come on baby in our dreams we can live on misbehavior

[Vivienne Butler]

Vivienne was now a year old; the child had grown, shifted, and now dashed through the forested green of the Court lands with her stride long and strawberry blonde locks flowing wildly behind. She was chasing a hare with great leaps and bounds, flying through the underbrush in heated pursuit, expression one of joyous determination - eyes narrowed, smile sharp. Though with maturity she had become (somewhat) better behaved, her high level of energy was in no way diminished.

Her mind had developed into a mechanism quite sharp as well, even as she gave chase, the mutt had the basic understanding of the terrain, she knowing to drive the rodent closer to the shore of the nearby lake, where the ground was too soggy and their digging skills less of an advantage. She was swiftly nearing, muscles tensing as she prepared for the kill; for a child whose parents had never known how to hunt, it was exciting as chasing a deer in her world, for hares were close to the height of her skill. The scent of fear emanating from the rodent only drove her further, and throwing caution to the wind, Vivienne lunged. When the dust settled, she was greeted to empty palms and the sight of a fluffy tail bouncing merrily away.

Her hands balled into fist, as if she could snap the little hare's neck from the distance, but the anger vanished just as swiftly as the cottontail vanished into the tall stalks that lined the shore of the lake. Heaving a dramatic sigh of forced contentment, the scarlet damsel rolled onto her back, clasping her muddy palms upon her belly as she watched the noontime clouds float lazily by. She bent her knees and loosely pulled them closer, feet drumming an absentminded beat into the grassy ground, lightly kicking as though she were propelling herself across the dirt while on her back.

[Pascal Sadira]

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Ahh sorry this is so awkward. A little weird aging him since I've been playing him as he is now. <3 But this wouldn't be canon so whatevs, he can be a bit silly.

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The lake seemed still as glass in the noontime sun, with barely a breath of wind stirring the surface of the water. It made for an overly warm day, though submerged in the shallows of the water as he was, Pascal was not too hot. His tongue lolled easily from his jaws as he panted, mismatched eyes lifting to the treeline beyond where he awaited some shape to emerge. Hunting large game was one skill that never seemed to go away, even as he became more and more skilled in his labor and crafting; he had the strength necessary, the thick build of an arctic wolf, to do this thing.

However, luck did not seem to be on his side. He heaved a great sigh and dropped his chin down onto his massive forepaws just under the surface of the water, so that his jaw was wet. His nostrils flared one last time to take in the smells of his surroundings -- heron, fish, but no deer or elk as he wished -- but then his ears perked and his head lifted again. He smelled something else, and quickly scrambled to his feet as the grass stirred. Ripples rolled away from his legs, and then as the hare darted by, he struck.

Strong jaws shut on the leg of the long-eared lapine, and it squealed. He gave a toss of his head and it landed in the water, stunned, before he lunged forward to grasp it in his mouth again and end its life. All four paws splashed as he made his way to the shoreline, shaking water from his brown and grey coat, and he let his tail sway behind him with pleasure before he spotted an Optime shape further away in the grass.

Pascal loped toward the girl -- a yearling now, how time flew -- and dropped the hare as he nodded in greeting. "Hello," he said, the word emerging flatly from his jaws though his tail wagged friendly behind him. "Are you enjoying the weather, Miss Butler?" The question sounded awkward coming from him, and he hesitated before offering the "miss," but he was trying. He always tried.
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[Vivienne Butler]

aww I'm sorry, I keep forgetting that they're further apart than I automatically think ~_~

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Vivienne didn't stir at the sound of approaching footfalls, it was only the dull thud of dead rabbit hitting the ground that got her attention. Her head rolled back away from it's scope of the sky, neck bending to eye the carcass from an upside-down point of view; she was silent for a brief moment, before rolling over to prop herself by way of an elbow on her side. "Pascal." She spoke the name in gradual recognition. Glossy brown eyes rolled slowly up to the wolf in front of her, she remembered him from the Court events, knew his name from bits of conversation - the King's son, already set as off limits, but then Vivienne loved to push boundaries. Her head scantily inclined, propped inquisitively across her shoulder where rosy locks naturally cascaded.

"Quite alright, Monsieur Sadira, and all the better knowin' that you caught my 'are." The unique blend of cockney and french flowed easily past her lips, eyes watching him curiously all the while. He'd caughther hare, or at least it was as far as she was concerned. Vivienne was suddenly less interested in the rodent though, considering the chance at something more entertaining being offered by the wolf before her; something about him seemed off, but she was more intrigued and ready to pry than let the sense of oddity deter her.

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[Pascal Sadira]

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it okey C:

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The reddish dog tilted her head back against the carpet of grass before rolling over and greeting him. He was a little disturbed by the lack of honorific attached to the front of his name, but not enough to protest; conflict, however minor it was, was something that made him too uncomfortable to pursue. It wasn't as if his expression, relatively blank as was its default, showed this inner thought. He continued to wag his tail, regardless, and harder when she answered him more properly.

Her accent was strange, but no stranger than his utter lack of inflection. He liked to listen, as difficult as it was, and gave a little jerky nod. "You can have it," he offered graciously, motioning with his nose toward the dead thing while he did not have hands. "If you were chasing it, I do not want to have stolen a kill from you. Consider it help." His brown tail made great sweeping motions behind him, not so much a gesture of happiness as a tic. He watched her as she sprawled in the grass and, somewhat abruptly, spilled down to the earth the same -- all four legs stretched out, tongue lolling, cheek brushing against the green stalks. He rolled onto his back as if he were still the puppy.

"Hey," Pascal quipped, "it looks like you're walking on the clouds. Is this what you were doing?" A blue eye closed to wink at her, which was a great social effort on his part. He was teasing.
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