The hybrid boy was completely and utterly clueless about the strife going on between packs in the west. War wasn’t a concept he’d ever known or even considered, and he had been so holed up within Anathema within recent weeks that he had no idea what any of the other packs in the region could have possibly been up to of late. Perhaps if he did have a clue, he would be a little more tactful in popping up around strangers both in and outside of his pack.
Or maybe not. It was too much fun.
He definitely got a reaction out of this guy, though it wasn’t quite what he’d expected. A jump, a start, a look of shocked confusion maybe, but this guy was stiff and defensive, backing away with slow steps. It was a little disappointing, really. So hey, this stranger didn’t want to play. Alright then, Jackson could get behind that. Not to say that he wasn’t a little disappointed. The wolfish stranger offered a terse, demanding question to him in reply. Right to the point now, wasn’t he? Jackson’s grin faltered slightly, but it was still there. He wasn’t going to let this guy bring him down, oh no.
He lowered himself down so that he was sitting on the edge of the roof, legs swinging freely back and forth. He laid the wooden staff across his lap, tapping against it idly as he stared down at the stranger. Now that he was really looking at him he could see that he was injured, a nice little bandage wrapped up on his arm. Well, well, trouble in paradise? That probably explained the defensiveness right there. The Acidic’s curiosity seemed to grow exponentially. Why, I’m Jackson, he finally returned. Good to meet ya, Mr. Serious-face. Oh, look. The grin was back in full force.