09-18-2008, 05:00 PM
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Slowly but surely, Jefferson redevelops actual social skills...
wc344 -- 'Pain' and 'injury' were long past a creature like Jefferson; it was not that he was or had been fighting death, it was that he had been continuously moving and trying to live so that death could not catch him. For months, he had walked on waned muscles and seen with a lone eye, but never had his jowls refused to eat or breathe in his lasting trial of what he didn't consider pain and injury. The male had only felt the pain of loneliness, of clouded memories; his bad leg stung and tore at his skills of endurance each time he stepped down on it, but never had he considered holding the leg up and hobbling like someone in their right mind would have tried. Jefferson refused to be a hobbler. The hybrid knew what pain was, and the leg and eye were nothing compared to what the past had thrown. He was injured. He could admit that. It did hurt, and he could admit that as well. Much more than that was out of the question. "Yeah, well, sorry to say that your Deuce friend isn't fond of me," he shrugged, rolling his eye. "I've been walking like this for months, and this is nothing. Once I get some food in my stomach, it'll be easier. I know what dangers are." His vision lowered a moment. Jefferson had experienced plenty of 'exploding' dangers in his lifetime, but one of his expectations in the pack was that they would come a little less often, or so he hoped. He'd never been one for change. The matriarch seemed to question herself then, calling back a rather alerted glance from Jefferson when her tone and expression grew dismal. The hybrid had grown accustomed to her peppy, mother-like attitude; seeing her so suddenly grim put a lump in his throat and a rather perplexed look on his face. Hell, he hadn't comforted anyone in years. The wolf's ears twitched unintentionally and he straightened his back. "Uhh," he stuttered, clearly unsure of what to respond. "...What happened?" |