[DND] [J] Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies
#1
OOC: For Wayne first, please, then leadership! <3

IC: The cold wind whipped across her face, ruffling her fur and trying its damndest to penetrate deeper and reach her skin, her bones, settle in and chill her. Try as it might however, the coydog woman was well insulated against the frigid air. Her own fur, a hand made outfit, and a thick fur cloak layered against the elements. Vivid orange gaze swept over the foreign landscape, blanketed with pockets and drifts of freshly fallen snow from atop horseback. The fogging of her mount's breath rose in puffing clouds in her vision before also being blown away in the wind. Gripping the reins firmly in a gloved paw, the stranger clucked her tongue softly in the eerie silence, urging the stallion forward towards the clearly marked borders. Effigies of death and superstition warned those of lesser constitution away, but the woman was not afraid. She'd seen her share of horrors already in her life. A small confident smirk fell upon her maw as she reached up, adjusting the hat upon her head, smoothing the fluttering red feather in the brim that threatened to fly away in the breeze.

Bringing the buckskin to a halt a respectful distance from a rather...ahem... colorful effigie at the borders, the woman took a deep breath, going over her appearance, twisting in the saddle and checking all of her piled gear and belongings one last time, before sitting straighter and giving a nod, eyes fixing out into the distance, into the pack's claimed territory. Allowing a great sense of purpose to wash over her, she then raised her head calmly and let loose a howl. The notes of her summons carried loud and far, her voice that of a coyote but somehow deeper and more eerie and baying due to her malamute roots. Beneath her she felt her horse tense, his ears first swiveling back at the sound of her call, then pitching forward to following its echo as it disappeared over the snowy landscape. Giving a small snort, he then relaxed once more, cocking a hoof to wait.

Anya, however, did not relax. She maintained her posture and position. While not appearing threatening, or challenging in any way, she did not want to look weak. Simply as if she was meant to be there. Like she she had a purpose.
[Image: ON9A7uP.png]
Don't f*ck with my freedom
I came up to get me some
I'm nasty, I'm evil
Must be something in the water
Or that I'm my mother's daughter...
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#2
Welcome to the Del Cenere Gang
Congrats, and welcome to the roughest, toughest, wiliest bunch here on 'Souls. We're happy to have you, so dust yourself off, kick up your feet, and stay a while!
Before jumping in, why not take a peek at:
  • Our Policies, and Culture, just to make sure you're up to snuff with the rest of the outlaws (and their prejudices)!
  • Occupations! There are plenty to choose from once you hit Las Brasas - and it's never to soon (or too late) to build your career!
  • The Pack Game, so you can start accumulating points for prizes immediately.
  • Our various maps and territories to get the lay of the land.
Still thinking on what to do next? Why not take up an Open Thread, or draft up some plots in the Thread Requests forum? If you're still stumped, don't hesitate to contact your leaders, Despi or Ryan and we'd be happy to help you!
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#3
Ooc here
There was a small security in the presence of the warm-hearted Lykoi ilk that settled Wayne just enough so that he could slip out as John slept. His brother would be safe enough, but the wanderlust in the ex-ranger was beginning to stir in his bones and ache in his brains. Winter was coming, if it wasn't already here, and Wayne's old penchant for haunting the borders reminded him that Cochise hadn't been free of his box in days. If any more snow found the ground, he'd have to suffer John's psychosis and the frigid nightmare weather that he recalled from the year prior. The bags that rested beneath cold, blue eyes were a visual clue that he only had the patience for one.

Heavy plodding hooves carried Wayne at a lazy gait. There was no hurry to go back, just as much as there wasn't any hurry to get there. Still, the zephyr spiked with an icy sting, and the leather clad hand that was free of the reigns slipped up to his throat and pulled the thick bandanna up and over his nose. Not much of his natural self risked the bitter touch of the early seasons frost, save for the pale pools that wielded sharp and calculating eyes beneath the brim of the black gambler.

A call.

Tall, tawny crests fixed toward the border, eyes narrowed, and heels buried into Coach's sides. Grass furled behind as they raced to find the face that summoned him in an unfamiliar tune. Thunder rumbled against the hard earth as a trail was beaten away from the maintained path to cut the furious journey short.

Sallow gloves pulled at the reigns as the figure of a stranger stood amid the warnings that reminded even strangers what trespassing would gift them. The sound of her alone spoke of the muddling of her roots, but the look of her solidified it. Two coydogs were at present, and quietly, Wayne urged Coach close enough to speak over the howling breath that rushed through the trees.

Burlap tatters billowed above the stallion's patient crown, the wind at his back, and the reflective gleam that snuck it's sparkling light through the rustling fabric was a quiet warning that Wayne was armed at his thigh. There his hand fell to rest, shoulders at square but posture free of the tension that was present in his concentrated eyes, “Ya' found the Del Cenere Gang,” Memories of recent events hadn't been put to rest yet, and previous conflicts bid him hold his name, “What's yer bus'ness here?” Steam poured from beneath the cloth that covered the most of his muzzle and neck. Cochise grumbled as the rattle of the bit rolled on his tongue. Palaver wasn't necessary in cold like this, and Wayne's usual charm was buried in a state he couldn't muster for a stranger on the border. He knew well enough that her response to him here and now would mark that lack of impatience of either proper reasoning or an over abundance of caution.

[+525]
[Image: Wz7hnJ2.png]
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#4
WC: +250

Anya watched very closely as the man approached cautiously upon his own horseback. She noted his weapon, and couldn’t help but approve inwardly. Nice choice. She’d only ever encountered one like it before. This Ashen intrigued her already. His guarded posture told her that she needed to play it cool around him. He was not in the best of spirits. But even still...she felt she could attempt a go at some humor to loosen some of the tension between them.

”Oy. Found it? It wasn’t quite hidden nor lost now was it?” She tipped her head  and cocked a little quirky smile for him, trying to catch his severe icy eyes beneath his hat, to better read the deep lines and scowl upon his face. ”Del Cenere Gang.” She rolled the name off her tongue once and nodded almost as if she were assessing the name. ”Aye, I think this is it.” She patted the buckskin gelding beneath her gently, earning and soft snort from the burdened beast.

When next demanded of her business at the borders, Anya folded her ears and adjusted her demeanor appropriately for a submissive ducking her head and sighing deeply. ”Well y’see sir, I didn’t quite catch yer name I don’t think,“ she snuck the obvious into her speech ”I’m Anya, Anya Southpaw, and I’m just a lady lookin’ to settle down and make her name in her own clothing business. I’ve gotten pretty good at what I do, but have not had a real place that I could call home and supply regular customers and trade routes from in well, many many months now.” She chuckled a little splaying her ears and hands in a hopeful, placating gesture.

The outfit she wore was a statement to her work. The corset she wore, the embroidery upon it, the fine sheen of the fabric of her skirt, the way the blouse beneath it all hugged her curves perfectly and accented her bust… Once again patting her horse she scratched at his ear while she spoke. ”I was hopin’ to maybe call the Gang a home, and in exchange supply and outfit you fine lads and lasses with regular custom clothing, as well as lend my skills in animal husbandry and such else as well.” She smiled a winning smile, sitting up a little straighter in her saddle again, but not so as to come off dominant, just proud of her work and herself. If she was going to sell herself and her work, she better be damned proud of it.
[Image: ON9A7uP.png]
Don't f*ck with my freedom
I came up to get me some
I'm nasty, I'm evil
Must be something in the water
Or that I'm my mother's daughter...
  Reply
#5
SF: Authority - WotD: Savvy
There, in the blow back of the bitter wind, her voice carried a humor on it that a previous Wayne might have spat a chuckle at. For the time being, stern eyes rested in the golden of her own, unamused at the lack of savvy she had for the situation. There couldn't be too much cause for blame, however. She couldn't have known the events that preceded her, nevertheless, Wayne was under the condition that trust wasn't his first instinct, on top of the tender wounds that the Gang still possessed.

To his authority, her first second request of him aside for that initial jest was his name. He wasn't quick to get it, but within himself, he couldn't deny who he was, “Yer good findin' shit. You'll figure it'out,” The joke came out as cold as the wind despite the intention of his nature to be playful. More often than not, he was abrasive, but the absent smile that was usually on his maw altered whether one could take the jabs or not.

Next, she carried on to explain her real reason for coming out this way. As she spoke of the tailoring rank in words not indented, Wayne took it upon himself to begin to close the distance. The now submitting Anya Southpaw was finally giving some real answers.

She shrugged to pacify the tension between them, “Trades' important to th'Gang. Ya'd be'n asset if yer s'good as ya' say. As ya' show,” A slow motion of his maw gestured toward the clothing that she wore, “That yer brand?”

That inquiry was allowed an answer before he carried on, “Animal care's just s'important. Ya' talk big. Might be big 'nough to get in,” Eyeing her carefully, he remained static in his saddle as she adjusted herself to emote her confidence in what she said, “What's t'say ah'should trust ya' with m'Gang?”

[+000]
[Image: Wz7hnJ2.png]
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#6
WC: +5

"Awww, c'mon big guy I know there's a half hearted smirk in there somewhere." Thought the Southpaw woman with an internal chuckle, smirking visibly in response to the still unnamed man's quip in response to her joke. "I thought it was funny." She concluded to herself, knowing better than to actually open her mouth and risk getting into trouble rather than leave the moment in precarious amicability. Orange eyes sparkled plenty enough to show she got his humor and enjoyed it just fine. She pondered as she studied his face, if she was to be left to find his name, then he was to be left to guess everything else about her as she had freely given him her name.

"That yer brand?" Or did she? The general motion at her direction caused her to tense. Her tail tip twitched nervously, an ear flicking back ruining her composure a moment. "Brand? Whi-at brand? She stumbled over the word but covered it up expertly. Instinctively her right hand twitched to her cover her left but she stopped herself in mid gesture, with a very well pulled off faux scratch an itch motion. At the same time she hooked the reins of her horse onto the pommel of her saddle covering up her mistake making it all look as natural as could be.

"Ohhh yes, this! This is one of my simpler, but still catchy creations!" She chuckled and before he could stop her, she hopped down off her horse and with a sweep of her skirt, was giving him a small little fashion and dance show. Whether he liked it or not, he was gonna get to preview her "brand" as he'd put it. Strutting in front of him and turning and twirling beautifully, she showed off all the layers in the skirt, the flashy threaded gold embroidery in the red corset, the way the ruffles on the blouse caught in the air and billowed just right around her collarbone. Her fur caught gorgeously in the sun. The maroon feathers in her ebony hat shimmered eye catchingly, leading the eyes to latch onto the sparkles of spun copper in the woman's hair as she twirled. Before they knew it, she had danced her way from one side of her horse to the other and now stood to the left of her buckskin.

The equine snorted and as she reached out to give him a treat from her palm, she winked obviously at her interrogator knowingly. She'd obviously reached into one of the small saddle bags on her way around the animal to grab the treat. Right? She was a tricky one. Clearly. As the icy eyed man recovered and asked his next question, her horse munched loudly on a carrot chip. "Y'shouldn't. Ain't nothing that says you should trust anyone that comes to these borders askin' for anything. All anyone of us folk standing on this side of these borders can do is pray and hope that something about us is good enough in your eyes for you to take that risk, make that judgement call on us. Or hell, maybe we're just that intriguing..." She smiled softly and then lifted a panel of her skirt close to her waistline to show him where lay a small utility belt just out of sight around her hips, with various "tools of the trade" including a small knife, some scissors, a spool of thread and wire, and the pouch where the carrot treats for her horse was tied. She winked and brought a single finger to her lips and silently shushed him, requesting that her tool belt remain a secret between them no mater what his decision on her fate.
[Image: ON9A7uP.png]
Don't f*ck with my freedom
I came up to get me some
I'm nasty, I'm evil
Must be something in the water
Or that I'm my mother's daughter...
  Reply
#7
Ooc here
Subtle was the little trip in her once confident tones, slight was the itch against her hand, until it seemed a sudden dawning came over her. It seemed it had taken a moment for what he asked to sink in, and perhaps that was slang, or she was a bit slow, which he wouldn't doubt the latter more than the first. Explaining her outfit, she hopped off of her steed and twirled and twirled about to show off her frock, to which Wayne's eyes had not interest in.

Steady blue narrowed as he folded his arms across the saddle horn and leaned forward, quietly waiting for her luxurious display to end. From one flank to the next, she drifted and sashayed, showing her passion for her trade to a man who had more interest in her than in her trade. You could say it was further piqued by what was to come next.

When her hand offered food to the equine, Wayne's fingers tugged down the bandanna over his muzzle and flicked the brim of his gambler up to get a better look at her, and to give her a better look at him. A hard look painted his edges. Further on, rather than attempt to convince him that she was an honest soul, she aimed to work on broad understanding. Appealing to his better judgment might have been a better deal. Not only this, but showing her slight of hand so early and give him a cheeky display of it after?

Wayne knew her kind, well enough.

A low drawn chuckle escaped him as he dropped his head, the tapered brim of his had turning with his head as he shook it in disbelief, “You are intriguin', alright,” His voice spoke lowly, an indication that it was not a compliment he spoke, “If ah'shouldn't trust you, then ah'wont. Yer words, not mine,” Curt words stopped sharply, pointedly expressed to rip the jib right out of her grin before he continued.

“You stayin'... however,” Graveled tune rose again, this time in a different mood than he portrayed before, “That ain't my choice t'make. Get on yer horse, if yer comin',” The retired Ranger brought Cochise around to face the direction he'd come through the naked trees and piled snow, but his eyes remained upon her the whole time. Something was amiss, but without proof? It could simply have been the paranoia built into his mind, thanks to the glorious history that the Ashen were building on gravestone after gravestone.

[+428]
[Image: Wz7hnJ2.png]
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