changing all the time, playing with your mind
#5
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WC: 446


The tall dog watched impassively as the werewolf rose fluidly onto her hind legs, collecting the garments she had stowed nearby. He had yet to find any clothes that interested him enough to try on - he firmly believed that the beauty in his appearance would shine the greatest on its own, stark and naked. Let others stare. He enjoyed the attention. It therefore amused him to see his followers develop attachments to raiments such as Haven's coat or even his Ruri's sweater. Unless the inclement weather posed a threat, there was no reason powerful enough to validate concealing the raw attractiveness of his own body. Or so his thoughts ran.


Jacquez noted the stiff way she carried her forearm, and quirked his lips into a knowing smile. "Indeed, wild animals can be dangerous... You must be more careful, ma jolie fille. I lost my arm to a wild animal, you know. A mighty bear ambushed me, frothing and rabid. I was caught unawares, and threw my arms up to protect myself - hhrrah!" He snarled for effect, teeth flashing in the moonlight as he motioned an attack with his long claws. Would it impress her, the shy flower? "One swipe sent my arm flying, a gruesome and merciless injury. I was forced to flee for my life, knowing that the mad bear's bite could give me the madness as well. I still regret that I did not avenge my loss, though. Always be on your guard when you wander by yourself, especially in the quiet of the night." He concluded with an appraising smile, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. He loved his stories. Of course they were completely false - he told a different "arm" tale to everyone he met. Even he didn't know which one was true anymore.


A timid, probing question was voiced, and Jac frowned comically, folded ears flopping forward. "I do not appear at my full radiance? How cruel, mademoiselle! I assure you, I have been sleeping as much as ever. That is to say, not much. I do not require the sustenance of dreams - merely the ambient warmth of the sun is enough to power me for days..." He flourished dramatically, finding himself quite close to her. The werewolf's clear blue eyes shone brightly in the nighttime gloom, framed by the dark waves of her mane. His drink-addled memory could recall a blurry image of her on the beach, with the rest of the pack, at the bonfire... She had been pretty then, too. Her name started with an "ahh" sound... Alma... Antoinette... Ayaka... Amanda... He tried not to crinkle his muzzle with the effort. Alcoholics had poor memory.

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