[AW] We might die from medication but we sure killed all the pain
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#1
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Word Count → 655 :: Optime Form! Redtooth has a lute. Who want's to be annoyed?

Having been recently made invalid by an enemy arrow, Redtooth was quickly finding that being nearly crippled was a lot more boring than its alternative. Even though the arrow had been removed from his thigh days prior, the sharp stinging pain still remained. A fresh white bandage was wrapped tightly around his lower thigh, and though the stiches held strong, the wound still oozed blood when he moved. Of course, he tried to sit still -- but this was Redtooth we're talking about. AKA Captain ADD. For the most part, he stayed within the mansion, but after a few days of hobbling around the hallways with the assistance of a hand-fashioned crutch, Redtooth was nearly ready to blow his brains out from boredom.


There had to be something that was engaging enough to hold Redtooth's attention around here.


So from his room and down the hallway, Redtooth hobbled his way to the storage room with the intention of rummaging though whatever he could find for entertainment. He was met with Harosheth's death glare. She was organizing, as always. This had not been the first time Redtooth had made Harosheth's acquaintance in the storage closet. He had come for tools many times -- and he had quickly gained the reputation of a mess-maker with the elderly woman.


"Mijo, you no make mess for me to clean," she spoke. Her voice was heavily accented and her grasp on the English language was less than perfect. She wagged a boney finger in Redtooth's direction. "Estoy mirando." Redtooth, unlike his author, had no grasp on the Spanish language -- but he could clearly understand that Harosheth would be watching him like a hawk. Like some sort of ornery librarian.


"I'll be quick Harosheth," he shot back. "I just want to look around. I won't touch anything" He took the one hand that wasn't tightly gripping his crutch and placed it behind his back. "See, look -- Hands are tied!" Redtooth offered her a smile, but the elderly woman offered only a sigh in return and she returned to her work.


And with his hand behind his back, Redtooth limped his way between the tables with his eyes peeled for anything of interest -- it wasn't long until something grabbed his eye. In the corner, tucked underneath a table, was what appeared to be a musical instrument: a crude Luperci-made lute with strings made of sheep gut. Awkwardly and painfully, Redtooth knelt down to examine the instrument further. He reached out and touched its neck with his hand.


Ahem," Harosheth huffed from where she worked. Redtooth could feel her glare burning into the back of his head."¿Que te dices mijo? After all, he did say that he wouldn't touch anything.


Redtooth, of course, had no idea what she was trying to say... but he could tell that she was annoyed. Now, he knew what he wanted, so it was best to get in and out as fast as he could. "Can I -- Can I have this?" he asked before picking the lute up by the body and rising to his feet.


Once again, she sighed and shook her head. "Si," she told him. "If it gets you out of my shop."


And that it did. Redtooth took the lute and limped his way out of the storage room with a wide smile on his face. He took his new toy outside to the porch. He laid his crutch along the ground and he sat against the wall. With a single finger, Redtooth pressed down a random fret on a random string and he strummed a single time. He had no experience with musical instruments, so the whole thing would be trial by fire. But, he had all the time in the world to learn.


The sound that rang through the air was nothing more than foul. Redtooth however, was completely intrigued.

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#2
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the story of the beast with those four dirty paws

Time hadn't changed the D'Neville Mansion much. He felt as if he was walking through the past as he ascended the stairs to the second level—he'd been informed by Harosheth that there were plenty of open rooms there, and though he wasn't as fond as being up a story, he couldn't object to the view. His old room was taken, and he was glad someone was making use of the pelts and blankets he'd left behind. His pack was slung over his shoulder, steadied by his right hand, while his left grazed over the peeling wallpaper and ancient boards of the walls. It was colder up here, somehow; owing to the broken windows, and dilapidated state of some of the rooms, most like. The season didn't help things much, either.


When he reached the landing his eyes settled on a half-open door just to the side of the staircase. He moved towards it and reached out to push the door open, revealing nothing of interest inside. There was no personal belongings, no sign of coyote. It hadn't been lived in for quite some time[mdash]the layers of dust and a few windblown leaves lent more cause to this conclusion. Kadar set his pack down on the inside and wandered to the window which was missing a few panes of glass. Something crunched underfoot and he lifted his foot to see the remnants of the pane shattered into a dozen pieces. Kadar sighed and stooped to pick them up one by one, carefully laying them flat on his palm. He placed the pile on the windowsill to deal with later.


An off-color twang broke the relative serenity of the Mansion and Kadar winced. His window overlooked the roof of the porch, and the front grounds. Another twang, this one even more out of key, assaulted his eardrums and he huffed. There was nothing nearby that could board up the window against the oppressive sounds, but he also couldn't fault whomever it was strumming along awkwardly on the insturment. Everyone began somewhere, he just wished that they'd begin somewhere else. He wasn't in a position to make demands, either, so he simply stood there, hovering between decisions, before abandoning the room and heading back downstairs.


Kadar nearly bumped right into Harosheth as she was leaving the storage room, and both Luperci looked quite alarmed at the near miss. He mumbled something of an apology and gave the old woman a pat on the shoulder, to which she scowled at him. He was certainly glad old habits hadn't died. If she'd been kind to him upon his return (and after the gifts he offered), he might have thought he was dead. The Syrian scooted out onto the porch and spotted the tawny youngster and the offending insturment. He blinked, and switched his long ears back. The expression the other bore was one of wonderment and awe—who was Kadar to discourage him?


Instead he lifted his hand in greeting to the other Luperci, flopped down in another nearby chair and leaned back, pulling his abaya tightly around his lithe form. "Ahlan, friend. Don't be giving me mind. Keep practicing." He said with a smile.

A wild Kadar appears! +500 words


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#3
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Word Count → 271 :: OH MY GOD! LEAH!

The lute was terribly out of tune from sitting idle for so long (not that Redtooth would have known). So no matter what fret he held down at random, the resulting sound came sounded like it could have belonged on a Nickleback album (See: Terrible). As foul as his attempt to play the blues was, Redtooth was totally enraptured. He just had to study the instrument and learn every little piece of it that he could. All he needed was time, which was in ample supply, but Redtooth unfortunately had no idea even where to begin learning.


Not that that would deter him in any way.


So, he strummed at random with no rhyme or reason. His fingers went wherever they felt comfortable. It was a cacophony of dissonant sound, but it sure was cool. Hell, his misguided attempt at rockstar fame drew an adoring fan. Redtooth did not recognize him, and he figured that he had just arrived, just as he himself had at the beginning of the month. However, what amused Redtooth most was that it appeared that the stranger was wearing something that resembled a dress. To each their own.


He spoke in an accent that Redtooth had never once heard, and from his lips came a word he didn't recognized. Redtooth wrongly assumed that it was the stranger's name. "Nice to meetcha Alan," said Redtooth as he produced yet another sour note from his lute. "My name's Redtooth. You just movin' in?" He supposed that if he did, they were practically neighbors -- and from where Redtooth hailed, that made ol' Alan here practically family.

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#4
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Oderint dum metuant

As expected, the other coyote stopped only to return the friendly greeting, and Kadar wasn't keen enough to pick up on the fact that he'd called him 'Alan' the given English name, as opposed to simply parroting the Syrian's native greeting. A grin whisked across his oil-slick muzzle, and he gestured in the direction of the other man (ignoring the off-color twang of yet another note). Redtooth? Are your teeth red of color? Harosheth having herb for that, I think. He chided good-naturedly, punctuating his joke with a soft laugh. It was interrupted, however, by a cough. He grimaced and rubbed at his throat to clear it. Ah, yes. Upstairs this time. Kadar gestured to the roof above them and continued, Room is above here. I was hearing you through the window. Wanted to come say hello.


Much has been changing in Inferni. I'm not recognizing many faces anymore. Harosheth is same, though. Kadar motioned to him with a smile. He was unaware of Redtooth's assumptions about his attire but if he would, he would likely launch into a very detailed explanation about it. He liked his dress very much, thank you. As it stood, he was simply left waiting for the other to pick up the conversation. The silence between each sentence was more than comfortable, and Kadar was even beginning to take a liking to the instrument, even if the owner lacked the skill to play it proper.

HI RYAN HI HI HI +200

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#5
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Word Count → 223 ::

There were many who felt Redtooth's name to be worthy of comment, which was to be understood, because as opposed to Andrew, Redtooth's given name, his nickname was friggen bad-ass. That's why he latched on to some passing childhood nickname for as long as he had. It sounded cool -- and cool was all Redtooth wanted to be. Alan, being likely foreign and hung up on the names literal translation, seemed to express confusion. Or, it was a joke... Redtooth really couldn't tell because of the accent. However, he smiled all the same.


"Not that I know of," he said, flashing his teeth in a childish grin. "I mean, I don't own a mirror, so..." He shrugged.


He took the lute and laid it on the ground next to him. Redtooth quirked a brow. Upon learning that ol' Alan here had been here a long time ago (mostly because of his mention of Harosheth), Redtooth had a rather tactless question to ask. "Say, Alan..." he started. "You know Harosheth." Redtooth's voice dropped into a hushed whisper as if someone could be listening in. "Has she always been such a stone cold mean lady? I mean, she hates me-- for like, no good reason." However, unknown to Redtooth, he was a terror in a well organized supply closet.

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