racing away. Sand flew out from underfoot and his long tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, behind him his tail shook violently in delight at his freedom. The world was indeed his oyster and Pripyat Soul was ready to conquer it.

It wasn’t long that he came across the first discovery of the day, and his tiny heart hammered in excitement at the sight of it. The strange creature scuttled quickly across the sand and at the darting movement the gray toned pup halted, his nose twitching in anticipation. How proud mother would be if he brought home his first kill! With a bound he was upon it, its thin legs yielded and produced a soft crunch as they splintered under the weight of the pup. Yet the crab was not defeated in the slightest, as Pripyat bent down to examine his “kill” the large claw clamped down. Hard. The pain was a shock, for Pripyat had been well shielded by his mother and pain had been only a foreign concept to him.

"Ow, ow, ow." This first attempt to dislodge the enemy by rapid shaking of the head proved ineffective. However, the young adventurer was far from discouraged, and he then proceeded to paw at his face, anger growing a the idiotic creature that wouldn’t let go. Despite the clumsy paws coming at the crab, it did not release its grip on the child’s lip and Pripyat was then forced to stick his face in the ground, dragging the crab through the fine grains of sand, snarling his most vicious snarl yet. Still it held on tight, and Pripyat could no longer stand the pain that was only increasing. Sitting back on his haunches, the boy let out a series of low whimpers, hoping that the animal would let go before his mother saw him like this, bested by seafood.

Jefferson Soul · 08-11-2010, 04:03 PM

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PAPA TO THE RESCUE.

Geneva had yet to return to her room in the ranch house central to the pack territory. Now that he and the olive-eyed goddess had made up and were on speaking terms again, it occurred to Jefferson how empty the ranch house was by his lonesome though he lived there alone before Geneva had even become a part of Phoenix Valley. Each creak of the floorboards beneath his feet echoed a lonely sound in the halls and rooms, crying like depressed whines. He learned to hate the sound quickly, at times commenting on it to Geneva before realizing she wasn't there to listen. When he'd had enough, he would leave the ranch house and stalk around the borders grumpily. He had only discovered recently that she had been staying at the lighthouse; Jefferson had assumed she would move back soon, by why hadn't she yet?

And so after the repeating scene again that morning when he spoke unknowingly to himself, Jefferson had burst from the ranch doors into the bright August sunshine and lazy summer warmth. He had forgotten the wonders of nature in his period of depression when he and the Whilom were separated, and now the old appreciation for the green of the trees and blue of the sky flooded back over him with the coolness of rain. His moodiness washed away quickly, breathing in the freshness of the air and basking in the sunlight. Phoenix Valley experienced such periods of peace and prosperity several times before (usually followed immediately by some sort of tragedy), but none seemed to match the calmness recent events had granted his heart. The brute felt less stress than he had in months, though the memory of his son's bright eyes hung in the back of his mind. It was hard to be a father when barely given the opportunity.

To the ocean he meandered, two legged and a smile at his scarred lips. The breeze came and went, whipping at times and still at others; in the proximity of the sea the wind picked up, the scent of salt whisking past his nose. Perhaps it would be best to visit Geneva, to see how she had been doing welled up in that lighthouse off the coast; it was not too often he made boat trips to the outer territories, as irresponsible as it may have been. Wind rocked the boat as he forced it over the sea, and at the opposite shore he parked it on the sand. Jefferson moved with caution, hesitating to alarm her of his presence as he walked the ways around the lighthouse toward its entrance, but froze instead when he reached the door. Whimpering caught his ears over the rush of the sea, his green eye falling upon the small gray bundle on the sand at the water's edge. The pup flailed this way and that, crying pathetically.

"Pripyat?" Jefferson hastened to the boy, breathing relief at the troublemaker being only a small, useless crab. Green eye glowed; his bad arm extended from its sling and held the boy's shoulder to keep him still while he pried the small crustacean from its grip. Once free, Jefferson glared at the crab, straightened up, and threw it ruthlessly into the sea. It skipped a few times on the sea's crest like a pebble, then sank into the water and out of sight. Pausing, the cyclops simply glanced back down at his son, still whimpering from pain. "Uh," he stammered, blatantly unsure how to proceed, "it's gone now, all right? It's back in the ocean."

Pripyat Soul · 08-12-2010, 11:40 AM

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The whimpering stopped abruptly, before the crab was even removed from him face. Just the sight of the grizzled man was enough of a distraction for him to forget the pinching pain of the crab’s claw. Easily his father dislodged the hateful sea creature and skipped it into the ocean, and at this Pripyat’s feelings were conflicted. On one hand he was glad to be rid of it, glad to see the stupid thing flung into the ocean to its hopeful demise. Yet also he was upset that he had not been able to do this himself, and more upset that it was his father who was witness to his helplessness. Two extraordinarily blue eyes stared up at the one green one set into the scarred face and the little boy puffed out his chest in an attempted to make himself appear bigger, more menacing.

"I’as gunna kill it." His voice was boastful explaining that he had intended to kill the creature, for although he knew his father only by sight, he wanted the man to think him brave and strong. Wherever Jefferson Soul had been, it had not been with his mother, and Pripyat felt he had something to prove. His mother had been his world: his food source, his shelter, and his only companionship, and though the small boy loved her dearly, the days when he was utterly reliant on her were drawing to an end. There were others in the pack, Pripyat was aware of this now, and he had a father too, and to all these new faces Pripyat Soul was going to prove he was tough. They would all see that he was courageous and powerful and that he could take care of his mother if he had to, or at least until something really scary came along.

Now that the crab was gone and Jefferson knew that the boy’s intentions had been valiant, Pripyat was free to stare wide eyed up at the leader of Phoenix Valley. Their short meeting before had been monitored by his mother, and although he hadn’t exactly understood everything he had understood enough. There was tension between the three of them, although just why and how Pripyat played into the boy was at a loss. He remembered clearly the man turning away from mother and son at first, but Jefferson had relented and spoke kindly to his mother after that, and now… now here was daddy and Pripyat didn’t know what to say, so he stared up at the man, watching with calculating eyes, waiting to see what the man would do.

Jefferson Soul · 08-16-2010, 10:11 AM

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I thought Gwen said she was replying to this, but maybe she meant later. Gwen, you can hop in anytime!

The child gaped up at him with the widest of eyes, colors that neither reflected he or the boy's mother. Pripyat remained evidently upset, perhaps because his father had come to his rescue seemingly out of nowhere, or perhaps the sting of the crab's pinch on his nose still stung. The Patriarch stared back into the boy's blue eyes as he analyzed him like the cyclops would do any other, failing to take in mind the sometimes unexplainable acts of children and the need for case-by-case actions when it came to settling them. Instead, Jefferson tried to read him like he would read a proper adult, and it was not until the boy puffed up his chest to make himself bigger did the one-eyed idiot realize his mistake.

"You do not need to kill it," Jefferson replied, his tone gentle but expression stern. With Heath, Miriette, and their mystery moraless-enough-to-attack-your-father brother bloodthirsty and manipulative in their drives for revenge, Jefferson had every intention to at least raise the gray-furred child with the empathy and morals Maluki had not known in his time of insanity. "It was an accident, Pripyat. He's back in the ocean where he won't hurt you again. Forgive and forget."

The Patriarch raised his head, glancing from side to side. "Where is your mother today?"

Pripyat Soul · 08-18-2010, 04:48 PM

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Confusion set in as Jefferson rebuked the boy for his desire to maim the innocent sea creature. With disappointment his ears fell flat, and his voice was explanative, humbled but hurt. "I’as gunna gives it to my mowter." Geneva would have been proud if Pripyat brought home dinner, of course. Why wasn’t his father? That a sizable meal wouldn’t have come from the crab hadn’t been a concern, he thought process had been that it was alive and they ate things that were alive, once they were dead at least. Pripyat had intended to make the crab dead, so they could eat it. It hadn’t been his fault that the crab had quite a defense system, one that had thwarted the boy. Well, it was gone now, and glancing once more to the spot that the crab had disappeared in, Pripyat was happy enough to let the subject die. He would make his father proud by some other means then, he only had to figure out how.

At the next words Jefferson spoke, Pripyat perked up, his blue eyes answering the question before his mouth could. Glancing back to the lighthouse, he smiled and turned to his father, happy to be able to answer the question. "Mowter is in there." Where she always was when Pripyat needed her, his ever constant companion and guardian. Suddenly he the boy stared harder at the one eyed male, grizzled and three legged. Why did his father want his mother? Had he come here for her then, and not him? Whether to wish for Jefferson’s attentions himself or to be jealous that those of his mother’s could possibly diminish with the arrival of his father was a hard decision. In the end he decided to be neither, only weary of his father’s intentions as he quite cheekily asked, "Why?" Why? A question that Pripyat would probably ask his whole life.

Jefferson Soul · 08-30-2010, 09:16 AM

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Geneva would have taken a dead crab for a present in stride. She would have thanked the pup and gingerly dismissed herself of the horrid little crustacean when the boy wasn't looking; Geneva had the parental instincts Jefferson perhaps did not, though the one-eyed father managed to slip by doing the best he could. Addison had been raised by them both, really, as Geneva had stood in as a caretaker whenever Phoenix Valley duties pulled the Patriarch away. It occurred to the father that Pripyat had considered eating the crab, which Jefferson made an unspeaking face to; the concept of killing an offending enemy and feasting on it not as prey but in vengeance, twisted the muscles in his stomach. "Your mother likes flowers," he suggested, shrugging his scarred shoulders. She was feminine enough to like those, right? The cyclops had never really... brought her gifts. "There's a bush of wildflowers on the other side of the lighthouse. We could pick some and bring them up to her instead. What do you say?" A smile touched on his features, albeit a hesitant one.

Geneva was still in the lighthouse, possibly asleep or just blissfully unaware of the Patriarch's presence. For now he had no reason to change that; the two still had some making up to do. Working with Pripyat might soften her, proving him as something capable of a father for their son and making her feel safer to return to the ranch. Ultimately, of course, that was her decision to make. Jefferson, though briefly considering scooping up the boy and carrying him, instead motioned with torn fingers and made his way around the lighthouse. He was not going to teach his son violence—flowers and peace would serve just fine. He would be raised in the ways of Phoenix Valley, not in the ways of Maluki. He didn't know how to answer why—but he could try and show Pripyat instead.

Pripyat Soul · 09-01-2010, 04:01 PM

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Flowers? Pripyat tilted his head at the gimp, azure eyes staring quizzically. Why would anyone prefer flowers over a nice meal of dead crab? Although, Pripyat didn’t know for certain that crabs were any good to eat... Perhaps his father knew something about his mother that he didn’t? Exhaling in defeat at his plans to bring home dinner for his mother, Pripyat knew it was best to go with the flow. Resistance was best kept for really important situations, and maybe Mother really would love the flowers. Besides, Jefferson was not a wolf he wanted to go against, Geneva might stand up to him, but Pripyat didn’t think he should be. Not right now. "Okay. We go get fowers for mowter."

With no trouble at all Pripyat forgot the crab and his prior plans and turned back toward the lighthouse. Although Pripyat was prone to being stubborn, the boy could be flexible when it suited him. When it came to his mother, and now his father, he didn’t want to make waves. It was easier to sneak out and explore than it was to argue with his mother about allowing him to. It was easier to agree with his father and gather flowers than try to make the old man see why a crab was preferable. Pripyat knew the flowers Jefferson spoke of and so the boy took off at a run, throwing his head back to see that his father followed behind before rounding the corner of the light house. Coming up to the flowers the boy looked back for his father, but quickly took initiative and came upon a patch of daisies. Without hands to pick flowers, Pripyat set to work gnawing the stems of the plant, his puppy tear staining green with chlorophyll.

Jefferson Soul · 09-10-2010, 11:34 AM

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Close this up soon? PPed a little, hope it's okay.

He had never made such sentimental activities a common practice in his life. No, it was not that he had the pride against being seen as such—Jefferson maintained a tough exterior only because it was truth, not to intimidate or entertain the masses and keeps them like puppets at his fingertips. Even the cyclops had his spans of absolute denseness, particularly when it came into the area of romance; Geneva had always been forgiving with him when it came to showing his affection as he was, put bluntly, straight-out terrible at it. He considered, as he plucked wildflower after wildflower, that she might even be a bit put off by this uncharacteristic display of affection, but the Patriarch supposed that was a risk he just had to take.

Leaned over the flowers sprouted at the lighthouse's edge, Jefferson sent a stray glance at his son and immediately dropped what plants he had grabbed. "Prip— ... Pripyat, don't do..." he hesitated, scarred fingers hanging in the air. Collecting himself, the brute cleared his throat. "Here, you choose the flowers that'll look good together and I'll pick them, all right?" He had utterly forgotten the boy's lack of fingers, the genius father that he was.

The two gathered a small bunch that looked, to Jefferson's non-artistic nor sentimental eyes, "pretty nice, I think." He straightened a few of the colorful sprouts, smiling his scars awkwardly at them, and presented it to his son. "What do you think, Prip? Think she'll like it?"

Pripyat Soul · 09-12-2010, 06:00 PM

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yarg. We can rap it up. Short! I’m sorry.

Pausing mid-gnaw, Pripyat looked up at the man who seemed to think that gathering flowers with one’s teeth was the wrong way to do it. Sighing inwardly, Pripyat nodded and began to just choose the flowers, not minding the change of procedures but feeling as if he too should be able to uproot the plants and put them in the growing pile. Once enough were assembled he looked at the bouquet his father presented to him. Having no experience with such gifts the boy could only go off of his own judgment and the flowers did look nice, although they had looked nice when they were in the ground too. What really mattered was if Geneva would like them.

With a triumphant smile he looked from the flowers to his father. "Yes, she will like ‘em." and with that Pripyat turned toward the lighthouse, ready to start in. Before he got but a few steps his tiny paws paused and he turned back to look at his father and the pile of flowers. Did Jefferson want to enter with him? Would Geneva be pleased with that or not? Unsure suddenly, as if perhaps having spent time with his father without his mother’s knowledge was wrong, the small grey boy looked cautiously up to the grizzled leader for direction. "Should I gife ‘em to mowter or should you?" Such important issues were concealed in the question, and Pripyat's eyes were wide, waiting to see what the man decided.

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