07-28-2009, 11:25 PM
[html]
http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... wicked.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:185px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:tahoma; font-size:11px; color:#C2A52C; line-height:16px">Naww, he's cute! Maz (my former character, Anselm's daughter) would've loved him judging by his profile 
You know what would be kind of cool if this winds up being really short (as it seems like it might, since Anselm won't attack for no reason and Warren seems pretty peaceful)? A follow up thread set somewhere in neutral territory, maybe Halifax. o: It'd be interesting seeing their awkward interaction once Anselm doesn't feel like he's in charge of everything XD If you're down let me know, though for IC purposes it would need to be forward dated (or started) in at least a week. x_x
------Anselm was as much a product of his environment as his genes; some of the factors that influenced his display now were more predictable than others. Most obvious was the deep-rooted instinct that lived in them all: the very instinct that allowed Warren's ears to quickly fall back in a placating display that may have just saved the rocks beneath their feet from being stained with blood that very day. Highly territorial by nature, the wolfish hybrid viewed the claimed soil as his own House and the borders as his Back Yard. If anyone who didn't belong was found inside, Castle Laws reigned supreme. Out back, he still wasn't thrilled about the prospect of strangers lurking about, but there was always the chance they were simply passing through. He could come out and look down the smart end of a shotgun barrel at them, but he would give them a chance to run or explain before pulling the trigger. Why such an extreme reaction in either case? That was where experience and upbringing came into play--life had taught him early on that anybody invading your home was there for trouble. It was a lesson he could not forget.
------Regardless, even though it mightn't seem like it, Warren was actually fairly lucky. Devils and demons lived here who would attack on sight even deep within No Man's Land, much less at the clan's perimeter. The golden hybrid couldn't help but respect the other's honesty--at least he hadn't gone on to spew some foolish lie in a sorry attempt to cover his own ass. The grey wolf's prompt and steady answer also put Anselm's mind at ease. Those who had nothing to fear or to hide did not stutter or hesitate. "Fine," he barked, "you've had your look--now go." His voice was gruff, though the acid in his tone had been neutralised. His hackles fell to half-mast, no longer pointing out at all strange angles from his thick mane, though they remained somewhat elevated in a more generic dominant display that was complimented by his still arched tail. Physically he retreated just one step backward, further into his territory, as if to clarify his acceptance of the other's explanation and apology and his own willingness to let this matter fall to the dust. That didn't mean he had no intention of keeping a careful eye on the stranger, just to be sure that his words and display were not a form of deception; despite Anselm's generally inflated opinion of himself, he knew enough to realise that if he could con others and lull them into a false sense of security, nobody else was prevented from doing the same.
You know what would be kind of cool if this winds up being really short (as it seems like it might, since Anselm won't attack for no reason and Warren seems pretty peaceful)? A follow up thread set somewhere in neutral territory, maybe Halifax. o: It'd be interesting seeing their awkward interaction once Anselm doesn't feel like he's in charge of everything XD If you're down let me know, though for IC purposes it would need to be forward dated (or started) in at least a week. x_x------Anselm was as much a product of his environment as his genes; some of the factors that influenced his display now were more predictable than others. Most obvious was the deep-rooted instinct that lived in them all: the very instinct that allowed Warren's ears to quickly fall back in a placating display that may have just saved the rocks beneath their feet from being stained with blood that very day. Highly territorial by nature, the wolfish hybrid viewed the claimed soil as his own House and the borders as his Back Yard. If anyone who didn't belong was found inside, Castle Laws reigned supreme. Out back, he still wasn't thrilled about the prospect of strangers lurking about, but there was always the chance they were simply passing through. He could come out and look down the smart end of a shotgun barrel at them, but he would give them a chance to run or explain before pulling the trigger. Why such an extreme reaction in either case? That was where experience and upbringing came into play--life had taught him early on that anybody invading your home was there for trouble. It was a lesson he could not forget.
------Regardless, even though it mightn't seem like it, Warren was actually fairly lucky. Devils and demons lived here who would attack on sight even deep within No Man's Land, much less at the clan's perimeter. The golden hybrid couldn't help but respect the other's honesty--at least he hadn't gone on to spew some foolish lie in a sorry attempt to cover his own ass. The grey wolf's prompt and steady answer also put Anselm's mind at ease. Those who had nothing to fear or to hide did not stutter or hesitate. "Fine," he barked, "you've had your look--now go." His voice was gruff, though the acid in his tone had been neutralised. His hackles fell to half-mast, no longer pointing out at all strange angles from his thick mane, though they remained somewhat elevated in a more generic dominant display that was complimented by his still arched tail. Physically he retreated just one step backward, further into his territory, as if to clarify his acceptance of the other's explanation and apology and his own willingness to let this matter fall to the dust. That didn't mean he had no intention of keeping a careful eye on the stranger, just to be sure that his words and display were not a form of deception; despite Anselm's generally inflated opinion of himself, he knew enough to realise that if he could con others and lull them into a false sense of security, nobody else was prevented from doing the same.