He took some time to process her intended message, but then—“Oh, no... I wanted it at the time,” he said. “It would be simpler if the situation was so clear cut. Let's just say it was totally worth it if I don't get caught, but if I do, things might get dicey.” His words came slow and deliberate, as he finally seemed to register her comprehension improved with careful annunciation and more moderately paced speech. Still, that urban, punkish slang persisted. Thank the Stars for context clues!
And then she rose abruptly and he trailed after her with a shrug. He wasn't particularly keen on the dilapidated building anyway; its charred beams supported the roof for now, but he wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing collapsed in on itself at any given moment. They padded back into the deserted streets. The teen paused to shake briskly, a futile exercise meant to expel the strange scent of Flame and Ash from his coat and nasal passageways; but it persevered, even as they stepped out into the fresh air. The key rattled on its chain about his neck like dog tags on a collar, and then the eerie noiselessness of the dead city resumed.
His charcoal ears lifted at her prompting; the teen nodded and took the lead, guiding them in the direction of his suburban hacienda. He wasn't sure if she would recognise or appreciate the dubious nature of his establishment, but she held no authority over him, so he could not truly be pressed to care. And this way, they would have a means to find one another in the future. Even if the toasted male bounced all over the place in Crimson Dreams and the neutral lands in between, his residence in Halifax stayed constant. His claim to this land was abundantly clear; his scent marks grew in frequency and potency as they drew closer.
“This is it,” he announced, turning down the driveway to his garage. “Got some couches and stuff inside... but hey, check out this, first!” he said, moving past the maintained structure into the back yard. He crossed an imaginary, meaningless line onto the adjacent property. This too was his, although once upon a time, the parcels were owned by two separate households. Such distinctions were lost on the wolf—for all intents and purposes, Anselm had merged it into one the day he erected the greenhouse behind the second building.
As they neared the grow house, soft, iridescent green lights flashed from within. The boy used his muzzle to push through the plastic flaps and led her inside. Here, the source of the lights became more obvious—snails. His tail swung as he pointed out a freshly laid clutch of eggs to her with his snout; they glowed continuously, unlike the adults which only ignited and fizzled out on occasion. “Pretty cool, huh?” he murmured, tail swinging steadily like a metronome.
Likewise x_x Also, guess what showed up today? The letter I sent you bounced back... I double checked the address and I had it exactly as written, so I have no idea. But at least you got paypal set up, and at least I don't have to wonder what happened to it
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