m- make way for the next man
#1
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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.
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couldn't find the hover over code anywhurr ;-; he's basically sending his bro for firewood Smile his brother is cussing lightly and hundreds basically means fine this is pretty much what he's gonna be saying. set in the military fort

‘Oi, Luuk, gaan kry vir ons 'n paar hout sal jy?’ Amaury called, not turning around to look at his brother. ’Quit speakin’ Goat, you knows I don’ speak it good as ya’ the larger male complained, though he did fully understand the command given to him. The larger male continued to sharpen his knife, mumbling to himself in a multitude of foreign slang words. The younger pied creature huffed to himself and looked back to the ground, he hadn't been doing anything in particular after all. Snowy fingers picked up a generous sized rock, rolled it around between his fingertips and he spun around to rocket it off his brother's head. Luuk's reaction was understandable as he turned around and let out a loud exclamation, 'Jou bliksem!' Rubbing the back of his skull he shook his head slightly, 'Hundreds... I'll go get it then, mkay?'


The older male moved away into the forest, a sparse population of trees group together on the edge of the barren landscape. Blue eyes settled upon the tan figure at it got smaller, disappearing into the trees. Amaury stood, moving towards and into the small shack they'd been camping in these past few days. 'Shosholoza, shosholoza. Kulezontaba. Stimela sphuma South Africa. Wenu yabaleka, wenu yabaleka. Kulezontaba. Stimela sphuma South Africa...' he sang to himself, mumbled actually. An old song from home, something he picked up from the neighbourhood kids rather from his own father, who was Dutch by nationality. He flicked ash from the joint in his mouth as he repeated the tune to himself.


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#2
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(--) Up there for you! ^_^


Machidael is by me!

Hunting was not so good in the city. While Machidael yearned to sink his spear into something large and delicious -- he did not know the names of the many new creatures on this continent as of yet -- he could find only the smallest of creatures to sate him. There was an overabundance of cats, and their stringy, tough meat was hardly satisfying to the jackal. Besides, they were fierce little things and could put up more of a fight than some Luperci Machidael had known in his life. In the end, most succumbed to tooth or dagger or even brute strength, but some escaped.

He was picking his teeth with the bones of one of the more unlucky cats when a faint scent caught his nose. Tilting his head back, he inhaled more deeply, standing even as he did so. The rust-furred hybrid recognized that scent, and it sent a tingle of delight through him to smell even the faintest whiff of that particular substance. Abandoning Seraht to the warehouse, the rust-furred hybrid moved through the streets, stalking the scent as if it was prey -- and really, in his mind, it was. His steps were slower than they might have been, owing to an injury inflicted by the warehouse's original owner.

The jackal soon heard the cacophony of some language he did not recognize, much less understand, and it was this he followed. The scent grew more powerful along with the noise, and he soon found himself gawking at a rundown shack, the scent of marijuana and two distinct canines flooding the surrounding area. The thin jackal peered around with sharp crimson eyes, and they settled on a cream and snow-colored canine, piebald and blue-eyed, sitting within the shack.

Dope? he asked, pointing toward the joint in the man's hand.

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#3
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you rock <3

The crumbling shack was better than nothing, though it had been fairly draughty in the night. A small camp cluttered the best covered corner, the exact opposite corner from the door (or at least where it used to be). Amaury's large denim satchel lay half open on the floor next to a doused camp fire, various cans spilled out of it as well as various cooking utensils. Two large sleeping bags (obviously Luperci made) lay beside each other. Of course, Amaury intended to make his real home over the other side of Nova Scotia (the wooden shack, not this crumbling stone one) a lot comfier than this. With a bed and some chairs. And a more permanent stock of fire wood. Snowy feet kick the cans into the bag absently, Amaury's half hearted attempt at keeping the temporary camp somewhat tidy. But neither of the boys had been any good at this, and it was something their mother had failed to drum into them


The African's musings were interrupted by another's approach and voice. Amaury turned around, blinking at the smaller male with bright blue eyes. 'Uh, yeah' he slurred, 'Yeah, dagga, weed, dope'. Dagga was, naturally, the word he was brought up using, but he wasn't ignorant to the other terms for the stuff. 'You want some?' he asked, kicking in bag on the floor and looking down to the floor.


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#4
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(--)


Machidael is by me!

It had been quite a long time since Machi had tasted smoke. The crew had a little supply, of course, but it had run out halfway across the ocean. Machi hadn't been able to trade for any in Freetown, and his efforts in finding it wild proved useless. He found nothing, for his nose had been mixed and confused by the myriad of scents he did not recognize. This strange land had overwhelmed him at first -- used to the blank expanses of sand in the desert and the cool climes of the northernmost coast, Machidael had been entirely unprepared for New England forests and towns.

The piebald canine blinked at him slowly, and Machidael offered a toothy smile, hoping it might please the man into offering some of his substance. He called it a strange name the rust-colored jackal did not recognize, and Machidael cocked his head at the sound of the canine's voice, blinking himself. With the offer, though, he was quick to nod vehemently and scuttle toward the man, unslinging his pack and his spear. He left these outside of the man's shack -- a gesture of good-will, as Machidael saw it, for the weapons made him far less effective.

Where from? he asked the piebald canine as he reached out to take what was offered. He pointed to himself and half-grunted in his malformed English: Al-Iskandariyya. Over water.

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#5
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ooc here

This man wasn't English, or from a land where English was the native tongue to be exact. Amaury looked at him with bright blue eyes, letting them sail over the older male. His attire at least wasn't native to this land, nor was the man's appearance. But Amaury wasn't judging him, he was merely interested in this other foreigner. The accent sounded Arabic, something he'd heard a lot when he journeyed up to Algeria and the surrounding areas. 'Ya can bring doz in here, f' ya wan'. Ya not gonna steek me wiff it, ja?' he said, gesturing to the spear in case Machi couldn't understand his thick South African slang riddled speech. 'Ya got a name, china?' Amaury asked, extending a pair of fingers with a large joint between them.


They got onto the subject of where each other were and Amaury didn't hesitate to make conversation. 'Al... Oh, Alexandria?' he asked, remembering then English for it. Because as stupid as he seemed, brains were something that Amaury had in bounds. 'Me, ma pozzie is Mzansi. Souff Afrika, ja?' Amaury said, taking a drag of his joint, 'Down souff form you'. The pied African , leant back against the wall his sleeping bag lay next to. 'Ya can jus' shove ya self anywhere, not like ya gonna make any more mess, ja?' he chuckled.


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#6
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(329)


Machidael is by me!

The rusty-hued hybrid paid rapt attention to the other man's words, concentrating hard to understand them. They were wrapped in that strange accent -- it was not so brutal as trying to understand one of these natives, but it was difficult, all the same. Machidael was only truly fluent in Arabic, and he struggled with this English language. Some part of him knew he must learn it, but there was resistance within him, all the same.

He shook his head and grinned toothily with the man's offer. Assegai throw, no stick, he explained. The weapon was nearly useless in close quarters -- it was best to spear his prey from a distance, whether it was antelope or Luperci. Machidael Lykoi, he said. It was strange, introducing himself with a surname -- it had never seemed to matter much, but here -- this was where that name and his father came from. Perhaps his siblings were about, too -- the rusty-furred hybrid remembered when he saw them last, far across the ocean. What you? he asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke with the word, passing the join back wordlessly.

The shadow-streaked hybrid pricked both ears in interest as the other canine spoke his city's name, but differently than Machidael had ever pronounced it. Alexandria, he repeated, voice so thick with accent it sounded almost the same as it had the first the time he said it. Still, the russet hybrid gave a toothy grin and his gold tooth glittered as the other canine spoke another word he knew. Africa, he agreed. North, he said, although in Arabic, as he did not know the English directionals.

With the stranger's invitation, Machidael settled to the floor, his wrap sliding up his legs as he did so. The hybrid tugged it down wordlessly and pondered the other canine with red eyes, already feeling the fire of the joint. He grinned again, broad and wordless, and nodded his apparent approval of the substance.

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#7
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ooc here

When the Northern male corrected his slang he nodded and shook his head. He didn't mind being misinterpreted so long as it wasn't something important or anything. And he wasn't about to bother explaining that steek meant stab after all, because it didn't matter. Amaury knew somewhat how hard it was to learn English, or any language, because Amaury was only partially a native speaker. He'd grown up aware of four languages, Afrikaans and English, which were spoken in the streets. And the two languages of his parents, those he'd not really bothered to learn fluently, but he knew enough to be of use.


'Amaury' the pied male said proudly, 'Amaury de Jong' he took up his joint and flicked the ask into the fire pit. 'Ma ouballie got me ma second name. Good ole Dutch un. Mom named me though. Seems fair, ou named both ma bros'. He tended to ramble after all and now was no different. 'Machi though? Ja, befok name...' Amaury laughed as his companion gave his wordless approval of the joint, 'Ja. Good ennit? Proppa Suvvan dagga...' He noticed the wrap sliding up on the male and shook his head, 'May as well strip. Ya got the fire in here after all, ent gonna feeze, china'.


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#8
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(310)


Machidael is by me!

Although the rust-colored hybrid did not understand a quarter of what was coming out of Amaury's mouth -- partly due to the language barrier, partly due to the accent, and partly due to the joint -- he was smiling a gold-toothed grin and nodding all the same, as if he understood. Mom -- he recognized that word, and cocked his head. It was one of the ones spoken somewhat frequently in the city. Mom? he waved a hand. No. Fa Lykoi. Ma Nephthys, he said, struggling to express the concept that he'd inherited his name from a father he'd never met.

No have, the hybrid said as he lifted the joint. Long, he added. When water and boat, have. It had been a long, long time, and Machidael's mind was pleasantly fogged by the drug. Dagga, he repeated, liking this word. It wasn't one he'd heard before, but it was apparent enough what it meant. Perhaps it was the more precise English word for weed -- Machidael knew only "dope" and this blanket term referred to all substances.

With the man's suggestion, Machi shrugged his slender shoulders and passed the join pack, thereafter undoing the wrap's clasp. He lifted his hips so he might yank it out from beneath him and folded it neatly, thereafter moving to put it -- he hesitated, folded wrap in hands, and then snorted his laughter, almost giggling at his impulse to put the wrap in its place -- but this was Amaury's place, and he had nowhere to put it. Good dagga, he murmured again, grinning again. This time it was a more sloppy sort of smile, his sharp red eyes clouded with the substance. Good share, he said. What word? Thanks? he asked, the last word in Arabic -- he did not know the English words to thank Amaury.

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#9
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ooc here

Amaury understood that the man didn't understand him well. Or, at least, he'd caught onto it halfway through his speech. 'Gonna have ta slow it down for dis one, ja?' he thought to himself, flicking ash onto the floor, tired of leaning over to the fire pit. He laughed again as the older man confused his words again. 'No. My ma name me Amaury. My Fa call me de Jong, yeah?' he tried again. 'Man, I dunno how you can go for long without dagga, dope' he said, trying to speak slower and plainer. 'Long time bad, ja?' he prompted. Amaury's mind was fogged happily with the dagga, and he slumped down onto his large sleeping bag with a sigh, turning his head to keep and eye on Machi lazily.


'Put that anywhere, you welcome to stay. Here' He said, pointing the the ground. Amaury helped tug the wrap away silently, and leant back down, continuing the conversation. His mind dimly understood the Arabic 'thanks' from his time in Northern Africa while he waited for a boat to America. He'd needed supplies after all. Though he'd never run out of joints. He'd kept a huge supply and then traded for more in Freetown. In fact he was surprised at how well he'd fared. Stretching out with a yawn, Amaury spoke again, 'Yeah. Thanks' he said, speaking in English to the Egyptians reply. 'Whatcha come here for then?'


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#10
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Machidael is by me!

Machidael nodded at the man's correction, though he wondered what consequence either of their parents were. It was clear from the piebald creature's lack of recognition Lykoi was not anything he knew -- and, being from the very same continent as Machidael, there was no reason for Amaury to know Samael Lykoi. The rust-hued hybrid decided it was best not to respond at all, and instead grinned like an idiot -- which was easy, considering his state of mind.

Have smoke once. Not dagga. From flower, Machidael explained, trying to convey that he'd smoked poppy extract. Long time bad, yes. He could agree on that much. Any kind of mind-altering substance was okay by Machidael, but even he had favorites. The rusty-hued hybrid was not surprised by the other man's kindnesses -- it was instinct to be kind, after all. His black-rimmed ears twitched with the man's question, and he considered a long moment, puffing on the joint before handing it back.

Bored? he tried, shrugging. There was no real reason he'd come here -- he hadn't been able to stay home, and perhaps some part of him did wish to reconnect with his siblings. He was curious as to whether they'd found father. Still, though -- that wasn't the reason he'd crossed the ocean. Come to think of it, there was nary a reason why he'd come at all -- it was just something to do. Why here you?

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#11
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short, but i gotta run somewhere

'Ja, opium? I wanna try dat sometime...' he mused to himself, blue eyes flicking up through jagged jet black locks. He'd never really tried anything aside from dagga, tobacco yes, though he didn't really consider that as a drug. Even though it was. Mainly because the stuff wasn't as... As... What ever the word was. Either way it didn't make his mind cloudy like dagga. But it was cool for smoking more often than the stronger drugs. And much nicer than getting hammered daily. 'Where you camping?' he asked, because he'd have to have a place where he kept his shit. Even if it was temporarily titled as such. Amaury wiggled as he became uncomfortable in his position, neck craning awkwardly until now. 'Better...' Blue eyes remained on the reddish male, 'You okay?' he asked, plaining down his speech.


'Ja. Bored...' Seemed a decent excuse to get away from home. Amaury himself considered this to be one of the major facts that made him move away from the dusty, and dangerous, streets of South African. 'S'pose the same for me then. Bored... Weren't nuffin back home...'

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#12
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(--)


Machidael is by me!

Opium -- Machidael nodded vigorously. That was what it was called. Opium, he repeated, the word more garbled on his tongue than it had been on Amaury's. He had enjoyed that sleepy calm -- it was very similar to this dagga, although more potent by several degrees of magnitude, in Machidael's estimation. Find flower, he suggested. Find here. Grow... all places. He'd seen fields of the stuff overseas -- why wouldn't it be the same here?

His red eyes considered the man as he inquired on a camping spot. Amaury was unlikely to know the warehouse woman, but even so. The rusty-furred hybrid shrugged and gestured helplessly, making like he could not express in terms where he was staying. You here? he asked, pondering whether this was a permanent location or just a temporary resting spot for the piebald canine. Perhaps he could return in the night and steal more of the dagga -- then again, if he was caught, it'd require killing Amaury, and Machidael didn't want to go so far as that. The African had shown him kindness, and though they shared no species, the russet jackal thought of them as kinsman of sorts all the same.

Good, Machi agreed, tapping his skull and grinning a gold-toothed smile. Head good now. It was true, too -- he was calm and he felt quite good, better than he had in some time, in fact. Sebante was far from his mind, and he was actually enjoying the conversation, though perhaps that was a side effect of the dagga. No family? Fa here, all time. Ma from Al-Iskandariyya, he said, pausing as he remembered the word. Alexandria. Africa. He was glad to have these new words to express where he was from.

Ma here. Ah... ma-child here, he added, not knowing the words for brother and sister nor how to express they and his mother had come here years before. Al-Iskandariyya... want not me. No Fa, he said, grimacing even now with the thought of his mother's cult and the shunning he'd received -- all for lack of a father. He might have proved himself worthy, if only he'd been granted that small chance. Fuck off, say me. He made a rude gesture at his crotch and grinned to let Amaury know just what he thought of Al-Iskandariyya and his mother's moon cult. That, at least, was not nubilous as his speech.

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#13
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shoort~

'Ja, ja. Dat red stuff? Black in middle?' Amaury made a mental note to find some of that stuff, when he had something to trade for it of course. Right now he had nothing but things he wouldn't part with. Blue eyes regarded Machi dully from behind a sheet of drugged up daze. 'Fuuuuck~' he sighed, stretching out his sleeping limbs. The ache of the blood rushing back through his joints earned a happy sigh as the African finished the joint. 'Want me ta get another one out for us?' he asked, already leaning up ready to move.


'Ja, yeah. I'm campin' here. S'not much, but it's comfty enough' he mused. 'Yeah. Heads better. Not too much shit goin' on up der now...' Amaury added, trying to convey the idea that dagga, or weed, whatever, cleared your head out. Cleared all the bad things away. Amaury didn't have much aside from worries about where his next meal was coming from and when. 'Nah. I ent go no family here. Sides from my brother' Amaury explained, listening to Machidael speak of his own. Copying his gesture and speech Amaury chuckled, 'Yeah, fuck off!'


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#14
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(--) Can bring le brother whenever, btw. c:


Machidael is by me!

Find... green, he said, motioning with his hands to approximate the size of the opium pod. Green... bulb, he suggested, the last word uttered in Arabic, for he did not know the English. Cut green, get... water? Get dark, hard. Take, he explained, the most basic of the harvesting process. Machidael had seen it done and done it himself a time or two, though in the desert, only the rare oasis grew the poppy flower, and those were few and far between.

Machi's grin returned full force with Amaury's curse, and his head bobbled up and down. Fuck! he declared, nodding his agreement to another joint. Where get? Bring? Find wild? Machidael's nose hadn't led him to any patches of native grass -- he'd been woefully dry since arriving on the coast. He listened to the man speak, missing the word describing the place. Lacking context, Machi couldn't figure out if he was praising or denigrating his abode, so the jackal remained silent on that point. His big ears swept forward to catch the wolf's words. Brother, he said, recognizing this word. Brother here? So that was the second scent Machi caught. He pondered whether the man would return, and if he was anything like this piebald canine here.

The russet hybrid grinned wicked approval of Amaury's gesture and repetition of the phrase. Good words. You take, Machidael offered. They were not his words to give, exactly, but it was a useful phrase, and if Amaury wanted it, he was surely welcome to appropriate it.

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#15
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bad and shoort~

'Ja, ja!' Amaury said enthusiastically, he was fairly decent at cultivating, having worked with plants as a child back home. But he'd never done anything with drugs. Unless it was keeping his supply of dagga safe and dry. He understood the basics of what the Egyptian was trying to convey. 'Don't suppose der was much plants around in da desert, ja?' he chuckled. He'd seen deserts before, once when he'd travelled out of South Africa and the other time when he'd gone to Algeria to travel to America.


'This? The dagga?' Amaury asked. 'Traded it when I got here. Didn't have much to trade though... Only little bits and bobs, ja?' He'd had to trade a few bits of jewellery for his addiction. It was cheap stuff given to him by his mother to keep him going. He assumed, in a moment of dumbness, that meat continuing his bad habits when more likely she meat buy food and supplies.


'Yeah. Ja. Ma bro's here. HEY LUUK!' he hollered. And the larger male came galloping in. 'Ja? Wassup? Who's dis?' 'Dis is Machi. Jus' train' him ta some hospitality, ennit?' he said, leaning over to nudge Machi's shoulder gently.


'Yeah, yeah. Imma use dat...' Amaury chuckled.


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#16
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(--)


Machidael is by Nat!

Machi's toothy grin was, this time, one of amusement. Oasis, he said. The word was known to him, as it was one oft-repeated in many tongues. Those desert sanctuaries were life, after all. Water life, he added. Though his mind was slow and drowsy with the drug, he remembered this above all, and it was precisely why he kept a full skin of water at all times. Though -- here it did not seem water was so hard to come by, and perhaps he'd do better to fill his skin with liquor.

The hybrid nodded a few times, not understanding the phrase "bits and bobs" precisely, but catching the jist. No lots, he said. No trade. Machi himself did not have much to trade, but perhaps some of the warehouse woman's junk -- or even her horse, if he could catch it again -- would prove valuable to Amaury. His ears twitched with the call, and his bright red-orange eyes followed the approach of another canine. He was more yellow and had no white patches, but their relation was unmistakable.

The hybrid nodded his greeting to the newcomer and felt a tap against his shoulder. Its unexpectedness caused him to jump a bit. He snorted thereafter, shaking his head as he settled back down immediately. Dagga, he explained, twirling a finger by his head. His eyes lingered on Luuk, who was taller and larger than his brother by far, and made Machi seem a dwarf in comparison. There was no envy in the russet jackal, however -- he could no more take the man's form than he could change his fur color.

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#17
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Luuk is a fan of petting his brother in public~ also bad post and short

'Ahh! I getcha!' Amaury said loudly. He'd seen them, mostly when he'd journeyed up to the Algiers, but there were rare due to the fact the area where he lived was populous. Durban. God, he wished he could go home now. It was 'Too cold here, eh?' and he said so, peering over to Machi and then back up to Luuk, who patted his lap. With a soft nod, Amaury reclined against his brother, who wrapped his arms around the smaller brother began to chew on his ear. Amaury remained unmoved by all of this, but smirked all the same. He valued his 'relationship' with his brother a hell of a lot and wasn't the slightest bit bother if people though it was weird.


'Hey...' Luuk smiled, nodding his head. His eyes lingered over the smallest male, out of a mix of common interest and admiration. He liked foreigners of course, anyone different that the usual. And Machi was different of course, ruddy and pierced. With a weird tooth. That was awesome. Luuk wanted a gold tooth. He held himself back from asking where he got it from, that was kind of childish of course.


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#18
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(--)


Machidael is by me!

Yes. Cold. Winter? he asked, frowning with the thought of that approaching cold season (and all those thereafter). The cold was the worst part about this land. There was always fog, always rain, always moisture and damp. Machidael felt as if he was always emerging from a bath -- at least the heat of the desert was dry and bearable. Here, there was only heavy humidity, weighing down on his coat and making his movements sluggish and slow. And even then, it was not so hot. Machidael was loath to think of the oncoming winter. His reddish eyes followed the motion of the brothers with a slight tilt of his head. His slitted eyes followed the larger, nodding his greeting in response to the other canine.

Brother more? Machi asked, the tilt of his head growing more exaggerated. The jackal thought he understood, but was not certain -- and such a thing, unaccepted by most, was not something to be insinuated without repercussion. Yet, their closeness and this display made Machidael both bold and confident in his question. And -- perhaps after all, that show was just for his benefit, anyway? Perhaps this was how he was meant to trade for the dagga. Machidael considered only a split second before he decided such a trade favorable, and he scooted forward on the floor. Still, the jackal did not reach for either canine, nor did he seek to place himself beside them. Arrogant and demanding as he could be, Machidael recognized the need for an invitation -- sometimes, anyway.

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#19
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Am's just like 'yes....o.o'


'Winter... Ja...' he mused with a sorrowful shake of his head, 'En't nuffin compared to Africa, ja?' Amaury added, thinking of the warm streets of his origin. It was likely that Machi was more used to the deserts than he was, but having never been anywhere north aside from the Algiers he wouldn't know what it would look or feel like. The pied male and his brother hadn't given much thought to winter in all honesty. But now he thought of it, he really would need to think of something to make sure both him and Luuk survived. Because neither of them were very good hunters, so perhaps they'd join a pack and survive that way. Both were a little lean, but it showed on Amaury more as the smaller brother.


Bi coloured ears twitched when Machi spoke. But there was a long paused after his speech and he only spoke when Machi scooted over, 'Uh... Yeah...' It could have been mistaken for an agreement to Machi scooting over rather than a yes to his question about Luuk. Either way, despite his clouded mind, for Amaury it was likely an agreement to both. Bright blue eyes watched the ruddy male closely, though without fright or malice.


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#20
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(390) Pfff now Machi's just being weird.


Machidael is by me!

Machi could only nod his head in agreement with Amaury. The piebald canine seemed rather of a mind with Machidael himself, although the rust-hued canine could not quite tell: they were, after all, speaking entirely different languages. Or would be, anyway, if both were communicating in their mother tongues. The jackal also suspected Amaury's upbringing, while on the same continent as himself, had been entirely different from what Machidael had grown up with.

The dust-colored hybrid grinned broadly, however, with the man's assent, and clapped his hands together as if delighted by the prospect of brother-lovers. Mine brother -- mine. Someday, the jackal said, laboriously. It was important to express this sentiment right: his own brother would be his someday to dominate and make his own. By looking at the pair, it was not entirely clear who was the master. Machi was not used to relationships where members were on an equal footing with one another. He had been master of his own home, his wife subservient to him. When she had broken that pact, it had been his right -- so he thought, anyway -- to kill her.

His cherry-bright eyes remained fixed on the pair, and his typical grin remained slouched across his muzzle, a slanted and crooked thing that seemed half sheer joy, half sheer madness.

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