08-03-2011, 08:39 PM
[html]
Yes please! <3 And Gotham in my head is this mix of Gil Grissom and some teenage basement dweller. XD[/html]
It was uncommon for Gotham to wander far from his home. He had set up the room in a way he quite liked, filled with books and more books and a few insects kept in large glass containers. When he did go hunting, he stuck to his lupus form and kept to the south of the pack borders. Few people came so far down, and when they did he avoided them. Months had passed since he had tasted alcohol, and he was better for it. Now he could remember things, not simply the holes in his memory that so often arose when he drank.
The afternoon found Gotham alone, as he often was these days. His Optime form was massive, broad-shouldered and thickly built, but his previous definition had softened. This did not bother him—it felt good to be average again, to put on weight that had been lost when he substituted food for fire-water. Dark fingers turned through the pages of a large book, filled with pictures of butterflies and moths. These bugs were his favorite, moths in particular. Today, though, there were simply common butterflies.
His mother’s voice startled him, causing the dark wolf to drop the book. Bending over to pick it up, he sighed and began seeking her out. Worry and apprehension twisted his face, turning his blue eyes dark. “I’m over here,” he called back, taking care to brush the grass out of his book (but not fix his tousled hair); priorities, after all.