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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised. |
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After the pack meeting, Trent had gone and felt sorry for Strelein. He had actually never heard of alcohol or being drunk, and so it was a bit of a surprise to him that this was what had apparently caught Strelein unawares. Yikes, hopefully it wasn't contageous, or anything. Well, they said that he had done it to himself, so it had to be not-contageous, then, right? Trent just hoped so.
Bringing a slab of meat he'd actually just taken from the kitchen rather than worked for at all himself, Trent had gone and knocked every door on the second floor of the hotel building. Because, even though he'd seen him about, he had no idea which room was Strelein's. Outside, rain pattered down, but Trent couldn't see it; it was dark out, the end of the evening. Although he hadn't had any luck so far, at least neither had there been any angry people chucking chairs at him for interupting their peace, either.
The new pair of worn jeans, the right knee broken, hung loosely around Trent's waist as he finally walked up to the right door in his optime form. The jeans were truthfully far too big for him. But it was better than nothing. He had Stuff now! Trent had always been envious of other peoples' stuff, ever since he'd first found out about this whole new alluring world that the wolves in these lands lived in. He wanted jeans. He wanted jewellery. He wanted other cool stuff. Okay, so jeans was all he had now, but it was better than the big nothing it'd been before. Oh, right, and Pony, of course. For whatever that piece of meat counted, anyway...
Reaching the right door - although unsure if it were, but, well, he'd tried pretty much every other door, so he just hoped it was - Trent knocked weakly on it. The slab of meat - he didn't even know what it was, thought it was a piece of rabbit breast or whatever, but he'd just grabbed it to have, err, something - was carried in his right hand, and he probably looked pretty ridiculous holding a piece of meat like that. But hey, at least he didn't show up on someone's doorstep empty-handed.