[P] you don't get to live a bad life
adel / jan 5th / charmingtown

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Tallulah felt restless.

Confined to Charmingtown, her rank allowed her almost no freedom to roam. Her camp had been allowed since it was close to town. To her, it felt like she had gained no trust in her new pack mates. True; she was quite new to the Gang. It would take time. But Tallulah was not known for patience for silly things like rank and titles. She had never grown with them, and the adjustment would - yes - take some time. She walked around the town, debated going to the tavern. Her eyes drifted to the entrance, a gentle 'hmm' escaped her lips.

She gave a shake of her head, blond locks cascading before she pushed them back with a slender hand. The time to drink would be after work, as always. She had more chores to do - self-inflicted by her working-class mindset mostly. Another round of prey had been traded at the Post for materials. She placed her usual whiskey bottle into Rusty's saddlebag. "Keep that warm for me, aye?" she chuckles, patting the horse on the side of his neck. He nickered in response and gave a nod. The other things were on her person as she led Rusty back to camp.

There was no point in letting her friend carry everything. Tallulah walked with her arms full of wood, some nails in her pockets, and a hammer on top of the pile. She was going to make a fence around her camp. Make it real cozy. The sad fact was, she could not see over the woodpile and other items. A light gasp escaped her lips when she felt herself collide with another. It was a brief, head-on collision that hurt no one. Her items were safe too - they did not fly everywhere, even if a few nails slipped from her pocket. "Pardon me!" she said to the stranger, her nose sniffed idly to try and pick up a scent.

She didn't know this one yet, though. Rusty slowed to her side, staring openly at the other Luperci through half-lidded and easygoing eyes.

ooc; 346 words, adel
The snow set in, and made his paw-pads rather chilled. The morning bristled his fur, but he didn’t let that stop him from the dopey grin he wore, and the wool he carried.

Charmingtown was a fitting place for him normally, nestled back with an arm full, enjoying what sunshine beat upon his pelt. Rounding the pile of logs, he bumped into a little lady about half his size, and gazed down on her with her hurried response. It didn’t matter who it was, even if she smelled new to the lands, his brows knitted in concern. But not for his wool that littered the ground, for the small doggish woman. Running into him was like running into a brick wall.

Ya alrigh’ there ‘lil lady?

Then his orbs drifted to the stallion by her side, and a huge grin broke across his muzzle. The horse was huge! Bigger than Juanita— although her long legs were no match for this behemoths large furred legs— and he gave a low whistle. “Wooweee, reckon I ain’t seen one ‘o them a’fore.” He dipped his head at the beast, then, ignoring the woman at his side. “What’s’yer name?” Next he turned that catywompus grin upon the female, and gazed down at her from his enormous height. “Where’d ya git this’n beaut?” He inquired, trying his hardest not to walk around the beast unless permitted to do so.

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"I ain't broken yet." She huffed with some amusement, still carrying the stack of wood. The man seemed keener on Rusty than assisting her, but she was no delicate damsel needing a man to help anyway. She shifted somewhat on the spot, Rusty glancing to his friend and helpfully taking a piece of the wood in his teeth. Just the one; he didn't have hands to assist further. Still, the gesture earned him a look of thankfulness from her blue depths. Bending over, she placed the stack on the snow-covered earth with another gentle huff. Rusty largely ignored the man staring in awe at him now - or the huge horse was just so easygoing he didn't care.

"My Pa," she said, straightening up "born and bred on our ranch down south" Rusty blinked slowly at the pale man, returning his gaze at last. The woman learned to ride when she shifted at six months, but even before that she bonded with the horse regularly. Pa had specifically bred a horse for his daughter before she had been born; anticipating the day she'd ride and he'd gift the giant to her. He was like a big brother to her. The keyword was 'big'. "this is Rusty, and I'm Tallulah" she added with a smirk, the pale man not being the first to admire her friend "and you are?" She pointed out he hadn't exactly told them yet. Gently.

"I got a gyrfalcon livin' with us too, if you're keen on animals." She could not help but jab a little joke in there. Most of the Del Cenere Gang were very keen on animals, even if she hadn't met one that was particularly fond of avian-folk. Nah, they preferred chickens around here. Still, the bird was one of the reasons she had been making a fence. Keep out predators, especially ones that preyed on a downed bird.

ooc; 315 words, adel
Admiring the four legged beast, Bennett couldn’t help but spy her struggle with the logs. With a foot, he kicked the log that was still on the ground, and placed it in his hands. Now he frowned— outright and with a deepening regret in his eyes— his head cantered, and he briefly thought about apologizing. Briefly.

Why don’ I take some’em logs there an’ we’s talk onna way?” He offered his large biceps for her to dump some of her load into. Wouldn’t be right or just for a lady such as herself to be carrying the logs all by her lonesome, even if she was a proud woman. Spectator as he tried to be, he felt as though the steed was doing more then he with that log between his jowls, so the Braithwaite stepped in front of her with his big, dopey arms, and a inward turned frown upon his face. “Least I c’n do, ma’am.

Whether she chose to transfer some logs or not, Bennett would help himself to some anyways. Hopefully it wouldn’t be taken rudely, as he stood— logs in tow— his smile would return. “Yer a fine animal Rusty.” He commented to the horse, his white hair brushing over his shoulders as he walked. Although his scars on his face still itched and his ear (three quarters left) felt bothersome in the cold, he ignored it for the help of the needy. Maybe that wasn’t the right term, since she definitely didn’t seem needy. To be fair, he hadn’t realized she dropped the logs…

Bennett Braithwaite, pleasure meetin’ y’all Miss Tallulah.” Baritone voice rumbled from his stomach, vibrating his chest. He couldn’t even take his eyes off Rusty for one minute. Following the little lady, Ben’s left ear flickered forwards at the mention of a gyrfalcon. “Oh? Issin’ purdy nice ‘n all? ‘Pose I don’t know whatem is.
lol bennett just “huh oh fudge”

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"Right fine with me."

It took the young man a few seconds, or minutes, to really register the situation. She placed the logs on the earth so she may talk with him, but he seemed to give an inward start of alarm. Chastising himself, maybe. Who could say? He moved closer all the same, offering his log-carrying services. Still, his attention was with the large equine over her. She didn't really know how to feel about that; not because she was vain but because Rusty never did soak up attention like a proud and spoiled beast. He stared at the man before he shook his head as if making a fly leave, puffing his lips.

He was not infested with insects, but the movement was well enough known to Tallulah. His gesture was close to speaking 'hey I ain't the beat all to end all!' Humble as he was, poor boy. "I ain't an old crone yet" the dog hybrid more or less dumped half of the load into his arms before plucking hers up into her own "so drop the ma'am, Bennett." She knew he was trying to be polite, but she wasn't that much older than him. Or so she assumed. It was hard to tell someone's age without being told. Still, her tone was light and airy. Not cruel and demanding. Rusty nickered in his horse way at the compliment, blinking slowly.

Bennett didn't know what a gyrfalcon was. She chuckled. "It's a bird, a falcon" she replied "migrates up here come winter for a bit. Mostly white with brown specks" She paused, thoughtful "at least my friend is" She knew that brown-heavy ones existed. Maybe it was like a weasel, shedding brown for white fur to blend in better in winter? She didn't really know much about birds, to be frank. Bennett rarely took his eyes off Rusty. She remembered Hosea remarking on the horse's size too, making her assume they didn't get the breed up here much - let alone see one. "never seen one Rusty's size?" she asked lightly.

ooc; 344 words, adel

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