Was it everything you wanted to find?

OOC: KICKIN' OFF SOSU WITH KITTY THRAD AW YEAH

It was colder now and ice crystals winked at Milos from all around him. He shook his clothed pelt as a chill slithered its way up his scarred spine, eliciting an amused giggle from his speckled son. "Daddy, what're you doin'?" Logan asked innocently, playfulness on his voice. Now that winter had settled in comfortably around them, the Parhelion-Cormier boys seemed well-adapted to the bite of shorter days and colder temperatures — moreso perhaps than Milos ever thought he could be. Not, of course, because his pelt couldn't keep him warm, but because winter meant less sun and vastly more darkness.

Glancing at Logan, Milos grinned and, instead of responding with words, offered him another — more exaggerated — shiver and laughed. "What d' ya mean?" he asked, shuddering again and lurching towards the young boy. "En't this normal?" Logan picked up easily on his father's playfulness and scurried away in a flurry of snow, his orange eyes like fireflies in the dusty flakes. Milos laughed and chased after his son. "Ah!" the child screamed when his father neared him, dodging the dark Quartermaster with a quick maneuver. "You're goin' crazy, Daddy!" he laughed, darting off towards the Ruins of Tog.

The pair of them kept this up until they found themselves in the bowels of the ruins, crumbling buildings coated in ice and snow. When at last Logan tripped over a sizeable (but hidden) clod of debris and tumbled to inertia, Milos swooped in and covered his son in tickles. The child laughed and struggled to wriggle away, kicking at his father with his hind limbs until the Quartermaster managed to collect his son up into his arms. "Gotcha," he said, his face filled with brightness and cheer as he looked down upon Logan.

The child wiggled. "Nuh-uh!" he giggled, managing to squirm out of his father's grip before offering Milos a swift, if unintentional, kick to his chin. Taking advantage of his father's momentary daze, the child took off through the ruins, leaving behind a trail of giggles.

[WC — 347]

Word Count → 570 :: Out of Character text

This was a strange place, full of strange people – from the calm natured dog he was supposed to refer to as his 'Captain', all the way to the idiot his sister was fond off that liked to throw fish as his weapon of choice. It wasn't home and maybe it never would be, because they'd never left from their free will. This was not what he'd wanted and if he'd had a choice in the matter, he'd of remained back in the sun of Onuba, surrounded by the familiar streets and taking advantage of the hustle and bustle of the ports ever changing traffic of canines.

Still, he was learning not to mope over it all the time. With each endeavour he made out of his his, the Vela male found something new, something of interest that made it all the more easier to live in his life of exile. Already he was succeeding at this whole pack life thing, working with the vulture that wasn't his, nor was it a pet, earning an additional rank affiliation as someone who could handle and train birds. Thiago didn't lie to himself or others about his skill level: he was a novice. But to have even that fundamental foundation of skills to which he was building on recognised felt good.

Not only that, he was ranked higher now, above his sister which was something he was enjoying a lot about. It was still new, having a rank, but in time he hoped he'd figure out what it all translated to better, as well as how to flaunt his higher status over his sister without causing actual, serious offence in the process.

The Captain, when he'd met the women, had made mention of some sort of storage system, free for members to take from on the assumption they work in repayment and contribute back into it. Rolling the idea around in his head, he'd been considering taking the easy out and going there for items he may need or simply want, ruling it when ultimately he'd still have to do the work to repay taking them. At least if he went out to find his own things, he could pick the ones he liked more, not settling for what was simply available to him there and then.

Items to trade then, were needed. Or if he was extremely lucky, he'd find exactly what he was looking for, as unlikely as that was. His house was bare, not a home and if he were to make a go at settling in, then that would need to change.

Several hours slipped by before his optimism of that morning was quick to die. Finding things, hell even finding his house some days, was not as easy as he'd believed. He didn't know where to look to even start, spending his time hoping the vulture would enlighten him to some sort of gold mine of goods or they'd simply fall into his path.

What did fall into his path was a pack mate of his, the black male standing out against the washed out winter landscape as a sore thumb. With his appearance was the opportunity to ask for help, if he could bend his pride enough to admit he needed it. Biting the end of his thumb, he toyed with the idea, what he could say if he did approach, watching silently from the sidelines.

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Like whimsical fairies, snowflakes billowed up all around the speckled child as he fled. They melted to nothing within his crooked ears, expiring in a fleeting lamentation of sizzling song, and tickled his nose as he breathed them in. Snow smelled like promises and wonder; majesty and innocence; danger and daring. It sparkled with the subtlest of light and, though a single flake was the most fragile thing in the world, it was capable of such terrible ferocity when embroiled in a storm.

Unlike Bramble, whose terrible plight in the snow early in the season had left psychologically scarred, Logan liked the snow. He liked how it preserved the memory of every step and bound and scurry he took upon its crystalline surface. Though he stayed within earshot of his father, he relied on the bruises he left behind in the snow to lead Milos to him. He was not afraid of becoming lost; he was not afraid of anything.

Except for that.

Entirely lost to his youthful imagination and playful energy, Logan failed to see and scent the cloaked figure standing among rubble and snow, thoughtfully nibbling his thumb. And, when Milos' dark shape, stark against the backdrop of ivory, appeared only a handful of beats after his son the child squealed with delight and darted forward. Though it had taken a moment, the father noticed the silent figure quickly upon watching his son scramble blindly towards him. For a heartbeat, Milos felt fear. But when the man's scent, carried gently upon a winter breeze, climbed into his nose, the Quartermaster released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and smiled.

Logan realized that his father was no longer following him before he discovered the man, now well within grabbing distance, and skidded to a halt in a flurry of snow and ice and a wail of surprise. Amusement cracked across the Parhelion's dark face, a hearty laugh following suit. "Sorry 'bout my son," he said to the man from foreign lands, approaching him with easy geniality. "Don't know that we've officially met. Name's Milos'n this's Logan." He held out his hand to shake while Logan shook snowflakes from his shaggy, speckled pelt. "There somethin' you're lookin' for out here?"

[WC — 382]

Word Count → 544 :: Out of Character text

Distracted by the snow falling around him; giant, delicate flakes that were biting cold to the touch, a sight that he was not all the familiar with, so rare it was back home – the first few times of seeing it in these parts had filled him with excitement. Then he'd started freezing, sneezing and nose leaking endlessly, which had instantly put a damper on any and all enjoyment that he may of found from the entire affair. As if on cue, his body jarring forward sharply, the Spanish born Vela stumbling as his eyes clenched closed as another snuck up on him, lungs burning as he sucked in freezing air in the process.

In the time he'd taken to get his sneezing under control, the youth that had been playing with the dark coloured Korkan had managed to make his way over, Thiago simply staring at the youth dumbfounded what to do or say with it. Pups were not a new thing to him; he'd had to parent his siblings on enough occasions. However, this pup wasn't one of his siblings and the correct manner to respond was lost on him. Luckily the very guy he'd been debating asking for help came to his assistance with the pup. Not quite the problem he'd had in mind, but it showed promise for an attitude open to giving assistance to a clueless newbie.

“Uh, yeah. No worries,” peering at the child, he gave him a rather helpless and clueless look, realising only now that lurking in the trees was probably going to make him look dodgy at best. It had not been his intent to linger and creep on the man and his son. With the implications of his actions at the forefront of his mind, he turned his attention onto the black pelted male, waiting for a back lash due to his lack of social common sense. None, however, came, despite the fact that the Vela male found himself deserving of some sort of warning.

Back home he'd never really bothered to engage with the general population. They were simply targets, individuals who possessed things he needed to take for his own survival. Spending more and more time around these pack types was just highlighting how anti-social he really was. Nor had he had to ask where the best places were to find things – another new part of his life. Less stealing and more socially accepted acquisition of goods, which was terribly dull.

“And no, don't think we have. I'm Thiago,” he managed to get his introduction done, standing up a little more straight, dusting off the settling snow that was beginning to gather on top of his hood and muzzle.

“I was trying to figure out if there were any good places around these parts to scavenge for some stuff for me house. Pretty bare currently and well, this entire place is foreign to me,” getting the words out there, he shoved his hands into the his trouser pockets, posture slumping as he waited for the others response. Reluceo was the one made for words and pretty smiles. He was just the thing lurking in the shadows, picking pockets, never seen nor never heard.

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With a yelp of horror, Logan struggled to stop his momentum in the slick and slippery snow. Snippets of his own demise at the talons of this cloaked ghoul, with his lurching movements and terrible roars, flashed across the young Guppy's mind like the lightning that he and his brother had once thought was frightening. No longer! There were far more terrifying things in this world than mere thunderstorms and this monstrous figure with tattered skin flapping in the breeze was one of them!

Hearing his father's gentle chuckles and words of apology both confused and relieved the youth. What was he apologizing to this creature for? Surely he'd nearly been eaten! But as Logan pushed himself from the snow and to his feet, one quick glance up at the ghastly being melted away all of his fears. He shook his shaggy pelt free of snow. "Hey, you're not a monster!" the child announced pleasantly, giving his tail a cheerful wag. "I thought I was gonna get eated." It sounded silly now and Logan couldn't help but giggle.

Milos lowered his ears apologetically. "Logan," he groaned softly, crouching to the Guppy's level. "How's 'bout ya check that mound o' snow out over there, huh?" The youth scrutinized the mound uncertainly for only a moment before he bounded off, kicking up sparkling flakes of snow in his wake.

With his son momentarily entertained, Milos rose and turned his attention back to Thiago, all the while keeping an ear planted firmly in the direction Logan was playing. "Pleasure t' meet ya, Thiago," he replied brightly, watching as snowflakes twinkled and winked at him as they fell from the Onuban's body. Without interruption, he listened to the man's response to his question. He nodded his dark head, smiling eyes on Thiago's face. "Plenty o' place 'round th' ruins here," he began, casting a sunny look over the crumbling facades of houses and establishments long past their prime. "'Fraid there may not be much but not ev'ryone's lookin' for th' same things. C'mon, I'll help ya look,"

Calling to his son, who was disappointed to find that the mound of white was just a boulder cloaked in snow, Milos gestured for Thiago to follow after him and started into the heart of the ruins. "Reckon we could start here," he suggested, dipping his head to a building that, while clearly in need of some serious repair work, looked in better shape than some of the others. "An' go along t' some o' th' others as we need t'."

[WC — 438]

Word Count → 314 :: Out of Character text

Surprisingly the male offered him aid and began to lead him to the place he'd recommended, despite his initial creeping that, in his opinion, should of indeed made him look like a suspicious bad guy as the boy had implied her was, the black pelted male, Milos his name had been – one he'd hopefully not forget too soon, otherwise he'd have to get creative in addressing the other. From the name alone the place had sounded promising; even if he didn't find exactly what he was after, being able to get some goods to trade off, he could slowly work his way up to acquiring them that way.

Taking in the sights, he'd almost missed the inclination of his head, directing him over to a house in serious disrepair to his eyes. Maybe in these parts it wouldn't be viewed as all that bad, his tastes different and accustomed to the grander ones from his home land. With each word that his companion spoke, the Vela male began to wonder if he, much like himself, was foreign to these lands, because his words were, at times, hard to make sense off. Not that he'd asked; the guy had taken him here and was helping. Only a fool would start peppering their help with questions that may annoy said help.

“Sounds like a plan,” he mumbled back in response, heading over to the house and entering it's premise, taking a moment to look over the room he initially entered, before starting to rummage around. Opening doors, lifting up discarded pieces of moth bitten clothe that was too far gone to have any worth. Where smaller piles of debris had formed, he shuffled them around, seeking any scrap materials that may be reused.

So far he was still empty handed, but there were several other places to look and other rooms to check out.

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With an abundance of energy that only a puppy could have, Logan bounced and bounded after the adults. Despite his smaller size, he was quick to overtake them and darted on ahead in a flurry of snow. The flakes twinkled and sparkled as they drifted slowly back to the ground. Milos sighed and slowly shook his head but amusement curled his lips and his eyes were bright. "Forgot what it's like t' have that kind o' energy," he laughed, starting for the crumbling building. He paused before going inside, bending his body around the doorframe. "Logan!" he yelled and the child skidded in the snow, pivoting his body on one foreleg until he was facing his father's direction again. "C'mon, help yer pa'n Thiago search for treasures!"

Just as he knew he wouldn't, Milos did not need to ask his son twice. With his pink tongue lolling from his bearded mouth, Logan scampered as fast as he could after the older Krokarans. They had already disappeared into the yawning mouth of the derelict building by the time Logan reached it, panting and wide-eyed with excitement. "Treasures!" he bellowed as he scrambled inside. Milos shushed him quickly, wincing with the way his ears were ringing. "'Gun!" he barked back. "Where are we?" The child lowered his body and drooped his ears, wagging his tail quickly. "Inside?" Logan panted, still breathless from his mad dash. "That's right. An' what do we do when we're inside?" The Guppy looked at his feet. "Use our inside voices?" Milos nodded. "Right. Now, ya can help us look but ya gotta use your inside voice, okay?" Logan scooted closer to his father, licking the air and wagging his tail more cheerfully now. "Okay, Papa."

Satisfied, Milos turned his attention back to the task at hand: scavenging. Logan continued to keep the volume of his voice at a respectful level, though his public (albeit gentle) scolding did little to put a damper on his energy. While Milos picked though the remains of what could have been a former closet, Logan padded after Thiago. Milos glanced up briefly, casting his eyes across the room for the former Onuban. "There anythin' you're lookin' for in particular, Thiago?" the Quartermaster asked, digging through the debris some more. The Guppy stuck his nose into every place he could reach that the older Krokaran had searched, apparently keen on helping him more than helping his father.

[WC — 413]

Word Count → 459 :: Out of Character text

Lifting up a few planks of wood, he grimaced at what appeared to have been a rat at some time, the corpse nothing but bone now. Dropping the planks, he stepped back from that section with a look of pure disgust upon his face. Once upon a time such a thing wouldn't bothered him; he'd slept in places a lot worse than this out of necessity in his lifetime. Clearly he'd grown pampered, along with socially awkward, among all the other self discoveries he'd been making within these new lands. Strolling into the adjourning room, the dividing wall collapsed, allowing him to still see to where Milos and the ball of fur that was called a pup, he resumed looking once more.

Of course, having the pup come with them wasn't his idea and as he crouched to yank open a stiff cupboard door, he cringed at the loud voice of the child as it came to his fathers call. Help, evidently, was parent code for hinder. Sighing softly under his breath, low enough so that the others wouldn't hear, he shook his head at the father and sons conversation, casting a look over the shelves of this cupboard and finding them too bare. Scavenging was never a case of success; most places emptied long ago.

“Nothing specific, exactly. Me and my family didn't have much when we left home, don't have anything now. Just some trade-able things so I can start filling up an empty house would be good,” he needed to make his house a home, needed items to establish a base wealth through the items that he could trade for more, working his way back up slowly. It would be a long process; hunting and trading what he gained from that would work, but finding that one special item could gain him what a month of hunting might, to the right buyer that was.

Running fingers along the shelves, wood turned to fragile paper. A book, the ink that was once upon it so faded it could barely be considered one anymore, everything stained and falling apart. Reading wasn't his strength and he didn't put much stock in the worth of a book with barely nothing visible to read. Retracing his steps, he moved back into the room where the father and son had been searching.

“Any luck or do you want to move onto another building? Nothing seems to be much good here. Furniture also isn't in good enough shape to try and re-purpose it either, from what I can make out,” he added the last with the sigh, disappointed by that fact greatly. Like other items, good furniture would already be taken, unless it was too large or otherwise complicated to obtain.

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Logan carried on after Thiago, chattering away happily. Though the short Onuban seemed content on ignoring him, the Guppy would not be swayed. He poked his nose into ever crevice and cranny he could reach that the Outrigger searched, talking nonstop about how dark this cupboard was or how smelly that pantry was and peppered his observations with stories and facts about his brother and sister. Milos grinned as he listened to the chatter of his speckled son, thinking how very much like his beloved mate, Eliza, he sounded and wondered if that was simply a symptom of puphood or if he would carry that trait along with him into adulthood.

Milos nodded as Thiago's response filtered into his ivory-crested ears. Though it would have been easier for the Quartermaster to know what was worth bringing to the man's attention and what wasn't if there was something more specific he was searching for, the wolfdog understood and respected Thiago's willingness to remain broad in his search. "Reckon that's fair enough," he replied cheerily, continuing to sift through debris until the Outrigger's voice prompted another look in his direction.

He held up a single item — a worn and nibbled piece of leather that was folded over and had thin slots inside (what would have been a wallet in the time of man) — and pulled a dissatisfied face that wrinkled his brows and curled one corner of his lips. "This's 'bout it," he said, tossing it towards Thiago. "En't much else I can find in here either." he nodded and gestured for the Outrigger and his son to follow. "Let's check out another buildin'."

Milos suggested another settlement across from the one that they had just searched which appeared considerably more intact and, the wolfdog hoped, would prove to be more promising. Slipping inside, Logan barrelled after his father and began to nose through the items at his level while the Quartermaster proceeded to search through drawers and closets.

[WC — 337]

Word Count → 364 :: Out of Character text

“Thanks, by the way, for helping. I mean, I get the whole pack thing, kinda. But you don't know mean, so yeah,” it was awkward to be spoken now, but he also felt the need to say the words, so that both Milos and his stalker-ish thing that he called a son knew too that he was indeed grateful for their aid in this search, even if there hadn't thus far been anything found to show for it, the simple act of being willing to offer aid to him when most of his life, no one would, meant a lot.

Exiting the building, he headed out, eyeing the child with some caution and trying to create some space from the youth, his discomfort apparent upon his face. Rather than letting the over friendly child get to him, he concentrated on another settlement, heading over there with his help and ducking into the building behind the black pelted male, dodging the pup as he barreled on in and began to search with enthusiasm.

Much like the previous on, on the surface there didn't appear to be much. Anything that was obvious would have been taken long ago; these days to find something you had to get creative with searching. With that in mind, he headed towards the wall there some of the planks adorning it seemed loose. Plucking them free, he put them carefully on the floor, aware of the pup being around, before poking his head in the wall.

And found nothing.

Sighing he pulled back, listening careful to the floorboards underneath his feet for a change in sound as he made his way over to the debris of fallen walls, collapsed ceilings and the like, rummaging around in there, hand touching something metal. Pulling it free, he found what appeared to be a child's toy, resembling a horse, faded paint flecked off, dents here and there, but mostly in shape.

Rising, he waved it over to Milos.

“Found something the kid may want,” he had no idea if it was child-safe exactly, but children liked toys, right? He couldn't see much value in it, outside of giving it to a child.

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