[M] Eau De Decay

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.

The Magnificent

Dead things weren't quite his favorite thing to roll in but they were pretty fuckin' close. His absolute favorite thing was horse or mule shit but well he'd found this racoon and it seemed a complete shame to waste it, recycling and all that jazz that Ronnie was always brashing on about. It was a ripe one too, the flies and maggots had done a good job and the juices were flowing. Perfect.

Like the completely disgusting canine that he was, John rolled around on top of the dead animal, smearing it about and making sure to get a liberal covering all over himself. Wouldn't the ladies just love him when he returned to the camp place where his brother was building a village. He'd be the hottest stallion in the stables.

Staggering to his feet, John shook his rust colored body and flung bits of gore all about himself. Covered in bits and pieces of things that many would rather not think about, John thought about all of it and then some, his tongue lolling from his mouth.

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The stench of rot led Clover sniffing through the weeds, curious and briefly hopeful for an easy meal. As the dog approached, however, the buzz of flies grew louder in her ears, and judging by the stink she knew the carcass had long since passed its expiration date.

What a pity – but she investigated anyway. Judging what had killed the raccoon (it smelled like it maybe had, at one point, been a coon before it liquefied) might be helpful. She didn’t like the thought of sick animals or rival predators on Inferni land.

Expecting no one, fooled by the stench, Clover emitted an involuntarily “boof” through her jowls and stiffened at the sight of the ruddy coyote. She relaxed when she realized it was Redtooth. Then she tensed again when she realized, no, it wasn’t.

“Uh, ‘sup?” the dog greeted, sniffing.

I'm on fire baby, watch me burn

Word Count ♞ :: lemme smell yo butt

One of his flaws was a tendency to get too wrapped up in what he was doing and lose all focus of the world around himself. This was one of those times. Not that it truly mattered in land that was supposedly protected.

Maybe John was a fool to trust implicitly that he was safe here. It had been a long time habit and those were hard to break. To focus all of his passion and attention to the task at hand whether that be in the bedroom or simply rolling around in a dead racoon.

Thus at the boof of the dog girl, John started (he'd been scratching behind his ear with eyes closed and tongue lolling in pleasure). He yapped in surprise, something entirely coyote within him.

Oh jeeze, well wasn't she a beauty. He stared for a few brief seconds. Maybe some higher being was punishing him for his sins, definitely that had to be the case.

Wassup. He stretched out his head to get a better sniff at her over the ripe scent of rotting 'coon. His tail waved peaceably behind him, he had no wish to repeat the tenseness with Briarblack.

I'm Johnathan... Andy's bro... uh ya'll call him Redtooth. He rolled his eyes here, Andy was still using that stupid kiddie nickname. John's own was BK, short for Buzzkill. Well that had sure changed since then.

He padded a few feet closer, intending to get a proper smell of him as it was only polite to exchange handshakes of a kind.

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The coywolf jumped and squeaked (or so their yaps sounded in contrast to Clover's naturally deep bark). Her muscles stiffened tighter as she raised charcoal hackles, still caught off guard by his appearance – and embarrassed by the stare, certain that he was wondering why a dog was here. In the end, however, the male repeated her greeting and wagged his tail amiably, introducing himself. Redtooth's brother?

Clover blinked. Oh, that makes sense.

They looked a lot alike. Identical, almost, but Johnathan's features were a little stronger, more rugged; he had little of the goofy look that Clover had always found nonthreatening about Redtooth. He smelled less like the clan too, of course. All this equated to her nerves spiking when he approached.

Her fluffy tail clamped between her legs just in case, and Clover sidled her haunches away from him. Stiff-legged, she inched forward and sniffed his rump too. He smelled sure, uh, healthy. Like a handshake's firm grip, the odor of testosterone put her ill at ease.

Your raccoon is the shit, Clover said, recovering in the vulgar way she always did. Her voice was awkward, as if forcing small talk about cologne.

Would you mind using a different table for our thread? I can't read the text. xD

The Magnificent

Well this one was tense too, it seemed. Did all the women in this clan need to get laid or something? Hmm, maybe not. He knew meeting strangers was a scary thing but damn, he wasn't that scary looking. His ears splayed out to the side in a relaxed manner. I ain't a threat to you, missy, his body spoke.

She was a very pretty plethora of grey-scales. Absolutely nothing like Ginger's reds and pale creams. John found that he didn't find wolf women so attractive these days, not after 'the incident'.

Her scent was thick and earthy, like the forest after it had rained heavily. He wouldn't forget it easily, not like all the sandy, scorched coyotes or cloying, floral wolves.

She awkwardly turned towards his glorious find and he laughed genially,

"Ain't it fukkin' just though? I hit the jackpot!" He gestured his head towards the rotting animal, "Well you can go ahead and roll in it if'n you want, I ain't afraid to share." His tongue lolled again.

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Johnathan peacefully splayed his big ears then lolled his tongue as he pointed his nose toward the rotten thing. His offer to share was met with raised brows and a slanted frown, but Clover did not look in the least disgusted or offended. Instead, her tail began to wave (low as it was), and she grinned as she marched over to the carcass.

Without further ado, she dropped and rolled.

A laugh escaped her without her really meaning for it to, but she was much less on edge (and looked the part) when she came up again, shaking excess chunks of saucy meat from her fur. Her own tongue spilled from her jaws in a relaxed smile.

“I’m Clover,” the shaggy grey dog said. “Uh, welcome to Inferni, I guess! How long you been around? I don’t think I knew Redtooth had a brother, but then again we aren’t like, close or nothin', so don’t feel bad.”

She allowed herself a small smirk, then dropped her haunches to the earth and started to scratch at an itchy place beneath her last rib. The tilt of her head shifted some thick fur around her neck, revealing scar tissue blackened with soot; ash streaked most parts of her, making her scent smoky beneath the rancid coon stench and over the earth-and-blood aroma of a hunter in the clan lands.

Johnathan Winthrop

ooc

He watched her with his head tilted to the side, like she was a puzzle he was struggling to put together. The reservations of her body melted away in the wake of the joy of the dead racoon and wasn't that somethin' just fuckin' beautiful. She was even more pretty with pieces of meat and the stank of racoon radiating from her, of course he kept that bit to himself. He wasn't exactly in the market for a new somebody to run his life for him. Her laughter was a freeing thing to hear though.

"Clover" He said, for lack of a better thing to say, testing out her name on his tongue, "My Ma always said clovers were lucky things, if you found one that was four leafed." He was smiling somewhat sheepishly, for echoing a long told fairy-tale from his childhood.

"Only a day or so.. not very long.." his words trailed off to a cock-headed silence as he peered thoughtfully at the scars on her neck. They looked very old, like the ones on his back were newer and pained him sometimes.

Smoke scent rose from her, his was a different kind of smoke scent, one that was pungent and spicy. The pot drowned out his sorrows for the most part and allowed him to pretend to be happy most times, a crutch he couldn't see himself without. His next words were spoke with an almost confused tone, as if he couldn't understand why he were saying them to her at all, a complete stranger,

"I don't think Andrew would recognize me as his brother anymore anyway, not the one he left behind. Things have changed mightily." Then he rolled his shoulders in a shrug and looked away at the mountains in the distance.

What despicable lies you hide

Johnathan smiled and commented on her name, how clovers were lucky, and the dog’s expression changed subtly – like she was withdrawing into herself, just for a moment, and then her facial muscles relaxed and she exhaled a sigh. “Yeah, that’s the idea,” she agreed.

“Something lucky. I gotta call you something, right? And you’re a lucky, brave little badass. Something like… Penny? Uh – I know! Clover, right? Four-leafed clover?”

The memory passed. John’s demeanor changed as he trailed off, staring at her, and she gave her coat another shake. A piece of raccoon pelt stuck to her shoulder fell off, and she snorted.

No, luck didn’t last very long at all.

The ruddy coywolf continued, his tone bemused, and Clover tilted her head back at him, one dark ear flopped into her face. She frowned, thought about asking, thought better about asking – then figured he wouldn’t have said anything if he really didn’t want her to comment. She shrugged to herself, too.

“People change, sometimes for the worse. But if rough shit in life changes you and you’re still trying, that’s – I mean, that’s all people can ask for, y’know? I dunno. I’m sure he, uh, I mean Redtooth is a good guy. Like, he’s nice. He won’t care.”

Her brow furrowed. She’d tripped over her words, but what did she know? The “big brother” figure who’d whisked her away from that terrible place – this terrible place, she was ever-aware of the irony of the Concrete Jungle at their doorstep – had stopped trying, in the end. She could not forgive him for that. She didn’t dispense sunshine and rainbows as advice either; it seemed crueler than honesty.

The Magnificent

He didn't like to be too serious, that for for late at night when he couldn't sleep. A kind of relief swept through him, softening the tenseness in his shoulders and his mouth lolled open again, and he panted in the heat. He was fully of easy smiles like this, they were quick to come when you had convinced yourself you had stopped caring for the most part.

"That's a real fine way of puttin' it." He turned, looking out towards the direction of where he thought the caverns were. The not-so-old whip scars on his back were livid in the sunlight.

He looked back over his shoulder towards the pretty grey dog,

"Well how's about you give me that tour then, seein' as no one else has bothered." His tail was wagging slowly behind him.

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