[P] [M] [LCSS] the eighth and final rule

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: mentions of drugs and alcohol, violence.

Lancaster Stockshow: Bonfire Night - Monday, August 23rd

"If this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight."

After the long journey north, they had settled in among the rest of the travelers. It was a curious event, Jethro thought – Inferni would never have opened its borders in such a way. There was too much risk when it came to allowing wolves in the territory.

Del Cenere Gang was not Inferni, though. With each hour they lingered, and each person he spoke with, the truth of the matter hammered its way home. If Adina and Marlowe had been with him, they would have echoed this. In some way, it felt as if the three of them (and his wayward uncle) were all that truly remained of the clan. There was less of it to cling to now, though. He lived in their old territory and painted his face, but what else was there? Mounting skulls on pikes would drive away business. Salsola was too close to risk open hostility. When he had been younger, angrier, the siren call for vengeance seemed deafening.

Tonight there was only laughter and the noise of dozens of conversations rolling through the air. A towering fire burnt. Strangers and faces he recognized from the Olympic games passed throughout the night, though Jethro admittedly stayed close to his companions. Calrian and Cook were good at socializing and schmoozing, and Holli soon found things to distract and occupy her. At some point, Jethro became separated from Malik – it was after he and the old man had stepped away to split a joint, and before he got the drink he was currently nursing.

He was looking for the pale-haired bard when the disturbance began. It wasn't egregious enough to draw any real attention, but when one of the boys collided with his side the tall coyote bristled and took notice.

There were a gaggle of kids standing around, bright-eyed and tense.

“Hey!” Jethro snapped, scowling. “What's the problem here?”
The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.
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wc- 284
pp of lyall w/ adels permission.

The fire crackling merrily in its large and grand display was mesmerizing, but Aberama was doing everything in his power to stay far enough away from it. He felt on edge and restless, unable to hold back his flinch at each loud pop bursting from the pit. Over-time his hackles raised more prominently, and the male was wiping sweat-slicked palms on his patchwork shorts.

The high content hybrid and his companion for the evening, Lyall, towered over most others in attendance. After a few drinks had loosened Aberama’s tense shoulders, the executive decision was made to prank Lyall in front of all these strangers. Maybe he’d pants his friend, spill a drink down the back of his shirt or something equally as annoying.

First thing was first, and that was to set the scene. Pasting an innocent look across earthen-hued features, Aberama walked up behind Lyall and tapped him on the right shoulder. The Hushhowl swung his large head to greet whomever had touched him – but saw nobody. “ What? “ He asked in confusion, then Abe poked him in the ribs. As Lyall growled and swung around, the traveler stuck out a foot and tripped him.

“ Oops! “ The male rasped, light catching his teeth as he smiled widely. Lyall didn’t bother waiting and lunged after him, feinting a strike. Aberama laughed and easily evaded the swing, but hadn’t been paying true attention. Seeing an opening, Lyall straight up shoved the near-giant over and into a much paler and shorter form.

“ Shit! “ He grunted and turned around, noting the interesting paint on the males face deepened by his scowl. “ Uh, nothing pal. Just some rowdy kids rough housin’. “

Optime | Del Cenere Gang (Charmingtown) | Dated: August 23rd | NPCs: Ronin & Genkei

Related to [DCG+] Lancaster Stockshow 2021.

Set during this thread. Don’t mind me, just my trio spectating in the background!
The Stryder siblings and their friend had been enjoying the fun and light atmosphere that evening. The food had been good and the music had aided in giving the event a decidedly “party” and celebratory feel to it. Bodies mingled about as packs and Loners interacted with one another; meeting for the first time, catching up from time apart, or, simply finding comfort amongst allies, friends, and family. It had been good, even if Naomi didn’t really know anyone outside of New Caledonia.

She and the boys had been in the midst of discussing what events they were looking forward to when Ronin suddenly scoffed. Naomi and Genkei both paused in their discussion to look at the darkly furred Peer. Feeling their combined gaze, he jerked his head to what had caught his eye. “<The big guy over there with the shorts just pulled a fast one on the lighter-furred one,>” he explained in Japanese.

Naomi and Genkei’s eyes collectively drifted over to the scene of two growing, yearling boys tussling and grappling each other. From the way they laughed and appeared to be pulling their swings at one another, it was all in good jest. With their size, wolfish appearances, and how they play-fought with one another, Naomi would have guessed them to be Cavaliers. The sight was only mildly interesting to watch though, and the trio of Caledonians nearly returned to their discussion when one of the two boys suddenly went a little too far, and knocked the darker one into an innocent bystander.

It was a coyote, and he appeared none too happy with being unwittingly brought into the boys’ reckless game. His aggressive snap had Naomi’s spine stiffening attentively. Frowning, she turned and took a step towards the tension-filled confrontation, only to have her brother’s hand quickly land on her armored shoulder. “<Stay out of it, Naomi,>” Genkei warned despite the hard look in his emerald eyes as he watched on too.

The Tavar glared at him. “<I’m pretty sure they’re about to start a fight, Brother.>” She argued, gesturing with a hand.

“<This isn’t New Caledonia. We have no jurisdiction here. Besides, it’s none of our business.>”

Ronin reached out and gently grabbed her by her elbow. “<Let’s sit this one out. We don’t want to cause Fennore any problems on our first night here.>”

Naomi’s lips curled at them both, jerking herself free of them. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched the scene as it continued to unfold before them. “<Tch, fine.>”

Naomi Stryder
— The Roquen —

Though he'd decided at last to get out of the Trailside Inn more often, fearing less now for his safety with his concealing poncho draped constantly over his shoulders, he hadn't yet met too many other Ashen.
There was a kind female at the tavern, somebody to offer him libations and conversation that were both gratefully accepted. There was also the playful but venom-tongued Jimena who drew his attention in with an utterance of his language, but made him wary with her livewire attitude.
Alonso was kind enough, having taken the pair in when they arrived and giving them work when boredom grew too agonizing.

Nazario was pleasant of course, but there was a part of the young mongrel that was intimidated by the Ashen leader, struggling with authority since his own former jefe betrayed him in his home town.

Emiliano Suarez was typically a level-headed individual. Even now, the wayward youth was learning to see the leader's side of the situation that forced Joaquin northward, but it was difficult to not immediately feel anger toward the head family of Truth or Consequences.
After all, it was Emiliano himself that turned the town against the coyjackal, persuading his own family to abandon him and demand that he flee from the only place he knew.

The August sun was ruthless already, and his all-black clothing attracted the rays like flies on manure. It was in his best interest, though, to keep the dreaded thing between his shoulder blades hidden from sight, at least until he could be assured that nobody here would use it as an excuse to treat him poorly.
Or worse.

Thankfully, it was night now and the sky was growing colder. It was some relief to the heavily clad mutt, who escaped the shadows from the daytime to escape into the darkness that fell upon them now.
Dancing and mingling around the bonfire wasn't as inviting to the New Mexican male was it was others, so he found himself drifting off toward some undefined location.

Though not long into his aimless wandering, Joaquin stopped dead in his tracks.
He'd overheard something of interest, his large hybrid ears tuning into the words fight. While chatting up some strangers with casual icebreakers wasn't his preferred cup of tea, something about the idea of a brawl piqued his interest.

He headed toward the direction, knowing he'd come across exactly what he'd expected when the sight of rowdy kids came into full view.
With a small smirk accenting his usually sullen face, the Unkindled drew closer still to the gathering, preparing himself to get involved if need, or want, be.
[Image: f1ZFz9O.png]
Caked  in  your  graveyard  dust
↞ I  remain  to  trust ↠
That  your  soul  is  still  awake
Young as the collective was, there were plenty of big, tall Luperci among the bunch. Some were more wolfish looking than others, which led Jethro to guess they belonged to visiting parties like himself. Without proper authority, he wasn't in a position to tell the mass to break things up and be on their way. There was a tension in the air that while not dangerously hostile seemed electric and familiar – he thought back to Halifax, and that first fight with Galilee, and missed her sorely.

The blonde man looked over the big brown wolf and then beyond him, to the boy that had shoved the mutt into him. There were two other very tall girls, one with dark fur and the other with a patchy face, and a few smaller coyotes dressed in a manner that suggested this was their home turf. While no guardians or other adults seemed to have noticed the commotion, Jethro did spy a trio in leather armor keeping an eye on things, and that the gathering had drawn a few others into its circle.

He pushed his hair back with one hand and shook his head, loosening the mess of it casually. “Yeah well if you're gonna do that, take it somewhere else – best way to have a fight club is to keep it away from people that don't want to get involved.” The coyote took a sip of his drink. Alcohol made it easier to not give a shit about other people and their problems, but he recognized the energy here and knew it had to go somewhere. A week without release and these kids would run wild.

“And, if I was you, I'd make some rules too, so you don't get the people you came here with all pissed off if someone really gets hurt. Keep it simple and as safe as a fight can be,” he added. The scowl finally abated, and a winsome smile appeared on his face. “That's how we've always done it. Works out fine,” he said, as if he was more than a mere participant in the there-and-gone pop-up events in Halifax.
The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.
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