[m] baby i've got the death rattle

POSTED: Thu Feb 06, 2020 1:05 pm

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.

Gusts of wind howled outside the tavern, the buckskin drapes flapping and the front door groaning, and Weehawken thanked his lucky stars he was in here and not out in the cold, unforgiving wilderness.

It wasn't that he couldn't handle the cold, unforgiving wilderness, of course. His mother had given him fuck-all in life, but he had inherited thick fur that protected him from the worst of the elements. He'd been on his own since he was – well, he couldn't remember, but it had been a majority of his young life. But just because he could suffer out in the northern wilds didn't mean he had to.

Hawk was an opportunist, after all.

He hadn't been able to pass up what Charmingtown had to offer, the first time he stumbled into Trailside under watchful coyote eye. Initially, it had been a temporary place to sleep, warm and most importantly secure, but one night passed and became two, then five, then several more. And why wouldn't he take advantage? Drunk traders stumbling from the bar made for good clients – the best, especially when they couldn't get it up – and between the inn and the tents going up and down, he had enough options for lodging he didn't have to stay in the same place twice.

The tawny mongrel was practically a fixture of the town now, though he thought himself more clever and inconspicuous than he was.

Taking a pull from his cigarette, Weehawken leaned back in the busted chair, ankles crossed up on the sticky table as he watched the tavern's clientele. Some were coyotes sharing news or seeking counsel from the bartender, while a pair of merchants spoke gravely over drinks, laying out pebbles to represent the goods they were willing to part with if they dealt with the gang. They were old faces; he'd tried his luck with them before and doubted the answer had changed.

He sighed, tobacco smoke clouding the air, then pricked his fluffy ears when the front door banged open.

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POSTED: Thu Feb 06, 2020 11:02 pm

my heart was flawed, i knew my weakness

There had been a pause, a brief, two-hour or so reprieve when the weather had seemed at its most docile in what had felt ages; it was a taste, a lull in the tantrum, a brief glimpse on the cusp of a shallow spring.

It did not last long.

Passing travelers had extended their stays in Charmingtown to wait out the illest of the weather when it came round; some, perhaps, considered staying longer. Regardless, they all needed a break from the snow, the driving winds, the ceaseless sleet and biting cold and frosty whiskers.

The morning brought a thick, frigid fog, and a few extra lumps in the snow when Nazario had gone to assess the pastures. The water of the Debouille Reserve had frozen, and some of the mares had settled in for the long rest. After a long, miserable day of futilely digging what he could of what was once Granya from the drifts before caving in and heading back down towards Charmingtown. By the time he reached the Ugly Coyote, he was coated in a pallid, crisp layer of frost and snow, his expression stormy as he tried to rub warmth back into his numb and nigh-lifeless fingers. Hunched and dour, Nazario went to fetch a drink from the bar, and fumbled with his pockets for a much-needed cigarette, only to turn up empty. He sighed, and scrubbed his palm down the length of his face.

B-)| [wc — 000] template by hilli
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POSTED: Mon Feb 10, 2020 4:20 am

Flurries of snow whirled inside the tavern as the wind suddenly screamed – then just as suddenly the noise and the storm was shut away again, the door slamming closed as the occupants momentarily muttered and huddled. Blinking at motes of frost that drifted in the newcomer's wake, Weehawken took another drag on the cigarette and studied the man from his corner table.

He was a quick study, but some folk wore their emotional state plainly – and it was easy to notice things you were looking for, even if they weren't there.

The tawny-gold dog smiled and rose on feet that had memorized the creaking parts of the bar floor, winding past chairs, his feathered tail sweeping behind him. He slid in beside the cold coywolf, wordlessly offering up his own cigarette between slim white fingers, his brown eyes brazen as they wandered the hybrid's face. He was handsome, maybe; striking, certainly, with an eyepatch that hid disfigurement, an ugliness that made people terribly lonely – or so was the hope.

It's awful out there, Hawk sympathized, smiling as he leaned an elbow on the counter, stretching his body just-so. His eyes sought the coywolf's bronze one still, direct enough to make most folk uncomfortable. It was all purposeful, as was the way he extended his hand again expectantly, to take the cigarette back after the stranger had had a taste of the tobacco (and Hawk). Worse for you than me, he mused aloud, smile showing pearly teeth as he glanced at the coyote's tattered coverings, clearly drawing comparison between that and his own thick coat.

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POSTED: Thu Feb 13, 2020 12:50 pm

my heart was flawed, i knew my weakness

The voice had pulled him by tenuous thread out from his dour, sulking echochamber, and his gold eye turned up towards the honey-colored dog, body lithe and stretched on the counter. He plucked the cigarette from waiting fingers, and gave a small nod of thanks, jamming it between his dark lips. The stranger was charming, forward, boyishly earnest and magnetic.

"Sure is," he answered, voice unintentionally gruff. The pull off the cigarette was a welcome one - tobacco clouded his senses, spiced and cloying much like the eyes that settled on his face. Direct. Despite himself, there was a quickening of his pulse, the taste of the dog on his tongue. The stranger held his hand back out, and Nazario handed back what was loaned. His eye had traced the silhouette the golden dog carved against the bar, and he turned himself, mirroring however subtly - confidence. Exude confidence.

He could practically feel Boone teasing him, and felt a flare ignite in the hollow of his throat as the smoke crept past his teeth and curled in little whips through his whiskers.

"You been here a few days, right?" he hazarded. "Don't think I've introduced myself proper. Nazario."

A hand jutted out towards the dog, doing his best to emulate something of smoothness that would be expected of those more practiced in... Relaxed interactions.

(tries to flirt and leans, hand slips and smashes his chin on the counter)| [wc — 000] template by hilli
you haven't met me
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POSTED: Thu Feb 13, 2020 2:32 pm

Mirroring – a sign as much as it was a tactic. Whether the coywolf was aware or not, Weehawken took everything in: the shift of his posture, the path his bronze gaze traveled, the off-guard gravel in his throat.

He smiled. His own movements were deliberate and ever-adjusting based on what he thought a prospective client might like. Some preferred him submissive and effeminate, tempting dark fantasies; others sought a protector, a warm body. He had played many parts for many people and was always ready to adjust the script – though sometimes it didn't need much adjustment.

The man – Nazario – was interested enough. Hawk felt confident.

Few days, yeah, the tawny-gold dog lied. It might have been two weeks, but the snowy nights blended together. He glanced at the proffered hand, bounced his eyes back toward Nazario's singular one, then accepted the handshake – more of a clasp than anything else, and one whose touch lingered as if he'd forgotten to remove it. Weehawken, or Hawk.

He turned to lean back against the bar, draping his elbows on the counter as he handed the cigarette off again. Blowing smoke toward the stained ceiling, he remarked, You coyotes settled a nice place for yourselves. He glanced at the various fixtures, his tail waving idly. It wasn't flirtation, but information-gathering was important, too; maybe Nazario could give him more insight on the place.

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POSTED: Sat Feb 22, 2020 12:30 am

my heart was flawed, i knew my weakness

Weehawken - Hawk - a striking name to match the disarming charm. He seemed a chameleon as anyone else, and while a few more unfamiliar faces had found their way into Charmingtown by way of poor-weather-evasion, the dog had smelled less and less like the outside that Nazario had gotten accustomed to. Unless he was rolling around in hay. Or someone's bed -- which, frankly, given the crowd, seemed quite likely.

Twelve seemed fond of a cute face.

Rio's lips twitched a little, and he offered a crooked, pointed grin.

"I may be half-blind, but I have at least an inkling of awareness, y'know." It was a tease, though perhaps, also, something of warning - his fingers took the cigarette back, and let it linger a little more freely against his tongue, against his teeth. "We wanted a secure spot. I'd say this's safe as any come."

He slowly exhaled, away from his company, and offered the smoke back.

"So what brings ya to Charmingtown, our li'l slice of heaven, Hawk?" Nazario didn't mind the question game, the idle small talk; he may not have had the confidence to back his bravado, but Weehawken's ease demanded a match, a rise to social challenge that was both frightening and refreshing.

--| [wc — 000] template by hilli
you haven't met me
i am the only son
Del Cenere Gang
Rey Salvaje
User avatar
Despi
Luperci
LadróN
🙡 🙣
won't stay down

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