blarp. O:

She was dead. There was no denying that -- she was dead, dead, dead. He had not been gone two days, heading south with Dusk to scavenge in the city and bring home dinner. Well, he'd brought home dinner, and he'd left the deer's neatly sliced meat, the steaks and strips, next to Penance, unable to face eating or burying her. Reaper had only taken the necklace, unhinging the thing from her bloated, stiff neck with some difficulty.

He had run after that, and though he had not eaten since felling the deer, he retched anyway, bringing up nothing but stringy saliva and the faint beginnings of foam. Now he gazed emptily forward, in the general direction of the ocean. He could not look back. She was back there. The necklace clutched in his hand, Reaper slowly stood, sniffing the air. The thick stench of decay -- her decay -- was upon the air, but there was something else there, too.

Reaper's pale eyes widened. He had not missed the absence of his son and daughter, but he had lamented Penance more. She was his life's light. He had known her for such a pitifully brief time, and yet he had attached to her wholly and completely, in fact loving his children only because he loved her. She had been his strength -- it had been her idea to get Dusk, her responsibility to care for the mare. She had done the raising of the children, and he had only tottered around at her ankle, utterly and completely devoted to her. Now she was dead, and he was lost again. Or -- perhaps not.

Small pieces of Penance still existed in this world -- two of them, in fact. Enigma's scent was stronger than Shrive's -- he took this to mean the girl had been taken with the initial attack, and the boy had been left to die. But now -- where was he? The pale-eyed man whimpered softly in his chest, and leapt nearly to the sky when Dusk nuzzled his shoulder. The horse sighed her amusement and bumped against her owner again, wishing to move away from the scent of death. As usual, the silver dapple was utterly unperturbed, even at the death of her master and caretaker.

Alright then, he said, softly, and turned toward the horse, sliding up onto her saddle. It was a small, pathetic thing, really -- one of the cheaper models obtainable in Freetown. It had taken them long enough to gather up the trade clout to get the horse in the first place, and they had little to spare on such expenses as a saddle. Penance had not even needed one -- she had wanted it only for Reaper's ease and convenience. This thought lingered uncomfortably long, and Reaper awkwardly squeezed his legs together. The horse started forward, moving away from the scent of death and toward the coast.

Enigma's scent was barely palpable from his perch upon the equine's back, but it was not altogether lost to sharp-nosed Reaper, who followed the faint scent trail eagerly. Engima was Penance, and maybe his sister was even with her; maybe Shrive hadn't been carried off in the initial attack. If she had, Reaper's chances of finding her were near to nil -- there was virtually no scent left of her whatsoever. She was long gone. He wondered why the attacker would take the girl, and he realized it with stunning indifference: she was, after all, a girl. She would be impressionable in her youth, and she was likely headed for the slave trade, or otherwise careening toward some end that involved spread legs.

These thoughts did not bother Reaper as they might have a normal canine. He had become attached to Penance, and now that attachment was slowly beginning to transfer to his son, Enigma. These attachments were less love and more deep obsession, hardly copacetic; they were unhealthy at best and terrifying at worst. The first to hold this sway over him and the one to train him toward such inclinations was his brother, Bastion. He still ached for the man, ached for his sister, but he had been able to stave off those aches with Penance. He had been able to forget about them, at least for a little while. Now, the old thoughts and needs came flooding back to him, and he trembled softly in his seat. The mare seemed to pick up on his sudden anxiety and arched her neck back toward him, issuing a soft nicker toward her companion.

(494)

The pale optime was not certain where he was going. He was still new to these lands, having met Penance outside of them on the true mainland, across the isthmus. He had no time to explore and learn of the packs in the area with two young children. He did not know what to call these lands or where he was -- these things didn't truly matter to him anymore. What mattered was that he was alone, utterly and completely. Only Dusk was his companion now, and she could not even provide him with conversation.

Reaper needed someone to follow, and more precisely, Reaper needed someone to lionize and devote himself to. He was lost without this. While he was not quite so obedient as a slave -- he had been the earliest experimentation of Bastion's, and perhaps a little botched -- he did have a deep and intense need to latch onto someone. It had been Reaper, it had been Twilight, it had been Penance. Now... the man's pale green eyes shifted from left to right, and he released a shaky sigh, reaching down to pat the horse on the neck. It was more of a reassurance to himself than to Dusk, unshakeably calm as she was.

Up ahead, he became aware of two figures. One was tall, and seemed to be impossibly wide. As he drew nearer, he realized this wideness was due to a strange garment. Reaper himself did not wear clothes, but Penance had told him of her liking for pretty dresses. He had wanted to find one for her in the city when she'd told him how to get there. She had known these lands better, though she herself was relatively new to the area. Now, she would never wear a pretty dress, and the man twitched visibly in the saddle at that thought.

He became aware that there were not two figures, but three -- one tiny. Enigma, he thought, knowing at once. Already, however, his attention had shifted back to the third figure, the pale one with the dark green eyes. Recognition dawned on him slowly, and Reaper urged Dusk toward the trio, heedless of the big man with the scars and the small child both. It was Bastion he wanted, Bastion he saw -- the others might have been unseen ghosts, figments of his imagination.

He slid from the horse's back, landing in the grass on unsteady legs. Dusk tottered away slowly, head bending to crop at the vegetation. She was unmindful of the presence of these strange Luperci, and would not wander far. She could have shifted to what passed for a horse's Optime form and started talking to the canines of the group in Latin and Reaper still would not have taken note, for all the attention he paid her. He had eyes only for Bastion, and the shock showed plainly on his face, jaw hanging slightly agape and sage-hued eyes widened.

Reaper had not seen his brother in a long time, but their blood was undeniable. The paler, lighter Bastion looked like Reaper, and both of them looked like Twilight. Vale was the outcast of them all, but Reaper couldn't care less about Vale. Somewhere, he smelled Twilight. His sage eyes blinked slowly, and the man gaped at his brother, completely forgetting about the son he had come to find.

Bastion encircled Reaper in a hug, and the other man put his arms about his brother and held tightly. His light, his Bastion. He inhaled the man's scent, ran his fingers over the other canine's shoulders. Reaper did not desire Bastion sexually, but he lived to please his brother, and he would do as Bastion commanded, even if Reaper himself was not entirely comfortable with the idea. Always, he murmured, smiling dreamily. You found my son, he murmured, laughing at the ridiculousness of such a thought, such a statement. What did the child matter now, anyway?

The bigger male spoke, and Reaper's eyes shifted suspiciously to the scarred canine. He had become slightly more lucid with the other man's speech, and he looked at the tiny pup cradled against the larger man's chest. Reaper should have been the one holding the child, he knew -- but... Bastion had him. He wasn't supposed to take things from Bastion. These thoughts circled each other madly in his mind, pacing around their battle arena. Neither had taken the first swipe, but their battle would occur, no doubt.

Minor powerplay: presumed Basti wouldn't let go at first, and then Reaper broke free and stepped back? PM/IM if you disagree I need to edit, am obviously open to this. C: <3

Reaper had forgotten little of Bastion and his treatments. Now, the memories were nothing short of vivid. Reaper was immersed in his hug, immersed in his scent. The dust-colored man might have forgotten everything and fallen into step right where they'd left off, if it were not for that one word. Puppy. His body jerked and then stiffened at this, and the male pulled his head back and gaped openly at his brother, his pale green eyes squinted in confusion. He was supposed to be puppy, Reaper. He had been, for the longest. Bastion had other toys, of course, but Reaper was supposed to be puppy.

The male squirmed, attempting to disengage himself from his brother's embrace. His pale, sage-hued gaze had turned to the grizzled male as he spoke, and these words were the slap to the face that finally brought Reaper -- the stronger part of him, anyway, -- back to the surface. It was as if he had grown ten years in the instant between the before and after of Janos's statement. He struggled more fiercely, and stepped back from his brother. Reaper was a big wolf, and he dwarfed the petite, childlike brother of his. Their coloration was their only similarity -- where Reaper was strong and thickly built, Bastion was slim and almost girlish.

That... that small puppy, the child, he's my blood. Mine and P-p-penance, he stammered, wringing his hands before him. No matter the strength Penance had attempted to impart to him, this was entirely new territory for Reaper. He had never disagreed with Bastion before. His child was almost prehensible, just a few feet before him. The boy was the only living remnant of Penance he had. Reaper must have the child back.

We can probably wrap this up here. :3 I need to get Reaper dropped.

The wolf took a step backwards as the big wolf rumbled a growl, staring at his brother in disbelief, horror slowly dawning over him. Reaper would not be able to take his son from the big wolf -- he would die trying. Bastion would not allow Enigma to come home with his father, and Reaper had lost the only piece of Penance that remained alive anymore. His ears folded nearly flat against his skull, and he realized the yellow cowardice within himself. A stronger wolf would have thrown himself at both wolves and died for his son, and part of Reaper wanted desperately to do just that. Dying meant pain, however, and the wolf was not certain he wished to entertain such a terrible fate.

With that, Bastion turned from him, and Reaper stood there dumbly, watching as the gray wolf who'd replaced him stepped forward. He murmured something Reaper did not even understand, though it was not for lack of clarity on Janos's part, merely Reaper's shock. The cloud-colored wolf took a few more steps backward, shooting a glance at the mare. He took his pack from behind him slowly, laying it on the ground and spilling the contents so the gray wolf would not think he was pulling a weapon -- his knife was secured in it's own pocket, not spilling with the remainder of his stuff. The man remained low to the ground in submission, setting forth the tiara and the two necklaces.

The male crawled forward toward the gray wolf, stopping a respectful distance away from him and setting the three items on the ground. He looked up with pleading green eyes toward the man, pointing from one item to the next. For Bastion. For Twilight. For your son -- from his mother, he said, choosing the words carefully. That said, he scuttled backward, scooping the remainder of his things into his pack.

Oh, he would run away, all right -- he'd never come back here and bother his damned brother again. He'd been replaced, after all, and he was not worth so much as the gray wolf's toe to now. Bastion would never care for him again, and Penance was dead. A whimper rose from his throat even as he stuffed the last of his things into his pack, moving away from Dusk and the pieces of his old life.