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mall-caps;">in a world that i don’t want to know
with a message that i never want to send
The sun had gone down but moments ago; along the sky's edges remained the slightest hints of pink highlight. The stars that would have littered the sky were not visible, hidden behind a thick layer of cloud that broke in random places to reveal blackness and, occasionally, a handful of twinkling orbs. The moon itself could not be seen, nor its phase, but a ghostly glow behind the purple cloud made its location known. The lack of illumination allowed him to move through the cemetery in darkness, a dark ghost amongst stationary shadows.
The male had little respect for the graves around him. Some might have, as they represented something, were the burial place of individuals who — in this case — had done something important, something to be remembered by the once prominent and proud human race. He, however, did not care for the headstones, nor the earth before them. The earth was disturbed carelessly beneath his paws, the more fragile of headstones — for, some of them were surprisingly sturdy, having defied the sands of time — pushed to the side or made to crumble into further disarray by his movement. Why should he care for their condition? The graves were not of anyone he would ever know — those buried were not even the same kind as he. They meant nothing to him.
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Though the sun was setting, the big pale wolf was not yet tired. He wasn't quite sure where he was going to crash for the night, and it seemed like a good idea to just wander until his paws found something interesting or he got too tired to keep on. He still sorely missed sleeping inside of a house; there was something just warm and cozy about that. Maybe it had been especially warm because the outside had been so cold and forever frozen. He carried along through the territory, pausing to sniff an interesting scent or investigate something off to the side. Charon was relentlessy curious, and he soon came upon the fresh scent of a wolf. Too eager to make friends, the hapless canine meandered for a bit, circling around the scent trail and losing it several times before he was finally able to pinpoint its source.
There was a big black wolf in the cemetary, and he seemed to be searching for something. He was roughing up the ground, shoving over headstones with his shoulder. Char hesitated for a moment, almost for once in his life forgoing social contact in favor of his better instincts, which screamed for him to turn tail and walk away. Swallowing that instinct, the pale canine trotted out into view, his tail cricked in friendliness, the white tip waving in the air as he approached the darker canine. "Hey," the arctic wolf said with a smile, trying his best to appear totally nonchalant and friendly even as he weaved in and out of gravestones. Places like this always creeped him out, and he wondered what this wolf had been searching for to have spent any amount of time in this burialground.
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Kansas had not wandered away from Crimson Dreams this late in the day since the pack was established. Since his last little, which had been a sullen one for many reasons, he'd been searching for a chance to leave the comfort of his home and do something interesting. Savina was off taking care of whatever things she needed to take care of, and the pups were sleeping in the safety of the Manor. It felt a little weird to leave them alone, but he knew they'd be okay. They were old enough now to be less than appreciative of smothering. Enough of the pack was in the house with them so that they could be attended to should they need anything.
His paws took him northward. He came across the graveyard by complete accident, but it ruptured a place within him that had been left alone for many weeks. This was where humans buried their dead. He suddenly felt a bit sick as his thoughts drifted to his mother's body and how it had been... taken care of. These graves held the bones of long-since rotted beings. Had Iskata's body been left to rot, except out in the open without the courtesy of a burial? His unexpected, morbid thoughts choked him up for a moment, warmth rising in his throat. As he entered the graveyard and moved among the headstones, the sounds of someone blundering about and a pale figure up ahead caught his attention almost simultaneously. "Shit..." he muttered without thinking. Now, not only was he upset, he would be forced to deal with two strangers in an undeniably creepy place. Kansas hesitated, then closed the short distance between himself and the paler wolf. He flashed a weak smile to the man, then threw his gaze toward the coal-hued one. "Uh, hi," he offered, referring to both.
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[html]Thanks for joining!
mall-caps;">falling from grace now, for you
this is why you should run
Paying no courtesy to the graves, the dark wolf continued to push or stomp them whenever one happened to be in his way, or close enough for him to do so. It was an absent activity; he was not really paying any attention to what he was doing, and just did it, for no honest purpose. For, when it came down to it, what constructive purpose did destruction have? It was contradicting, an oxymoron. But he did not care about that — and such was obvious.
Another wolf caught his attention, but only because he spoke; had he not, Merit likely would have not noticed his presence, with all the noise he was making. He paused, mid-stomp, to focus his violet gaze upon the other. Then his paw came down on the crumbled rock, as intended. What do you want? he snapped, pivoting so he had a better view of the other. But it wasn't just one other male, no; another made his being known, although it was likely unintentional. He spoke a hesitant greeting after he stood next to the pale wolf. Merit's lip curled in distaste, and he did not offer any such greeting of his own. He had not wanted company, and the fact that not only one wolf, but two had crossed his path was highly irritating.
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[html] http://i285.photobucket.com/albums/ll42 ... est-26.png);background-repeat:no-repeat;padding-top:0px;background-color:#001a36;background-position:bottom;"> Omg a three-way. XD Nicole, we could still have Char and Merit tussle a bit later in the thread, if you'd like, and Kansas can save Charon because Charon sucks at life and fighting? XD
Some creatures were quite at home among headstones and cawing vultures; Charon was not among them. Just the drab dreariness of this land set him at unease—the big wolf was quite anxious in his present setting, though now that he had company he felt slightly better with himself. Before the coal wolf could respond, there was the presence of another—unexpected and unwitting, it seemed, since he muttered a curse that sent a shiver up Charon's spine. He had never heard the word used so liberally before. Surely such a word would have gotten him a swift tooth to the head from his father or worse, a slap from his mean, thick belt. The shiver creeping up Char's spine was no longer from the curse but the memory of what happened after one used such words, and the excitement on hearing it died in his ears.
He offered the song wolf a bright smile, though it was certainly not as broad as it usually was. He was feeling rather down and skittish, and the black wolf's immediate question did not put him any more at ease. He smiled far more nervously this time. "Oh, um, hi," he said, thinking he couldn't sound more out-of-place than if he'd stuttered wildly. The big wolf cleared his throat, and introduced himself, thinking the black wolf might just be joking or maybe he'd just asked the wrong question. "I'm Charon, I was just out exploring, I guess," he responded, too polite to ignore the question even if it had been asked inadvertently. The smile did not fade from his lips, though it was tugged downward by that itching sense of anxiety that would not leave him.
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When the dark man turned to face them, Kansas felt himself inhaling sharply, taken aback by the angry expression on the stranger's face, the irritated retort aimed at both himself and the pale boy beside him. The violet eyes of the coal wolf were extraordinarily unsettling, and if he hadn't enough already, Kansas now really wished he had never left home tonight. He drew a blank at the question, slowly turning to eye the pale man beside him, metaphorically pushing him in front as a shield by allowing him to respond first. Kansas shifted his weight from one front paw to the next, turning his tentative gaze to the unnamed, upset man as he offered his own introduction. It seemed rather ludicrous to be telling them his name so casually, when one of them was obviously pissed off and probably didn't care to know their names. "Yeah. I-I was too. My name is Kansas."
He was slightly encouraged by Charon's smile, forced though it was, and urged himself to do the same. He tried to look somewhat cheerful, though it was undoubtedly difficult. Maybe the other would satisfy himself with telling them to beat it and that would be the end of that. But Kansas had the itching feeling that tonight would not come to a close so easily.
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[html]Sounds good. ^^
mall-caps;">falling from grace now, for you
this is why you should run
There were some wolves who were kind; there where some wolves who pretended to be kind, because they could not come across such an attitude naturally; and there were some wolves who just were not. Merit was the latter; he would never force himself to be kind, just for the sake of being nice to someone. No, the only instance that the dark brute would fake kindness would be when manipulating an individual, when he knew that his usual persona would not get him what he wanted. And he could, when he wanted to do so, act kind quite successfully — it was just a matter of forcing his expression to appear more welcoming, twisting his words so they sounded warm, and not allowing the other to see what his real intentions were. Niceness, for him, was a façade, a method for using others.
The paler wolf seemed to just generally be nice. It seemed as though he was giving the dark male the benefit of the doubt, which was highly unwise. The other, though — the one that had arrived last — could have been either nice, or the type who pretended to be nicer than he actually was. He glared from wolf to wolf as they spoke, pausing on the first male for a moment longer — there was something about the pale creature that irritated him, made his blood hot. They both gave their names, but he did not bother to try to remember them, nor did he even hint at wanting to give his. He took several steps forward, which would have been interpreted as some sort of acceptance of his company, but in fact had more menacing an intention.
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Char was confused. The black wolf looked angry—how could someone be mad with good, friendly company? Neither he nor the other creamy wolf seemed to mean him harm, though Kansas did seem pretty bummed out about something when he'd first arrived on the scene. There was something extremely familiar about the tan-colored man, both in his scent and his appearance, though Charon could not place it. His indigo eyes wandered over the man's features before, wondering why he seemed so damn familiar. After a moment he made one connection—this wolf smelled vaguely like Amata. They were from the same pack, that was all. Naturally, there was no way for Char to realize the much closer relationship between his young friend and this newcomer, but he was satisfied enough at having figured out that they were both from the same area.
"Say, are you from Crimson Dreams?" he asked, wanting to know if his assumption was correct. He had only visited for a moment, when he'd brought Amata back there and saved her from having a thorn caught in her paw. The big wolf noticed the darker-colored canine was finally coming around. Well, good. Char turned back toward him, his smile changing again as the anxiousness evaporated from him. Some wolves just greeted each other differently, that was all—maybe the sable wolf just wanted to be closer before he introduced himself, or maybe he wanted to shake paws? Something like that made sense to Char, who was completely unaccustomed to violence and aggression. If he were a more suspicious creature, he might have recognized the other's intent.
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The nameless man seemed intent on remaining that way. Perhaps he was just introverted, and Kansas really should not feel quite as nervous as he did right now. He knew that some shyer individuals came across as mean-spirited simply because they didn't talk much, and it was unfair to lable them as such. The sandy wolf grinned a bit more genuinely when the ebony man took a few steps forward, wishing to encourage him. He was simultaneously trying to dismiss the worry that was performing a cold, shivering tap-dance along his spine.
Charon asked a rather surprising question; Kansas wasn't sure what had led the other to the suspicion that he was a Crimson Dreams wolf. And even more unexpected: he was right. Perhaps he'd visited there before--the Sadira had no idea that it was this pale man had been the one to pull the thorn out of his daughter's paw a short while ago. "Er, yeah, actually; what made you ask?" he queried curiously. Kansas threw a glance toward the looming ghost, the stranger who stood silently in front of them, realizing that he could possibly be feeling left out at the moment. "Where are you two from?" he added to remedy this.
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falling from grace now, for you
this is why you should run
The two didn't take the hint. He didn't want them there; how hard was that to understand? Would his silence, his unpleasant looks, his lack of any sort of friendliness not get the message across? Instead of leave him be, as he wanted them to, they continued talking. And it was not even interesting things that they were speaking of; packs. He was not in a pack, and he didn't give a damn about where they were from, either. Why should he? Being in a pack just meant responsibility, stupid rules, other wolves. Unwanted company.
Rather than leave — like most antisocial or moody individuals would do — Merit narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to the other wolves. He didn't want to leave; why would he? He was there first; they were the ones intruding. The more he looked at them, the more he listened to them, the more he felt his blood boil. It was obviously the first wolf's fault that he had to put up with company; had he not stopped by, the other probably would have passed by, not even noticing Merit. He blamed Charon.
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With his nervousness gone, Charon relaxed quite a bit, settling to his haunches, his body angled toward Kansas. He seemed friendlier, anyway—the pale silver wolf couldn't do much with someone who refused to talk. He was curious as to why the other refused to introduce himself. Maybe he just liked to listen, that was all. Char smiled at the creamy wolf's question, nodding his head. "I passed by there a couple days ago, and I met Amata. She'd gotten a thorn in her foot, so I took it out and brought her home," he said, sympathy showing on his face. He'd liked that puppy whole bunches—she'd reminded him of his little sister, and sorely reminded him of that which he was lacking, a good woman and a few children. Like most canines, Char absolutely loved puppies, and he eagerly awaited the day he would have some of his own. "You smell sorta like that place," he said, happy that he'd been able to infer something for once in his life. Char was not a particularly bright creature and he did not often figure things out on his own.
The big, cloud-colored male beamed as he thought of his snowy hometown. "I'm from way up north, up in Alaska, if you've ever heard of it," he said, still grinning. "It's pretty cold up there all the time," the silvery canid added, thinking of the lovely white expanses of tundra. Though he missed it, he'd been seized by the jaws of wanderlust, and he wanted to see the world before he thought about settling down anywere, though he certainly missed the constant companionship of family life. Maybe a pack was like that. Still, the pale wolf had no intention of settling down anytime soon. His deep azure eyes flicked to the darker wolf as he inched ever closer, wondering if maybe he was just learning about them before offering anything of his own.
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It was unfortunate for the two paler wolves that they were so good-natured; otherwise they probably wouldn't have given the nameless individual the benefit of the doubt, assuming that he was simply shy or unfriendly. But it was to their disadvantage that they were so gentle. Kansas kept his eyes on the dark canine for only a few more seconds, turning his sky colored eyes back toward Charon just before he could catch the former edging closer with anger still etched with painfully obviousness across his sable face. The Sadira was distracted from the current situation by his daughter's name. He hadn't at all expected her to come up, but it was enough to make his smile purely happy. "Oh, Amata's my daughter. So... that was you who took care of her. She described you exactly, I just didn't connect the dots... Um, thanks," he added with a swish of his tail.
One thing that did not go unnoticed by the cream wolf was that Charon was the only one to answer the question he'd aimed at both. This seemed kind of like an ill-omen. Still, Kansas preferred to shove his paranoia away, sure that it was the cause of his uneasiness. "Hmm, I've heard of Alaska. It was mentioned in a book I read once." He was thinking of "Call of the Wild," of course. "It sounded interesting, but definitely cold. What, eh, what brought you here?" Another tentative glance toward Merit, his face decorated nicely by a half-smile, inviting the stranger to butt in whenever he wished.
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falling from grace now, for you
this is why you should run
It was not hard to believe that Merit did not like puppies. He despised them; even if reminded that he had been one once too, he would admit that he must have hated himself — or would, upon meeting the younger version of himself. There was just something about them. Actually, everything about them. He hated how they were so small, so frail, so useless. He hated how their voices sounded, the way they ran around, full of energy and youth, with no regard for others. He hated how they needed to be taken care of, and how they would eventually grow up to be individuals that he would continue to dislike. Merit did not like anyone, and liked puppies even less — which was the opposite of many wolves, who had a soft spot for children. He was more likely to accept the presence of an adult than a child.
The two continued to chat back and forth, apparently distinguishing some kind of connection though the daughter of the one that came last. He crept to forward, putting less and less space between them with every move he made. Perhaps they would interpret it as an attempt to join their casual conversation, a way of seeking some attention; perhaps they would realise that it was far from such an innocent gesture.
He had no reason to want to hurt either of the wolves. Not really; they had done nothing to harm him. But they had bothered him, particularly the first one — Charon — who had decided the disturb him. And, for the male, who, deep down, was cruel and sadistic and far more twisted than he appeared, disturbing him when he wanted nothing more than to be alone was more than enough reason to want to harm someone. And that was exactly what he planned one doing, as he moved closer to the pale wolf.
His slow, obvious approach turned into an attack within moments. He lunged at Charon, growling angrily, his teeth snapping at the other, attempting to connect with shoulder, neck, face, limb — anything.
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The silvery wolf had never been particularly smart, so when Kansas started talking to him, he had pretty much forgotten about the other wolf, figuring he was just listening and waiting for his chance to interject. The subject at hand—Miss Amata—was too interesting to keep to himself. Kansas looked like a pretty young father, and Char was in awe of that alone. He had pined for children of his own to love and protect for some time now, and though he grinned widely at Kansas, there was a rare pang of envy in the silver wolf's chest. He was jealous of Kansas for obviously having found a woman and settled down. "Amata's a really nice kid! I was thinking of going to visit her again soon. Do you think that'd be okay?" he asked, worried that perhaps he would be denied access to his young friend. That would be a really big bummer.
Their conversation continued, falling back to Char's homeland. He nodded his head, smiling. Alaska was a good place to grow up—the cold and occasional scarceness of resources meant you grew up strong, though Char was big in the body he was not so smart in the head, and it showed often. He nodded, responding eagerly to the paler wolf. "Well, I liked the place. It's just, my family was putting a lot of pressure on me, and—" he didn't get to finish his thought, because before it was out of his mouth, there was someone on top of him, teeth sinking into his shoulder and bringing a yowl of pain from the silvery wolf. Bewildered, he turned to the raven wolf and cried out, "Stop! What are you doing?!" as he desperately tried to shake the other man off of his shoulder.
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If Kansas was anything, he was smart. Sometimes it wasn't apparent in the way he talked, the cautious, sometimes stuttered words alluding to a duller individual. But the boy was intuitive and intelligent, and he could pick up the intentions of others though they may be subtly displayed. He could see by the bright, careless eyes of Charon that the man was oblivious to the approaching phantom. He seemed to want simply to have this nice conversation about Kansas's kids, perhaps toying with what it might be like to have some of his own. The Sadira could see the wonder in his eyes, and could possibly have felt good about that had not the beast been looming ever closer. "Sure—come over, and meet my other two, also," the boy said immediately after Charon had made his polite request. Despite the formidable circumstances, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to show off his puppies.
Again, Kansas was acutely aware of the space between himself and the dark stranger steadily closing. He was through thinking the best of Merit. There was something too sinister about his manner, his face, his very scent. And so, while Charon talked freely about his home, Kansas absorbed none of the words, for his pale eyes continuously flickered back to the red-eyed male, wary of the worst. And then he lunged, something the Sadira had been expecting to happen, deep within his consciousness, since he'd come upon the two. He instinctively stepped back from the tangle of bodies, an involuntary snarl erupting in his throat. He did nothing in that instant, for he fully expected Charon, large as he was, to buck the red wolf off.
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