M - if you walk away, i'll walk away

Harlowe D'Angelo · 03-04-2011, 12:30 AM

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WARNING This thread contains: strong violence starting with the 2nd post. Reader discretion is advised.

Date: 20 Feb (backdated)

Setting: The Dampwoods, between Dawn's Breath and Musquodjrgiejg Valley.

Time: Dusk

Character Form: Optime

Word Count → 558 :: 8D

It was not supposed to happen like this.

Everything was wrong, horribly wrong -- he was supposed to have come home to Mother to find love, acceptance, and all the attention and doting he had received as a small child. Harlowe and Mother, together again. Instead, he found he had a new half-brother, far younger and far more irritating than he could have thought possible. Scorpius, however, was no longer an issue -- the boy had not followed Harlowe once since the fire, and Harlowe was infinitely glad for this. He did not think he could have withstood one more second of the dark-furred boy after him like a shadow. Scorpius aside, however, nothing else had improved -- contrary to Harlowe's thoughts, that with Scorpius confined and injured, he had not received one more iota of his mother's attention.

There was a peculiar gauntness to the male that had not existed before -- while he had been kept after and fed quite well as a youth, allowing his flesh to fill out, he had no such luxuries as an adult. No one would feed him, and so he subsisted on the rats and other small creatures he could find, as well as carrion and whatever other scraps he could procure from the kills of other canines. This diet did not afford him proper nutrition, of course, and so the lanky male had begun to starve. Each rib stuck out of his fur plainly, and his dull jade eyes had acquired a peculiar hollowness, one wrought of not only his immense hunger but also the madness that had truly taken hold on the young male.

There was little socialization for Harlowe anymore -- he did not think he had entertained a single conversation since the fire, and while he was quite happy that way, it wasn't doing his fragile psyche any favors. Left to his own hyper-intelligence and vivid memory, the pallid youth had nothing but his own increasingly mad thoughts to entertain himself. Harlowe roamed outside of Anathema at will now, barely seeking the space he had claimed as his own, ignoring -- for perhaps the first time -- the written word entirely. Neither a book nor pencil had been clutched in the Zepar's hands since he had first come to Anathema, making the whole production of moving from Dahlia de Mai to this pack rather useless.

The old scent of death caught the youth's nose, and he followed it eagerly, trampling through the snow with carefree indifference. He did not feel the cold as it bit and snapped at his fur, chewing through to the skin beneath. His coat was not particularly thick or well-kept; the boy simply ignored whatever coldness and tingling occurred within his body. Food was more important than that, and he would not find any food in the relative warmth of the Anathema caves. The chocolate-tipped wolf stopped, circling around on a patch of snow before dropping to his knees and pawing at the snow madly, drawing the frozen corpse of the raccoon from the snow. Though it had been dead a week or two, the snow had preserved it relatively well, and after briefly smelling, Harlowe set to devouring, finding it safe to eat. Scavenging hardly bothered him -- the gnawing, ever-present hunger had long erased whatever shame he might have felt.

Haven Aatte · 03-04-2011, 10:25 PM

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Ooooooooh snap :o 500+

There had been talk of a new pack that had formed far east, off in the mountains. The Seneschal had been interested to learn more about this new pack, even if it weren't particularly close to Cour des Miracles. The damage caused by the storm had been fixed as well as it could and life had returned to some semblance of normalcy. He was not eager to leave his new family behind, even for a brief trip, but upon further thought Haven had decided now might be the best time to check things out. His pups were small now, and were not moving around much. One adult could easily watch them at this stage in their young lives. The longer he waited, the harder it would be to leave them in just the care of his mate or brother. So, even though it pained his heart to leave them, he had packed some things and headed out on Drogon to the east.

It was not a short journey and it was one made even longer by the snow that was still piled upon the ground from the storm that had hit the whole of Nova Scotia. The Knight would set up his camp at dusk, build a fire, and then amuse himself in one way or another until he fell asleep and then would ride back out when the sun rose the next morning. That was precisely what he was doing now, sitting in front of the fire he had built with a crudely carved piece of wood and knife. The only wood carving he had done before was to make the wooden blades that mimicked his own sword, but he had found on this trip it was a calming way to pass the time. The hunk of wood he held currently was slowly turning into a shape that was recognizable as a horse. If it was good enough, perhaps he would give it to his children to play with when they were older.

A shuffling noise came suddenly to his bi-colored ears and the Knight perked up, along with his steed who had been contentedly munching on the frozen grass he had pawed out from underneath the snow. Brows knit, the Aatte male stood up and strapped Vowkeeper on his back, absentmindedly pocketing the carving knife. He motioned for Drogon to stay and then quietly crept towards the direction the sounds were coming from. He hadn't walked for very long when he saw a lupine figure in the growing night, greedily eating at something it had apparently dug from the snow. The Court man was about to call out a greeting when the scent of the stranger hit his nose.

That smell. He knew that scent. It had clung disgustingly to his little sister's fur after he had found her brutalized in the Valley pack. The hackles along his neck and spine rose and a dangerous fire lit behind his jade orbs. "You." The word was spoken lowly, the sound of a growl rumbling beneath the surface of the Knight's voice. This was him. The no good bastard that had raped Rio all those months ago. Haven saw no brother in him, no family. All he saw was a creature that needed to pay for his unspeakable acts.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 03-05-2011, 12:52 PM

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Word Count → 365 :: HERPADERP IDK if they've ever met. :| Either way, Harlowe doesn't recognize. R CRAZYPANTS.

Winter had made Harlowe lean, and it was unlikely he would regain this weight in summer -- the next winter would be even harsher, and so forth. The pallid wolf did not realize his own danger; though certainly his mother had imparted to him the very same survival instincts and knowledge of the world as she had on all her other children, the boy did not remember, or it had not truly sunk into his brain, or he was too used to being cared for and doted upon. In any case, there was something broken within Harlowe and he did not truly understand how to care for himself. Doomed and ravenous, there was little hope for the Zepar. Had he known how to ask for help or who to seek for assistance, he might have, at least earlier. Now, the pale-furred boy was too far gone for even that, and as the voice startled him into standing and dropping the precious food, whirling around to face what may as well have been a stranger, his jade eyes widened in surprise. Who was this? How was he recognized, yet he did not recognize this face? It looked at once like everyone he'd ever known, especially Naniko, and it hurt.

There was clear animosity on the stranger's pumpkin-cream face, and Harlowe recognized this, taking a step backwards. His foot landed awkwardly on the scavenged food, and he stumbled, nearly losing his balance on the snow. His attention did not waver from the other canine, however, as the expression on the male's face as well as the eerie similarity within it held the Zepar's full interest. “How do you know me?” he asked, shrinking back further. “Who sent you here?” the boy asked, inhaling sharply to try and discern the scent of the other male's pack -- he recognized it vaguely, but the name did not exist within his frazzled mind. It was unlikely to ever resurface, either -- however vivid his memory was, there were few cognizant thoughts left in his mind anymore. Whatever potential the cream-shaded wolf had showed in his youth had been soundly confuted; this was plain to see in his madness-tainted jade eyes.

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Haven Aatte · 03-06-2011, 05:56 PM

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I don't think they have. Pretty sure the only half-sibling Haven has actually met/seen is Rio :o Some PP here, lemme know if you want it changed at all!

The half-brother that was no brother of his whirled around after his voice spoke in the gathering night, a completely bewildered expression on his face. It was no surprise that there was no recognition from the other male for they had never met face-to-face before. Haven only knew him from his scent and from his infamy, but that was more than enough. Harlowe stumbled backwards and the energy in the Knight's body began to take on a crackling, electric nature. He had not been prepared for this. Of course he had wished to avenge his sister ever since he had found her after the attack but he had not had the time to search the bastard out. Now here he was, unexpectedly, and the Aatte wished he had some sort of plan. It didn't really matter though. He knew what had to be done.

There was that sick madness in the other's eyes that made Haven's blood boil. Without warning the larger man strode forward with quick, decisive steps. A hand reached out to grip Harlowe by the neck as he bodily shoved him up against a nearby tree. His anger and retribution had taken full bloom on his face, which was now a fearsome snarl as the fire behind his eyes licked up at his pupils. "I know you by what you did," he snarled. "I will never forget the way she looked after what you did to her. Never." Thinking on it now made his stomach twist and turn into knots. Rio had been the sweetest, most innocent of souls, and her brother had harmed in the worst possible way. Violated her. Fingers tightened around the cretin's throat. Tonight, he would finally pay for what he had done.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 03-08-2011, 08:00 AM

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I didn't think so, but I wasn't totally sure. XD I didn't play Harl for the first six months, and I thought maybe somebody mighta had him in a Haventhread somewhere along the line without me knowing. O_O Also lol typo in my last post.

Word Count → 451

Things had never been right with Harlowe's head. He had been a quiet puppy, more interested in books and stories than engaging in the usual childish play. There had never been any puckish quality to Harlowe -- there was no joy or glee in his life aside from his mother, and even that had become some sort of twisted obsession. When she had gone away, it had shattered him, and had attempted to follow someone else -- but he had not been able to live up to Larkspur's expectations. On the contrary, the pale-hued wolf had failed miserably at nearly every turn, and this had caused the sable-shaded man to reject him. Now, though they lived in the same pack, the orange-eyed uncle-cousin did not so much as acknowledge the Zepar's existence. There was a woman and children in his life now; why he should acknowledge the failure he had helped to create, Harlowe did not know, but he desired the male's attention no less for it. Anyone's attention would have done, but Harlowe could not seek it out. Social interaction was beyond him, and he failed at it even now -- though some instinctual part of him recognized the danger in the stranger's aggression, he did not run. Instead, he simply backed up, moving faster as the other approached, but to no avail of course -- as he was moving backward, of course he would not match the other's pace, and he had missed the only opportunity he might have had to save himself.

There was a hand about his throat suddenly, and his scrawny back was slammed against a tree, rough coldness biting through his fur. Though he squirmed and struggled, his hands clutching at the other man's arm and wrist, the youth simply did not have the power to fight the elder, stronger male -- not even in top condition would Harlowe have provided a challenge for his stranger half-brother. Perhaps if he had not failed Larkspur so miserably, he might know something about combat, about saving his own sorry hide -- no such knowledge existed within him, and so the boy simply struggled meekly, thrashing his meager weight against the other canine's grip. Though the other canine spoke, Harlowe's panic was so great he could not speak -- coherent thoughts did not surface in his mind, and only a garbled sort of half-whine escaped his mouth, choked to silence half-way through as the other canine tightened his grip. The boy's own face was frozen into a frothing snarl, far more fearful than the two-toned canine's -- Harlowe's chocolatey ears were pinned against his head, still thrashing and now trembling, finally realizing the imminent danger of his predicament.

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Haven Aatte · 03-09-2011, 02:33 PM

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Yeah, Haven didn't even know he had any little siblings until he ran into Rio and was like O_O Decided to go with the stabbing since it'd be hard to cut it off one-handed >.> 300+

The scrawny male spoke no more and his efforts to struggle against Haven were weak and pathetic. If things had turned out differently, he might have pitied the sorry creature that was held beneath his grip for Haven was not one to throw his weight and strength around just because he could. There was no pity for this half-brother he had disowned though. Whatever tenuous threads of blood that had connected the two who had never met had been cut the moment he had learned what he had done to his sister. Rape was something there was no excuse for in the Knight's morals. As he looked at the fearful, frothing creature in front of him all he saw was Rio's face, which then morphed into the image of Princess when the white loner had attacked her, and after that the sweet visages of his two young daughters. The rage built higher. He would not kill Harlowe, no, but he would make certain he could never hurt another woman as he had hurt his sister.

The hand that did not pin the D'Angelo to the tree reached into his pocket and extracted the carving knife. Haven brought the small blade up between the two men's faces so that Harlowe would see it. He let it linger in the air between them a few moments before he spoke lowly in a detached sort of way. "This is for Rio, and any other women you may have touched, to make sure you never do again." The Court male set the sharp blade on Harlowe's chest, and then slowly traced down his torso until it reached his groin. The tip was placed tentatively over what made the wolf a man and Haven set his jaw. For Rio, he thought to himself as he pushed the knife in to the hilt.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 03-09-2011, 09:05 PM

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Herp! I has a short post. .___. Also, Harlowe, you are really weird. :| Prolly wrap up in your next post or mine~

Word Count → 331

There was the bright flash of a blade before the jade eyes of the younger canine, and this caused his panic to increase, naturally -- despite the added adrenaline and the fright within him, there was no more strength to be added to his struggles. Whatever reserves of it he had left were already long gone, exhausted in the initial struggle. Instead, he ceased his struggles, figuring he was as good as gone -- his body went rigid, and simply began to tremble, his fearful snarl still frozen soundlessly onto his chocolate-hued face.

Rio? The boy barely recognized the name, but recognition slowly set in, and he realized and remembered what he had done. He could not have defended his actions if he had even been able to use his voice in that instant; he still did not fully comprehend why he had done what he had done, and whatever reason he had for it was long forgotten. The cool of the blade drew down his chest, through his fur, though it did not slice through flesh. This puzzled him until he felt the cold rest in a different place -- that place that had betrayed him. That place had made him want Rio, that place had made him want the black and white woman and then refused to work for him.

Rather than further panic, rather than premature agony of what he might lose, there was relief within the boy. Without this part, maybe he would be better -- maybe this would fix him. Naniko had loved him as a boy, and he would no longer be a man. Relieved emotion or not, his body jerked and a warped, choked cry of pain rose from the canine's throat as the knife slid into his flesh, a terrible fire burning through his body, consuming all other conscious thought and emotion from him. Warmth in the form of blood ran down his thighs and legs, stark contrast to the otherwise frigid air.

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Haven Aatte · 03-10-2011, 09:09 PM

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Awwww, I almost feel sorry for him :[ Yup, you can post again or close it up, up to you ^^ 300+

Haven had expected another burst of struggling to come when he showed the knife, and had prepared himself for it, yet it did not come. Harlowe only struggled for a few moments more before turning still and quiet, though the fear was still plain on his face. The Knight had not expected the attacker of his sister to be such a weak and frightened creature. Maybe that was why he had prayed on his sister though, and doubtless other women. When confronted with someone who could actually be a match for him he became a sniveling little rat. The Aatte didn't know, would never know, and honestly did not care. His one crime was enough to condemn him for, as it was not something that could just accidentally happened. He had meant to hurt Rio, even if it was just in that moment. The Knight could not let his little sibling's attack go unpunished.

The knife slid in surprisingly easily and soon he could feel the heat of Harlowe's blood running from the wound. He let the knife stay in for some moments before removing it and reinserting it an inch or two down. One stab might not do it, he didn't know, but he wanted to make sure that the organ the D'Angelo had used as a weapon was crippled and useless for the rest of his life. The Knight could feel blood pour over his fingers and he had to hold onto the blade carefully so his grip would not slip. Slowly he took out and pushed in the knife a few more times, the cries of pain echoing in his ears, before he decided that the job had likely been done. Haven withdrew the knife one last time and stepped back, releasing his grip on Harlowe's neck. Hard jade eyes looked at the mutilated creature for a second or two before he turned his back and walked back into the night without another word.

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