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Click-click--clickclickclick. The sweet smell of marijuana had brought a smile to his face as he neared his home base in the city, though that smile fled in an instant to be replaced by a frown as the sounds of a door knob rattling and the occasional thud of a body being thrown against the thick metal door reached his ears. His pace quickened, and he glared angrily at the back of a young male's head as the younger wolf, apparently oblivious to his presence, attempted to break into his garage. "Nope; not happenin'," he growled under his breath as he advanced immediately, stiff legged and fur all on end. Only as his shadow was cast across the door did the younger wolf's actions come to a deliberate stop, and slowly he turned about just in time to witness a well-aimed fist destined to plant directly between his eyes.
The fellow was spindly and scraggly looking with a dirty brown and black coat; he appeared no older than two. He also appeared to be flying quickly back into the door, and the tattooed wolf glared pointedly as the teen scrambled to his feet in a panic before bolting past and taking off into the city. The confrontation had ended much faster than he had anticipated--then again, this land and building were quite clearly marked as his own, and it was now obvious that the stupid wolf's trespasses had been deliberate. Anselm stalked around the perimeter of the garage, at once thankful that the only windows were the small ones high up on the actual garage door itself. He'd be damned if anyone was taking the spoils of his summer any time soon!
He entered the small structure briefly, glaring at the old, worn couch as if it had betrayed him by not keeping an effective watch. Eventually it instigated memories of tranquil afternoons and peaceful, hazy evenings and he was forced to forgive it. Although he'd intended to spend the night here, he now found himself eager to hit the road again. Whoever that bastard was, Anselm knew he hadn't seen the last of him. He would be back, but the Inferni male couldn't wait around forever--there was shit to do, people to see! Locking the door behind him, he set off quickly into suburban sprawl.
The trail was fresh and easy to follow, though the dusky youth hadn't followed the most straightforward path through the city. It was rather convoluted, actually, and as he neared one area in particular he was disturbed to find that the loner's scent was very strong--furthermore, it was mingled with at least a handful of others. It seemed he had stumbled upon the home base of some miscreant gang. He stood uncertainly for a moment as he peered into a dark alleyway, but a sound behind him caused him to whirl about quickly. Sure enough, there was the shifty bastard, one lone finger pointing in his direction as he spoke in hushed whispers to another male, this one scarred and significantly larger. The new male nodded, and Anselm felt his pulse quickened as he heard yet another sound from the alley behind him. Fucking wonderful.
p for jantus, set in halifax! [/html]
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Jantus had been scrounging through the city of Halifax yet again as his company took its time enjoying the sights and sounds of this new place. The truth of it was that they were lingering out of more than just idle curiosity. He had spoken with Vera about the situation, and Aivyr and the coyote couple, as well. It had been agreed that they would linger long enough to give Skoll's children time to view the place and consider a possible stay here. They wanted the Souls territory to be more than just a curiosity to them: a place where their father had died. It had been where their father (and mother, perhaps more importantly their mother) had lived, also, and had been judged as a good enough place for both of those canines to settle down. Skoll had voiced his hope that his children would not live the life he had led...fighting for what they believed in was noble, but it should not be everything; it did not make for a full life, fighting always, rarely loving, rarely tying ones' self down.
Skoll hadn't settled anywhere permanently until he was nearly four. Even after that, the place he had tied himself to had turned against him out of fear of the very people he was defending them against. Nonetheless, the community of Souls had not wholly deserted him; he had found another home. Not everyone here was bad, not everyone was a coward or a rapist or a murderer. Skoll had a history here which they would need to live with, it was true, but he had as many friends as he had enemies. It was a shame Jantus had no way of knowing how many of those friends and enemies were still around. The yellow-furred warrior had mentioned a few names: Inferni, Gabriel, Kaena, Gibraltar, but Jantus hadn't heard anything about any of them, much less seen any of them while around here. He supposed he should get to that soon. It was entirely possible that the kids would decide they wanted to live here, and if so, sad as he'd be to see them go, that would be their path. Truth be told, though, he doubted they'd travel as a unit. Ambien was attached at the hip to his mother, and Trigger...well, he was going to run into trouble wherever he went, so it might not matter. Culexa was most likely, he thought. The girl got along well with his own daughters...he wanted to see her go perhaps least of all, but she was like her father, and the more people told her that, the more he figured she'd feel she belonged in this place. For a time, anyway.
Still, it wasn't reconnaissance driving him to explore this city, it was the treasures that every human city was rumored to hold. Machines and alcohol were the easiest to find when he could sniff out the good ones. Occasionally, though, he'd find alcohol. When he did, he had to be alone, as sharing meant that its effects would be dampened for him. He didn't know exactly how it worked, but someone his size needed much more than was typical. Mala had tried some alongside him once, and stuck to it long enough to feel the buzz. It had come much faster to her than to him. He'd been jealous. It seemed, though, that he was in luck! He smelled cannabis. His war-time ally, Apache, had introduced him to the stuff. Not as much fun as alcohol, maybe, but it took a lot less to turn his brain, and it was too rare a commodity to pass up on the rare occasion it graced his nose. No one farmed in the Pine, so if he ever got any, it was imported by drifters. That, or Apache brought it to him.
Following his nose, Jantus quickly came upon an old human structure, a garage. The smell was coming from inside, and he quickly approached the door in hopes of finding whoever possessed the herb. It was with some chagrin that he found the door locked. He was unaccustomed to human structures, though he knew that he'd have to break the door--a solid looking door at that--to get inside, and if he did so, he probably wouldn't be making friends of whomsoever was inside. At first he called out to get their attention, but after a few moments, he knelt down and found two trails leading away...one was new, the other apparently left by the person who had marked the garage. Jantus stood back up and took his chin in his hand, running the situation through his mind forward and backward. If he followed the trail, he would certainly find the person who owned the cannabis; the canine's scent was fresh enough that he couldn't be far off. Nonetheless, he didn't want to interrupt any business said hybrid might have with the second one; some people grew the herb for dealing purposes: you could trade it for meat, sometimes a yearly 'ration' for additional territory, you could buy peace and other useful things with the recreational drug. He didn't have anything to trade, and the idea of the owner being this kind of person didn't please him. Still, he wouldn't know until he tracked him down. Having reached a decision, he set off after the grower, hoping he wouldn't demand too much in return.
*****
Jantus wasn't the best tracker in the world. The path had not been a straight one, and he was beginning to think this had been more a chase than a casual strolling off to discuss terms. He lost the trail several times, though he stumbled across it again periodically...sometimes it was a curse having your nose so far from the ground, but he dare not travel in alien territory out of shift. Ultimately, this poor tracking ability led him to enter the dark alleyway where the canines were amassing from the opposite side, picking up on the scent of a whole new group of wolves. Three wolves were so near to the mouth of the alley that he nearly ran into them as he entered. His had to slam his front foot down to stop himself from blundering into them. It was this sound which prompted the rearmost wolf to react.
A thin metal object was held in both hands, and swung full-power into Jantus's bicep. Startled by the sudden pain, the giant snarled loudly. The wolf holding the lead pipe paused for a moment, perplexed about what he was seeing. His ears feel back and he swallowed as he realized he was looking at the chest of the wolf he'd just struck...and that it was attached to someone who was twelve inches taller, and much more importantly, twelve inches wider than he was. He offered a weak, nervous smile, and would have put the pipe down if the giant's fist hadn't at that moment caught him in the chin. The blow sent him sprawling over the pavement. At that point, things proceeded to get a little out of control.
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Anselm allowed himself a lightning quick glance over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn't. The results of his little observation were less than promising--outnumbered to begin with, it seemed as if they had managed to ally a mountain of a man. Had he been afforded more time to consider the situation, he may have realised that the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit together, but for the moment the only thing registering was the uneasy rumble in his bowels and the surge of panicked adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was really in over his head this time and for the first time in a long time, he was forced to seriously consider the possibility that he might die. The fact that it was over something as benign as his green harvest was somehow infuriating: fuck that, he wasn't going down without a fight.
The wolves closer to him were on the move and he understood at once that being sandwiched in between his enemies was less than desirable. Without thinking he dropped to all fours and charged toward the nearest one. Even if they'd seen him first, he refused to forfeit the element of surprise. Because his choice of locomotion was so atypical, his opponent was rendered stupefied for only a moment as he considered whether or not he should be kicking, grabbing, or dropping down to the same level as well. That moment was all the hybrid needed; he sprang up and lunged, holding back nothing as animalistic fury bade him to tear and slash into the other man's gut before he dropped down and bolted around him, rising in time to shoulder the second aggressor out of the way.
Whirling quickly, he was pleased to see that the layout of the battleground had swung in his favour. He was no longer boxed in, and moreover, the wolves down at the other end of the alley seemed to be preoccupied; why weren't they advancing to help their comrades? Anselm strongly considered fleeing the scene right then and there, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to outrun them in this form. At the same time, the idea of shifting down was rather unappealing--he was by all rights out muscled already. Unfortunately, the larger male he'd pushed aside had seemingly found a small wooden beam, and the bronze hybrid understood at last that he really had no say in the matter: even if he left now, they'd probably destroy his garage or track him down later. One lip curled up in a silent snarl as the fellow approached: bring it.
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One wolf was on the ground, his eyes rolled upward, and another took a step back instinctively, away from the massive wall of wolf that entered the alley. The third adjusted quickly, however, and his claws raked forward toward Jantus's remaining eye, drawing blood along his snout and cheek even as he reflexively clenched the eye shut. Releasing a terrible bellow, he pulled his arms forward to protect himself and threw a shoulder into the offending wolf. He hadn't gotten a good look...only enough to know his enemy was male and young...no more than two years probably. Also, he was tall; about as tall as Jantus himself, though the alpha was far more massive.
He drove the smaller wolf back and slammed him at an angle into the alley wall, but not having been centered--his sight temporarily gone--it wasn't a leveling blow. As they moved passed it, the wall rushing by them dragged the smaller wolf to the side. The multi-hued werewolf heard snapping jaws by his ear, and felt a sharp pain around his collar as teeth ripped through hair and broke flesh. Jantus's left hand came around and he dug his claws into the loose skin around the snapping wolf's ears, and held his head away. Stepping away from the wall, he set himself up for an attack; with such a powerful, secured grip on his flesh, the smaller wolf couldn't escape. Holding him in place, oblivious to the claws digging into his left forearm, Jantus threw weighty blows into the youth's skull with his right. One, two, three--before the second wolf was back swinging the lead pipe with stinging effect. Some of those blows were going low...he knew that no matter how big he was, such an attach would not only sterilize him, it would render him helpless if it connected. Understandably, his reaction to the realization was somewhat poor.
Jantus stepped into the wildly-swinging second wolf--this one was stockier than the last, and perhaps a little stronger, but such minor differences hardly mattered when compared to their adversary's girth--and wrapped his hand around one which was already gripping the pipe--enclosing both the hand and the pipe, and easily holding them at bay. Grabbing the wolf by the throat, answered by yet another desperate grip around his left arm, he lifted the mewling creature a foot into the air and bared his teeth, his visage shifting terribly as he unleashed a ferocious snarl into the face of his panicked enemy. It wasn't long before the gripping left hand fell limply to his side, and Jantus slammed the unconscious body against the far wall, took the lead pipe and cracked him over the head so hard that a trail of rust was left over the wound.
The giant rounded on the two he'd passed through, and found them standing again, ready to come at him. The one he'd struck first was shaky on his feet, but the tall lean one seemed made of sterner stuff...he'd sustained more abuse, but there was still fire in his eyes and his teeth were bared. The former had a strange object in his hand...Jantus didn't know what it was until a glimmer of light revealed it to be a broken bottle. Just what he needed. He withdrew the half-axle from his belt.
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@$%&Anselm swayed back and forth on his feet, never staying in any one position or letting his muscles lock up for very long. As the wolf took a rounded swing at him, he leapt back and grabbed at the lid of a refuse bin, which he brought up and used to deflect the subsequent back-swing as the wolf advanced further. Here he dropped the lid abruptly, reaching out and grabbing onto the beam. Both males were competing for the object and neither seemed to be making much headway. And then... tink, tink, thunk! The disemboweled wolf was throwing rocks and pebbles at his face!
@$%&The unexpected distraction bought his aggressor the time he needed, and he now shoved the block of wood forward violently into Anselm's chest. The male couldn't help but cough as he staggered backward and fell to the ground, releasing his grip on the plank. The wolf moved to bring it down again, and all he could do was raise his impromptu shield once more, though this time his hands weren't positioned as well and the blow caught his knuckles. He let out a yowl of pain as a broken bottle (courtesy the gut-less wolf to his left) narrowly whizzed past his arm. He wouldn't notice until later the gash left in his flesh--at the moment there was no time to think.
@$%&Anselm reached out with his good hand and grabbed the nearest opponent's wrist again and wretched him heavily to the ground. His other arm rose as he crouched, elbow pointed up, and only now did he notice the stream of crimson running down to his fingertips. His elbow collided with the male's chin and the other wolf reeled backward, clawed hands swinging wildly as he attempted to grab on to anything at all. Anselm had already rose, though, and he moved forward now, toppling the wolf onto his back as he pinned his arms with his knees. No more fucking around--here he snaked his hands under the wolf's snapping jaws as if to strangle him, but instead tore his throat in twain.
@$%&More pebbles continued to assault his body with little consequence, and with the tall wolf out of the picture he was free to reel on the other wolf with the wood, bashing his head repeatedly until he was certain that the bastard would be flinging rocks no more. His breath came wild and ragged; his knuckles bled and ached. As the adrenaline died down the painful throb became more apparent, and his hand instinctively sought out the wound on his arm to apply pressure and hopefully quell the flow of blood.
@$%&Backing away, eyes wide, he regarded the action at the other end of the alley with confusion--the big one seemed to be a secondary target of the gang, and Anselm couldn't understand why or how all of these things were happening at once. Conflicting needs arose within him--he wanted to get the hell out before he sustained any serious damage, but he wanted to make sure that this whole chapter was started and finished on the same day. This was hardly something he was keen on dealing with in the future. To leave now could put his entire summer's worth of work at stake. [/html]
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There had been many more than just three wolves in the alley to start with: Jantus knew that. In fact, he'd been a little reckless, leaving his blind side to the other participants for a good part of the fight. Taking a step back away from the two wolves in front of him, Jantus spared the briefest glance behind him...he couldn't afford much: his range of vision was much smaller than everyone else's, especially on the left peripheral, which meant that he couldn't keep his current adversaries in his sight while also checking that he wasn't getting attacked from behind. What he saw was...confusing.
It seemed like this little gang was divided in its efforts. Three of them had been on his end when he stumbled in on their meeting, three of them had been more or less on the other end as well. Jantus had to guess that--given the state of armament some of them had started in, and how quick they'd been to round on him, violence had been the point here even before his arrival. Was this some kind of tentative drug deal? Hard to say, but for whatever reason, combat had exploded on the other end as quickly as it had on his, and whether this had started as one group ganging up on the dealer (in which case the dealer was doing very well for himself) or as two groups working out a cannabis trade (in which case a member from the group he was fighting now was finishing up and would shortly come to flank Jantus himself), he wanted his fight to end before the other one did. The Pine's alpha didn't wait to weigh the chances of either thing...most of these guesses took place in only a moment: what he knew was that the wolf...he supposed it was a hybrid...who didn't seem to belong was already on top of one opponent, and the other was so badly savaged he wasn't engaging directly anymore. Not much time if he wanted to be on top of this.
Ultimately, it wasn't his choice. The tall wiry one from before had lunged for him while he'd turned, capitalizing on his blind spot he had no doubt. Stupid, he thought faintly as he pivoted, taking his center of balance out of the leaping were's trajectory, and throwing enough weight into his left arm to send the attacker forwards and over his own feet. Size and power were his biggest assets in most fights, but Jantus had been in battle often enough to know how to keep his own feet and how to fight (relatively) intelligently. Mad lunges like that were a terrible sign of inexperience. He stepped toward the bottle-bearing wolf, identifying him as the true threat here. The leaper was quickly finding his feet...not as quick as before, the strikes to his face had done their damage, but enough to push the tempo of the fight. Bottle-wolf froze for an instant, and then took a quick stride to get in range of his enemy, thrusting out with the jagged glass to open the belly and end the fight. He was still too wobbly from the first attack to move with speed or surety, and abandoning the pipe, Jantus gripped the haft of his metal club with both hands, and brought it in a powerful arc to the body of his foe. The smaller wolf's tissue seemed to cave in around the metal head, and Jantus's hearing was good enough to detect the cracks as some of the ribs assuredly did break under the force and rigidity of the object. He crumpled, yelping loudly and consistently as he fell to the ground. The last wolf jumped onto his back--no helping that, he guessed--and began biting down on his shoulder, head, and neck.
Not seeing how he could expect to use it now, Jantus dropped the mace and reached around with his left arm to grab one of the hanging wolf's wrists. Jaws snapped shut on his hand, but Jantus had the hold he needed, and he dragged his enemy over his shoulder and to the ground, torquing his body to help buck off its passenger. He then fell atop the younger male, his weight slamming down onto the belly of his grounded foe, landing with his knee. That alone was enough to drive the fight out of most people, but he wanted to be sure. Jantus picked up the pipe, which was within easy reach, and delivered the final attacks of the conflict. This third wolf was dead. The second wolf was gasping and coughing in a way that told Jantus his lung was filling up with blood. The first he had no idea.
He stood quickly, ready to take a rushing attack in case one were coming, but once he stood up, he saw that the other wolf was only looking down the length of the alley at him. He was plenty bloodied and plenty beaten, but he felt that he still had some fight left in him. Still...looking at the disemboweled and de-throated wolf on the other end, he wasn't foolish enough to think this last enemy would go down like the other three. He had a killer's instinct; not the sort that any wolf had when the hunt was on, but the instinct of a wolf who has the aggression to kill another wolf. Not everyone had this, most didn't from the start of things. He'd learned his the day he met Brodi in the forest, knowing that his parents were fighting for their lives further on. Most fighting was for position or food, and no one actually thought about getting killed for either: it was almost never necessary. But for those who could bring death into such fighting, well, even with his size he didn't like to underestimate them. He knew he outweighed most people two to one, but it hadn't stopped a sharp stick from taking his eye, and it wouldn't stop a sharp claw from taking his neck. He was beginning to feel the pulsing throb of his injuries everywhere he'd been struck by the pipe. Welts were already forming, and extensive bruising, too, he was sure. His visibility was poor because he'd been ripped above the eye, and the tooth marks on his wrist and right side didn't feel very good either. He knew he could fight, but just because he could didn't mean he should. He offered a lopsided, panting smile.
"I don't suppose these ones over here are yer friends, uh? I was looking for the owner of the cannabis over that way. Not sure if he's in my pile or yours...didn't come meanin' to kill him." He shrugged his left shoulder, the one which hadn't been damaged by pipes and claws and teeth during the fight. Neither of them seemed to be in great condition, so hopefully the stranger wouldn't be eager to continue.
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[html] The hybrid's dark-tipped ears flicked forward as he caught the giant's voice and he was frozen in mind and spirit, indecisive, for only a moment until he concluded that the reverberations echoing off the alley walls contained no hint of malice. This alone was intriguing, and at the brown and grey wolf's final words he heaved an audible sigh of relief, exaggerated to the point it could be heard even over the distance between them (he was hardly interested in directly approaching just then--he had seen what the gargantuan purebred could do). "Well that's a relief.
"But to answer your question, no. I caught one of these clowns," his muzzle jerked to the wolf whose organs were no longer internal, "trying to bust into the place. He took off pretty quick when I confronted him about it, but I decided to follow his trail here." He shrugged a little, figuring the rationale behind his action was obvious enough: he wanted to make sure there was no trouble in the future, i.e., he strolled on in one morning to find the door busted in and the entire summer's worth of work up in smoke.
Here he trailed off, regarding the massive man warily. "So how about you, eh?" Jantus had stated that he hadn't gone looking for trouble, but Anselm didn't think anybody could deny that trying to score bud and winding up killing three young men was perfectly legitimate or normal. He wanted to see if the mountain-wolf's story checked out first before proceeding further. Although he was frankly thrilled that he wouldn't have to face the experienced, club-wielding fellow in combat, he still had no idea what he ought to do next. What exactly was the protocol in such a situation? Oh, hey, you're all battered up and I'm bleeding all over the place, there's a pile of dead bodies around us with the count at five, and I really don't know if my brain's had time to register what even happened. Right. [/html]
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Oh... So, the owner was this guy, here. He supposed that was better; it would have a nasty taste in his mouth to murder the owner and then share his stockpile as the spoils of combat. Yes, that actually cleared things up quite nicely. They'd been wanting to steal his stash, and he'd ended up having it out with them on their turf. A little reckless, but Jantus supposed this guy could take care of himself. After all, people in high-violence situations often took for granted the edge it took to take someone's life. It wasn't in the instincts to kill other wolves/dogs outright, they were social animals and the first inclination was to fight unto subordination, not unto death. Bleeding into his only good eye and with his right arm throbbing, he had the sense to avoid a fight with such a person if he could, size advantage or not.
"Smelled the leaf in your garage, and decided to ask for some instead of kicking the door in." He smiled a little ornerily when he said this, tucking his club back into his belt, before looking at the pipe in his other hand, sniffing it, and then letting it clatter to the ground. "I'm a stranger to this place, and I didn't want to make any enemies. Guess it's too late for that, now, unless these guys didn't have any other friends." He shrugged while giving a blank, troubled look. Not much could be done for it, now.
"Came sniffing around for anything useful or fun. Old human cities sometimes have liquor in them, and that's usually the best sort of haul I can hope for. If not that, sometimes useful tools haven't been looted already, or I can find some other gizmo that's worth hocking or is good for a minute or two of curiosity." He sniffed the air, seeking the smell of marijuana again. "But occasionally, a city dweller will have something else of interest. Smelled that one of them did and decided I'd see if he had enough to share." He didn't suppose he had anything to trade...he never came across enough drugs to ever trade them with anyone else, though he liked being a consumer just fine.
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feel free to powerplay them getting to the garage, of course. :o [html] "Always appreciated," Anselm replied quickly, one brow raising as the gears in his head began to spin. Although the metal storm door was rather secure on its hinges and dead-bolted, he supposed anyone with enough time might be able to bust through it. Someone like this guy easily could within a couple hours, he reckoned, and even the average joe would figure out some way inside within a day. What options did he have for security? Perhaps a more obvious choice would be to simply transport the bountiful crop back to Inferni, to keep it locked up in one of the sheds near the mansion or something similar. That would reduce the risk of random vagabonds stealing away with his stash, but it also seemed like a lot of effort.
Where the hell was Abraxas? Surely the nutty fox could keep watch--then again, supposing he did spot intruders, he certainly couldn't do much about it. He'd be useless against even the smallest coyote on all fours. Perhaps he could trail them until they settled down for rest and go to Inferni to fetch the tattooed male--since they were on a peninsula, the main way to get out would necessitate the marauders going fairly close to his clan (baring naval capabilities, of course). Then again, he hadn't seen the schizophrenic animal since he'd left over a year ago.
He recalled something else just then, the fleeting mental image of a busted open safe with worthless green paper spewing out the door. Some words had been written on the side: Fireproof. Waterproof. Surely such a thing was air tight and would minimise the tell-tale smell that permeated the entire block at present. It would be a bitch to find one in operable condition (i.e., one that functioned and that he had either the key or combination to), but it might prove a decent fix for the winter. During the summer while the plants grew, he'd have to think of something else. Even so, he had at least a full season to figure it out.
That the other male answered easily with no hesitation was a good sign, and Anselm saw no reason not to trust his words. "Yea; come on if you want," he said, gesturing with his head in the direction from which he'd came. "It's the least I could do--things wouldn't have gone down very well at all if I'd been left to all five of 'em at once." From here he turned slowly, his hand still pressed on the gash on his arm carefully. The blood no longer bubbled up between his fingers, but he knew he'd have to take it easy for a few days while it scabbed over. He would give it better attention back at the garage, which was stocked with random supplies for just about any occasion under the sun. It was a risky move, maybe, turning his back to the giant, though his stride was confident and calm. Even still his ears twitched endlessly as he listened for any sounds of a charge... just in case. [/html]
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Jantus nodded his assent and followed a respectful distance behind the hybrid. He didn't want to scare him, and more than that, he didn't want to scare him. Friendly as he sometimes was, he was still less concerned with freaking out his new comrade in arms than he was about the consequences that might ensue if he decided Jantus was an enemy after all. He gave himself fine odds, but he'd rather heal right now than anything. Calming down with some cannabis was just a bonus.
"I doubt I'd have fared well myself. Not sure if I'd have made it this far without your smell leading me on, but if I had, I'm not sure I'd have made it back out. Four is about as many as I ever take in one go, and that's always with someone at my back to step in when it gets dicey." It had been fortunate that none of the three seemed to have much experience, nor the killer instinct he'd seen in Anselm. The tall one had some grit, and understandably he'd been the hardest to put down. Nonetheless, if all three of them had been the same way, it could have been much nastier. In retrospect, he was very glad that he hadn't gotten torn and beaten up more. For fighting three people at once, he'd done pretty well for himself.
"Still, I don't think we did too bad for a half-wolf and a one-eye, eh?" He smiled to himself, knowing that the other was still leading the way and not looking at him. "Sorry I don't have anything to trade...been on a long trip, didn't take anything I didn't think we'd need. Figured I might find alcohol in here, but offered leaf is just as welcome." Ever since his time with Rurik, he'd rekindled his affection for the fiery brew; it was a shame that making the stuff was either a lost art (in most of the world he'd seen), or an overcomplicated mess of ingredients and practices he couldn't be bothered to learn or accommodate. He supposed there were enough wolves in the Pine to facilitate some kind of brewing project, but he didn't want it accessible enough for mass consumption...the last thing they needed was for half their warriors to be inebriated in time for a border skirmish. Hell, they'd been lucky enough to find a few weeks when their rivals had been beaten back and seemed relatively complacent so that he could make this journey. If he didn't have Samson on hand, he still wouldn't have trusted chance and gone.
It occurred to him now that this person might be from Inferni. He didn't know the smell, so he couldn't say, but it was a hybrid with the marks of battle on him and a clear willingness to kill (albeit in self-defense). He'd have to keep an eye out. Asphyxia had been from there, and she seemed alright. He guessed time would tell if this person was trustworthy...he felt better that he was here without Asphy's kids to look after; when he just had to look out for himself, he felt a little less on edge.
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[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bottom.png); background-color:#5A5C5A">» powerplay to keep it moving, beat me on aim if it should be changed or something!
One ear twitched at Jantus' designation of "half wolf," and for a few moments the gears in his brain ground against one another as he tried to figure out how to process such a statement. Given that he could easily pass for a full-blooded wolf in size and build and others had simply called him a coyote before, he supposed that better than what he usually got--saying "a three-quarter wolf" would be awkward, anyway. He glanced back over his shoulder questioningly, somewhat confused that the other had opted to fall in line behind him. "That's what happens," he said simply of light travel. He paused in his steps a minute, giving the massive werewolf time to catch up. Although he did appreciate the sentiment behind the other's actions, he hardly viewed extended formalities as necessary on neutral ground.
"What's your name, anyway?" he wondered, before quickly tacking on his own: "Anselm; put 'er there." With that, he offered his clawed hand for a shake, figuring that such a thing would do wonders to diffuse any remaining tension between the two canines. Although it was largely a human gesture, he had found the subtleties no less powerful: something about voluntary physical contact, no matter how brief, was a way to communicate acceptance on some base level. A good firm shake could tell much of a man's character, too--the timid held on just meekly and the overbearing misconstrued it as some bastardised form of "mercy." Here it was simply a friendly thing, done so that each may move forward with calmed nerves and steadied minds.
Before much longer they'd reached the garage, and only now did he collect the key from the chain around his neck and unlock the door. He shoved it open and stepped inside, making his way over to a shelf and greedily grabbing at a bottle of vodka. With a grimace he threw his head back and took down a gulp; just as quickly he threw a splash on his wound. Tearing off a strip of cloth from an old towel, he poured some more onto that and used it to bandage his arm. "Help yourself to whatever," he said with a wince, sinking into his usual spot on the couch and glancing lazily around. A frown--on second thought, it'd be more appropriate for him to take the bean bag chair, lest it burst at the seams. Stepping over the table he plopped down in it, and then began to scrape together some of the weed pile in the middle of the table into a bowl.
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"Jantus." The giant took the hybrid's hand and shook it firmly, though not painfully. Many wolves weren't familiar with the gesture, but to those who were, he needed to seem strong as alpha, but also in control. Personally and politically he had a hold of a lot of power, and he wanted to convince friends and subordinates that he could handle both responsibly. His political skills might get more exercise if they had more friendly neighbors; as it was, they didn't have many friendly meetings with the packs vying for their turf. He would have thought, by now, that they'd have given it up. The evergreen valley had been home to many packs and changed hands frequently in the years before, but now Snow-capped Pine was fifty strong. It wasn't going anywhere.
Soon enough they came back across the garage and Jantus saw that Anselm used a key to open the door. He had heard of them before, but barring doors was more common in the abodes he'd seen. Human doors sometimes didn't have locks, and when they did, the keys to them were almost never around anymore...he'd seen keys before, humans kept them on rings, but since all keys were in one place and that place often wasn't around the door they were meant to open (which he supposed made sense), he'd never seen them in action. He liked the sound of the deadbolt. He might need to study doors more closely the next time he had the chance.
Once they were indoors, Jantus stood perplexedly, until he saw that he'd be expected to sit on the furniture. It was meant to be comfortable, so he guessed it'd be better than the floor. Taking the alcohol he cleaned up his own wound as best he could, but he didn't know what he could really do beyond cleansing it: bandaging the sighted part of his head would be decidedly foolish, and the bleeding had slowed somewhat, anyway. He sat down slowly, and the couch groaned beneath him.
"So, do you deal this stuff out around here, or is it a personal collection?" He felt it was a valid enough question: a dealer needed an excess for the sake of trade, or a personal user might grow enough just for a year's private use. Typically (and it wasn't all that typical to meet them at all), he met people with a small amount resultant from trade, but if a person could grow their own, then there was no reason not to grow as much as they wanted.
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@&#&$"Hah! I'll be catatonic the day I try to get through all this myself," he said with a grin. He found that the frequency of his habit increased as he found more and more company willing to partake, but left on his own he scarcely went through two ounces in an entire year. He was quite possibly too busy to get away with much more than that. Needless to say, just a couple plants could yield enough for his personal consumption... and thanks to Maserati's efforts, there had been at least a couple hundred. In his mind, it was as much a service as a business. As far as he knew, most folks brought in small personal stashes from elsewhere. He intended to be the region's primary distributor, and he figured once word got out and his clientèle expanded along with his selection he'd be able to acquire just about whatever he wanted: rare artefacts, splendid tools, juicy information... maybe just friendly company.
@&#&$The hybrid finished packing the bowl and was about to hand it to Jantus when he frowned, dumped it out, and decided to start over. Here instead he selected a much bigger piece--it had finally struck him that the smaller bowl might be awkward in the giant's hands. Filling it appropriately, he offered it up again, along with his favourite bright orange lighter. It was getting lighter and the supply of fuel within it was dwindling by the day, but at least half a dozen more were scattered throughout the garage and his den in Inferni. Beyond that, he knew where to find more: old service stations were a goldmine for such things. "Well, hopefully this didn't fuck up your trip too much, eh? Where you headed from, at any rate?" he wondered casually; people usually liked to talk about themselves and where they were from and it was fairly standard fodder for conversation. Anselm was always intrigued to learn of foreigners, though Jantus had no strong accent to suggest he was from overseas... a journey he usually associated with lengthy duration. [/html]
[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bott0m.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:240px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#252237">┤Oh my. My inexperience is going to show up here sooner or later, if not right now XD├
Jantus wasn't very good at hiding his emotions when in friendly company. He could clamp down on his expression and give nothing away to hostile persons, but when it came to people he trusted or at least those he dropped his guard around, that one eye could say a lot. For right now, it betrayed a sense of awkward confusion. He could smell that it was the same drug, but he hadn't seen it administered this way before. When he'd smoked it in the past, it had been rolled up in paper, similar to cigarettes (which he'd also tried and found were good in their own way). He lifted his arms in a friendly, conciliatory gesture.
"Go on and go first, I'll answer your question before you pass it over." He smiled uneasily. He'd never seen a bong, and it looked strange to him (though he'd seen lighters once or twice). He'd watch how Anselm did it, then take his own hit thereafter once he knew how it was done. He waited for Anselm to start before replying again.
"I'm here with some family and friends attending a very belated funeral for a friend who lived here, Skoll." He didn't expect the name to ring any bells: it hadn't in Phoenix Valley, and his guess placed this guy either with Inferni, who if anything would be made glad by his passing, or as a loner who shared a similar heritage and was unlikely to have known of him. "Most of us are from my pack, Snow-Capped Pine, or the region around it. That's a ways south and west of here. When I ran into you and our friends in the alley I was just exploring the city nearby where we'd stopped outside Phoenix Valley." He thought that basically summed it up. They'd gotten through their business, and now they were loitering a bit. Maybe the kids would like to find a new home here. If not, well, they were always welcome at the Pine.
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@&#&$He shrugged a little--suit yourself--and brought the top of the bong to his lips. Holding the lighter to one side of the bowl, he inhaled for a few good moments, allowing thick, milky smoke to fill the chamber. Once he was satisfied with the hit, he tossed the lighter onto the table and lifted the bowl from the stem, allowing him to quickly inhale all of the built-up smoke. One ear flicked as his company spoke, and he hurriedly put the contraption down on the table before coughing out a small puff of smoke. His face contorted into an indescribable expression for a few moments before he began to exhale it in a long stream off to the side and up into the air.
@&#&$Almost instantly the effects took hold; this method of ingestion was by far the strongest and most efficient. He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth thoughtfully for a second, wishing suddenly that there was fresh water available, but alas--the last had gone into the bong. "My condolences, man," he offered at last, once he remembered that they were in the midst of a conversation. "My mum was from pretty far south west, I think, but I get the impression the packs were more like 'sand-dusted cacti' than snow-capped pines," he added, rambling just slightly and drawing on abstract analogies.
@&#&$"Travelling in a group sounds interesting, though." Travel was something he associated with solitude, for reasons that were fairly obvious if one considered his history. The concept of feeding such a substantial group with no solid hunting territory seemed a little bizarre. "Just in case you didn't know, a little further east of here there's a pretty big wooded 'n open spot. No buildings, but no packs laying claim to it either. Good for hunting, yea?" Stretching out lazily in the bean bag chair, he blinked up at the fog of smoke hanging overhead and back to the giant, the throb of his wound now drowned out by the numbing effects of the drug. [/html]
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Jantus nodded at Anselm's sympathy, but he wasn't one to dwell on sad thoughts; it just wasn't his way. His spirits quickly lifted at words of home. Apparently, Anselm's mother had come from much further south than the Pine, as the deserts weren't for many hundreds of miles beyond his own home, though he had heard of them (having abstained from ever traveling so far south...being a big wolf, such heat and lack of big game wouldn't have suited him, anyway).
"It can be," he replied, smiling. "It's been nice traveling with my little sisters again, I missed the days when it was just the three of us. The kids of the deceased are with us, too, and the brother. Some old family friends came along too...all in all, two coyotes, five wolves, and three who fall somewhere between." He shrugged. "I hear all of those don't get along so well here, but as I see it, everyone likes leaf and everyone likes drink. Don't draw much distinction, myself." It was true that when it came to canine-on-canine violence, it was usually wolves who 'started' it (barring the stories he'd heard of this place, of course). As it stood, though, he believed that was a function of size and pack-protection, more than anything. Every group had its bad eggs, but bad eggs rarely attacked people big or numerous enough to fight back...it just happened that wolves were the biggest and (oddly) tended to organize the most easily into large groups. The most successful troublemakers were bound to belong to their race. The stories he'd heard about Inferni seemed to turn that belief on its head, though.
After a moment, Jantus reached over and took the tube from its owner and did as he'd seen Anselm do, closing his one eye as the burn pervaded his lungs. He nodded about the woods, but wouldn't answer for several seconds as he waited for the effects to wash over him. The couch groaned as he slowly eased back, letting some of the fight-tenseness go. His expression relaxed as he began slowly expelling the smoke...yes, it had been a while, far too long, he supposed, since he'd had any of this. He returned the bong while preparing his answer.
"That's where we're staying now," he coughed. Like it or no, he didn't have much experience cannabis, or alcohol either, for that matter. Drugs were fun, but with no conception of growing or brewing, he would ever depend on others for them. "Right outside of Phoenix Valley."
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Damn, he blinked, 'round here that'd be over half the pack, he said, somewhat perturbed by the notion of a pack so large that it wouldn't miss the presence of ten members for some length of time. In Nova Scotia, such a thing would be suicide--more of a last ditch effort for the bulk of the pack to relocate before everything else went to shit, presumably. Where he'd grown up packs of about 20 were typical, but at least a quarter of those were children under one year of age. A good number of the yearlings who survived dispersed, though a few of the most stubborn or devoted chose to stick around. He couldn't help but feel his parents would've been better off if they left, but they seemed to hold some strange loyalty to the pack that had never sunk in for him. The very idea of more plentiful lands had been enough to send him packing and never look back.
As the subject of coyotes came up, he found himself wondering if his company knew what crew he ran with. His half-bred mother caught a lot of flak where he had come from, though around 'Souls it was a pretty mixed bag. Some of the wolves around here don't seem to care, but many still flat out refuse to give the same consideration to coyote borders that they afford their own kin, he stated evenly; although he certainly didn't condone attacking trespassers outright, the fact remained that the wolves were flagrantly disregarding canine law and that the coyotes whose rights were infringed upon had every right to retaliate. Eh; who's perfect? he concluded quickly, not entirely sure that he wished to delve into the subject too much. Though Anselm was probably one of the more sensible and least biased, it was still a sore spot he didn't like being poked or prodded.
So long as there's no more of that nonsense, he added, speaking of their battle, I'll be just alright. Perhaps it was not absolutely true, but in the immediate sense he was feeling rather content. The mayhem was temporarily past; as he raised the bong once more, he resolved to enjoy swapping tales of foreign lands and long journeys into the evening. More than likely they would part ways and never see one another again, but for that moment... Here's to the night! he proclaimed, before the sound of smoke bubbling through water filled the garage.
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