[M] Stubborn

Noss · 11-25-2010, 01:54 AM

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Strel's laughter was disturbingly hollow to the warrior as he described his predicament. Noss could not, though his life, recollect a time when he had ever truly wanted to never see his family again. But then, he supposed, that was values. Then again, values could also be blamed for me being out here in the first place. "Constable? What was--?" Mid-sentence, Strel tugged hard on the bandage, and it surprised Noss. It did not hurt so much as suddenly sting, and he gave an impertinant glare to the other. Strel's expression and prescence had once again shifted, and for once, Noss swallowed his words as his curiosity overcame all else.

Listening intently, Noss was further puzzled by these new customs that he had barely known as just, or even close. Hypocrisy--stealing another's items for oneself under the guise of law--had always made Noss want to bite the hand that was the iron fist. Strel sat down before him, and Noss listened ever more. "We--" he started, but was cut off by a sudden thought: the Crescent Moon Pack and Moon Tribe were just as bound by tradition as the pack that Strel had come from. His face became that of furrowed brows as he searched for a way to explain such indignity, but... When it came down to it, breaking the laws and customs in their own pack would result in any such treatment as isolation or punishment as well. But death... Death for a penalty was harsh unless the very crime was on an epic scale. But Strel didn't want him to think the explanation dramatic when that was all he could see? Noss was a warrior; he'd seen blood and battles and the pains of sorrow worse than any mortal wound. An injury to an intangable part of oneself--emotional, mental, soul-scarring--was cruel. He himself would look down on those who thought themselves better than they were. He would sneer and cajole his enemies for cowardice and name them inferior in battle. But lesser wolves? Never. The moon may have allowed some to drift from their paths, but that did not mean that it forsook them.

As quickly as the mood had dropped, it escalated again like the tides of the sea that Noss had so recently seen. The redheaded wolf was so strange, but that strange-ness kept Noss's attention rapt, even as his mind willed him that he was on a mission. "Haha, save your boons for someone who knows what to do with them. That or keep a tally and we'll find a way to put all to use at once." Noss's ears switched fully forward as such an easy banter escaped from the cynical wolf's mouth. Noss was blind to many things, but some were just within his radius of sight. He mirrored Strel's smirk and leaned forward on his knees, now with a more curious air. I can't be serious... He was ashamed of his candid openess with this stranger. Beyond social standing, such behavior as he was showing was just...un-Noss-ish. He did not share personal information with strangers, he did not flirt with strangers, he did not get distracted from missions, and he did not lose battles to pups.

... There had been a lot of breaking of the 'nots' since he had arrived in the far north.

"And what makes you so sure I'll still be around to grant what I owe you?" He said it with a light tone and that smirk still plastered on his face, although he was completely serious in his promise of oweing Strel. And then he realized what he had truly just done, and smacked himself right on the forehead. 'Still be around' is right... I just promised the man a favor...! And it was only then, after years and years of it, did Noss admit that he had to learn when to shut up...to himself. Well... How big could the boon be? He gave me some information and bandaged my leg... Hopefully he won't ask for an arm in exchange... Nothing like a little guesome humor to sober oneself up.

Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.

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