08-25-2009, 09:24 PM
[html]
http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... -arrow.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-top:290px; background-position:top center; background-color:#080706; text-align:justify; font-family:tahoma; font-size:11px; color:#E8E7E5; line-height:16px">
@$%&Anselm was typically opposed to the idea of company while he was intoxicated in any capacity, although slowly this aversion (rooted in paranoia) was melting away out of necessity: it was impossible to avoid others. Wolves' noses were sensitive and smoke triggered intense, immediate reactions in all of them out of instinct. If you slept through burning wood and debris, you'd be consumed by fire yourself. Gradually the male was settling into an equilibrium of sorts--he simply refused to touch most drugs that weren't as warm and affectionate as Alcohol or as sweet and innocent as Mary Jane. Furthermore, after the drug-fuelled "incident" that played a greater role in his disappearance than he liked to admit, he refused to venture near Inferni while functioning at reduced capacity. It was good to separate work from play.
@$%&Needless to say, he did not catch Leroy's scent--it was overpowered by the smoke. A quick rap on the door brought his blood-red gaze to a foggy mirror of his own... though this fellow was clearly not related, for the obvious dog heritage aside, the hue wasn't as bold or dark as the de le Poers (or even the Holocausts). Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that this fellow was from Cour des Miracles, a pack whom Anselm associated with acceptance and liberty--two very good things, in his opinion. Thus, he was not offended when the stranger entered his bubble of reality. If anything, he was very pleased by the polite entrance, and he nodded and used a foot to drag over a bean bag so it was situated a metre and a half or so in front of him, waving his hand towards it in invitation of a seat. At his best, Anselm wasn't sure that seated side by side on the sofa was appropriate.
@$%&"Hey man; to say the least. Grab a seat," he offered, as if his previous gesture might be unclear at all. "Want a hit?" he muttered, though not unkindly, as he reached for the bowl. It was a bit out of reach and he leaned to the side, straining to grasp it with his fingertips and pull it closer. In the process, the plank of wood across his lap fell off, clattering to the floor. His black-tipped ears fell back momentarily and he regarded it with mild surprise, though this sentiment quickly vanished. The drug made him foggy and more responsive to various stimuli, but his intellect was relatively intact. He wouldn't bother if this were not the case. He glanced back up at his black-and-white company, shrugging dismissively as he held out the bowl and the lighter.
Anselm can be a bad influence! o: XD
@$%&Anselm was typically opposed to the idea of company while he was intoxicated in any capacity, although slowly this aversion (rooted in paranoia) was melting away out of necessity: it was impossible to avoid others. Wolves' noses were sensitive and smoke triggered intense, immediate reactions in all of them out of instinct. If you slept through burning wood and debris, you'd be consumed by fire yourself. Gradually the male was settling into an equilibrium of sorts--he simply refused to touch most drugs that weren't as warm and affectionate as Alcohol or as sweet and innocent as Mary Jane. Furthermore, after the drug-fuelled "incident" that played a greater role in his disappearance than he liked to admit, he refused to venture near Inferni while functioning at reduced capacity. It was good to separate work from play.
@$%&Needless to say, he did not catch Leroy's scent--it was overpowered by the smoke. A quick rap on the door brought his blood-red gaze to a foggy mirror of his own... though this fellow was clearly not related, for the obvious dog heritage aside, the hue wasn't as bold or dark as the de le Poers (or even the Holocausts). Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that this fellow was from Cour des Miracles, a pack whom Anselm associated with acceptance and liberty--two very good things, in his opinion. Thus, he was not offended when the stranger entered his bubble of reality. If anything, he was very pleased by the polite entrance, and he nodded and used a foot to drag over a bean bag so it was situated a metre and a half or so in front of him, waving his hand towards it in invitation of a seat. At his best, Anselm wasn't sure that seated side by side on the sofa was appropriate.
@$%&"Hey man; to say the least. Grab a seat," he offered, as if his previous gesture might be unclear at all. "Want a hit?" he muttered, though not unkindly, as he reached for the bowl. It was a bit out of reach and he leaned to the side, straining to grasp it with his fingertips and pull it closer. In the process, the plank of wood across his lap fell off, clattering to the floor. His black-tipped ears fell back momentarily and he regarded it with mild surprise, though this sentiment quickly vanished. The drug made him foggy and more responsive to various stimuli, but his intellect was relatively intact. He wouldn't bother if this were not the case. He glanced back up at his black-and-white company, shrugging dismissively as he held out the bowl and the lighter.
Anselm can be a bad influence! o: XD