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dollar signs on every sin.
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[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bottom.png); background-color:#5A5C5A"> » powerplay to keep it moving, beat me on aim if it should be changed or something!
One ear twitched at Jantus' designation of "half wolf," and for a few moments the gears in his brain ground against one another as he tried to figure out how to process such a statement. Given that he could easily pass for a full-blooded wolf in size and build and others had simply called him a coyote before, he supposed that better than what he usually got--saying "a three-quarter wolf" would be awkward, anyway. He glanced back over his shoulder questioningly, somewhat confused that the other had opted to fall in line behind him. "That's what happens," he said simply of light travel. He paused in his steps a minute, giving the massive werewolf time to catch up. Although he did appreciate the sentiment behind the other's actions, he hardly viewed extended formalities as necessary on neutral ground.
"What's your name, anyway?" he wondered, before quickly tacking on his own: "Anselm; put 'er there." With that, he offered his clawed hand for a shake, figuring that such a thing would do wonders to diffuse any remaining tension between the two canines. Although it was largely a human gesture, he had found the subtleties no less powerful: something about voluntary physical contact, no matter how brief, was a way to communicate acceptance on some base level. A good firm shake could tell much of a man's character, too--the timid held on just meekly and the overbearing misconstrued it as some bastardised form of "mercy." Here it was simply a friendly thing, done so that each may move forward with calmed nerves and steadied minds.
Before much longer they'd reached the garage, and only now did he collect the key from the chain around his neck and unlock the door. He shoved it open and stepped inside, making his way over to a shelf and greedily grabbing at a bottle of vodka. With a grimace he threw his head back and took down a gulp; just as quickly he threw a splash on his wound. Tearing off a strip of cloth from an old towel, he poured some more onto that and used it to bandage his arm. "Help yourself to whatever," he said with a wince, sinking into his usual spot on the couch and glancing lazily around. A frown--on second thought, it'd be more appropriate for him to take the bean bag chair, lest it burst at the seams. Stepping over the table he plopped down in it, and then began to scrape together some of the weed pile in the middle of the table into a bowl.
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