no one's gloomy or complaining
#1
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Harlowe! 300+ words.


As of late, Princess was completely glowing. Haven's romantic evening proposal on the beach had been magnificent, and she could hardly contain her excitement still. Everything about it had been perfect, and she had not wanted to leave the house in the days after it. Now that some time had passed, though, the Chance girl had ventured into the city with the intention of finding new dresses, as most that she had gathered recently had been damaged during the strange white secui's attack on her at the borders. Princess shuddered at the memory, still not comfortable with the happenings of that day. She was not sorry that Haven had killed the stranger—not in the least bit was she sorry—but it had been a frightening ordeal. Though she did not want to believe it, she knew what the stranger's intent had been with her. If Haven had not heard her screaming... She did not want to think of that.

The library drew her attention, though, despite her original intentions of finding new dresses. Glancing down at the simply silky, white halter dress she wore, she decided it was appropriate attire if she were to run into anyone inside, and she hastened up the stone steps, pushing open the heavy door excitedly. Recently, she had been trying to read more, but the last time she had picked up a book had been the day Haven asked her to be his mate. Maybe if she had more interesting things to read, though, she would do so more frequently. The Chance woman did not know where to start among the many shelves, so she moved the one nearest the door, browsing the section with mild interest before moving on, drifting through the shelves half-heartedly. Truthfully, she did not know what it was that she was looking for, but she would find something eventually, she was sure.

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#2
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Word Count :: 309


Harlowe had been spending a lot of time away from home lately. He had spent most of the month prior hanging about Dahlia de Mai's borders, skulking about and being a creeper as he was searching for Larkspur. That search was over now, though, and the tawny-furred man knew where to find his uncle if he wanted to see him. Their last meeting still echoed in the youth's mind, and he wanted to know more. Family was the precise reason he was in the library on this very day—Larkspur was not really his uncle. He knew this, but he did not know the word for their true blood relationship. He was sure one existed—people had made up words for everything. They would know what to call Larkspur.


Harlowe had no idea how to use a card catologue; he had no idea where to start looking for information on geneaology and family relationships, so here he was in the Halifax library, a creamy-furred and skinny youth creeping along in between the aisles, his jade-colored eyes wide as he read the titles of the different boosk, peering about to try and find something useful. The youth had been wandering for several minutes when a noise alerted him to the presence of someone else—a feminine scent wafted throught the library, gently pushed through the dead library air by wind blown through the cracks in the building.


The creamy-furred youth stuck his head around one of the shelves, watching as a dark brown woman meandered amonst the shelves. She didn't look or smell familiar, and Harlowe would have much preferred being left alone—but he had not been careful with the noise, she probably knew he was here. His cocoa-dipped ears folded back against his skull, and he watched her with striking green eyes, waiting to be noticed, or not.

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#3
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300+ words.


The books on the shelves were all coated with a thick layer of dust, the air in the library having grown stale over the years from not being used by humans. It seemed likely to Princess that some luperci would have frequented it, but nothing along the lines of how often it had probably been used in the old times of humans. Princess sniffed in distaste, far from pleased with how unclean things were on most of the shelves. She lifted a book from the shelf, studying it with feigned interest, then replaced it again before picking up the first on another shelf. "A is for Alibi," she mused to no one but herself, reading the title aloud. She glanced over the back cover, then tucked it under her arm. It did not seem like it would be terrible, and it was something she had not read before in a genre she did not frequent. Generally, she found herself engrossed in romance novels. This one was one of mystery!

Ears swivelled forward at the sound of another's presence in the library. Princess had thought herself alone, but apparently not. After her encounter with Minos, she was not pleased with the idea of running into anyone, but she knew that was an illogical worry. After all, she had met plenty that did not attack her and try to do unspeakable things with her. The young woman moved to the source of the sound, catching sight of the cream and chocolate male. She did not recognize his pack by his scent, so that narrowed his origins down some. "Hi there. I'm Princess Chance, from Cour des Miracles. Who are you?" she asked, deciding that they could be friends now. It was obvious that they shared an interest in reading, and one could always use new friends. She'd come to the realization she did not have many close ones at all.

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#4
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Word Count :: lawl failshort :|


His jade-colored eyes sought the pale-brown form of the other woman as she neared him, watching her with a rather blank and uninterested face. He wanted to go back to reading his book, but to fail to greet her would have been rude, and Mother would not have wanted him to have poor manners.


So she spoke, and introduced herself as one from Cour des Miracles. The sandy-furred canine was drawing a blank where that was concerned. He didn't know much about any of the other packs. His mother hadn't spoken a lot about Inferni, but she had said that there was nothing wrong with coyotes, and he held no prejudice for that pack as of yet. Crimson Dreams held his father, and Dahlia de Mai held his fake-uncle and his distant cousin. They were alright, but he had only met a few different members of each pack. He had never been to Cour des Miracles or AniWaya, and he knew nothing about them.


“Harlowe D'Angelo,” he said. “Phoenix Valley,” he added as an afterthought. Where he was from had very little to do with what he was or what he would become; his family and the blood than ran in his veins was decades older than Phoenix Valley. “You don't look like the reading type,” he stated, eyes roving over her dress and her pretty hair. There was clear muliebrity in this woman; her features were delicate and her form was slight, accentuated by the womanly clothing she wore.

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#5
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No worries on length, you silly mongoose. ♥ Weird post, blame the teeth and he percs and the nausea and the inability to sleep? xD; 300+ words.


For a moment, princess considered his name, unsure of whether or not it seemed familiar to her. The first name certainly was not—she had never heard of anyone named Harlowe—but she could not say the same for his surname. She'd heard it before, but she could not remember the context or who it had belonged to. She supposed it was no matter, though. It should not affect her meeting with Harlowe, wherever she had heard the name before. The pack was also pretty much unknown to her. She knew things of AniWaya from having visited, and Inferni from having attempted to visit (multiple times). Cour des Miracles, Crimson Dreams, and Dahlia de Mai she knew things about. She'd lived in all of them. Phoenix Valley, though, she did not know much of. That was where Haven's half-siblings lived, wasn't it? She thought so.

Princess had been about to express some form of pleasantry over meeting him—the normal thing to do, she had been taught. However, his next statement caught her off guard and Princess found herself looking down at herself with mild confusion. Golden eyes lifted again, searching his face for some type of explanation. "What do you mean by that?" she asked. Obviously, she did enjoy reading. There was no other explanation for her to be in the library and looking at books, and she was not particularly a fan of the tone he took. Princess was not good at reading tones, and she had a tendency to find something argumentative in anything said that she did not understand or agree with, as she did now. It really had nothing to do with the tone actually used, but the way she perceived it. Since she did not know what he meant by that, she took a defensive tone, deciding that he must not have meant it in a good way because she did not know how else to take it.

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#6
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failshort ;;


The tawny-furred wolf peered over the pages of his book at the woman. He knew nothing about her, but there was something in her appearance which had suggested to him that she did not read often, and so he had said such a thing. Now that the youth spoke freely to both family and strangers rather than exclusively to family, he found himself occasionally abusive of his powers of speech. Thoughts that ought to have remained in his mind were voiced in excitement or simple miscalculation, such as the time when he had asked the wrong question of Larkspur when attempting to discern more about Khalif. “You don't look like you read very often,” he said, rolling his bony and narrow shoulders in a shrug. “Mother says not a lot of canines do it,” he added, as if this strengthened his explanation—Harlowe simply didn't see what was wrong or faulty with his statement. He might have been intelligent but he was incredibly awkward where it came to relating to other canines, and his interactions were strange and off-putting at best. His olive-colored eyes gazed at her blandly, reflecting nothing—there was nothing particular showing in the chocolate-tipped man's face; the outright annoyance at her initial appearance had faded. He now failed to recognize her own annoyance toward him for having made the statement about her reading, of course—he did not understand why it was offensive to imply such a thing.

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#7
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♥ Also short. >_>


Princess hugged the sole book that she had found thus far to her chest, as if she thought he might take it from her because of his assumption. She had been intending to find more, of course, and she did not even know if she would like this book. It was different from most of the books that she read, but she was willing to give it a try. It would be good for her to expand her book collection, sooner or later. She doubted that Haven would be bothered if she brought back a large number of books to stash around the house, though she didn't know if he read.

"A pretty girl can't read?" she asked, her tone still defensive. "Besides, I learned when I was young." Truthfully, she did not know who it was that had really taught her. She'd left Tokyo very young, and then it had been just her and her brother. It was a skill she had picked up somewhere, but where or from whom was obviously not terribly important.

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#8
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failsie is faiiiiil D;


The chocolate-tipped canine wasn't one for violence, of course—he wouldn't try something as silly as try and hurt this woman for no reason, but it made him angry that she thought he was trying to say something bad about her. A sour look crossed his tawny-furred face, and he closed the book in annoyance, leaning forward over the desk. “I didn't say that,” he said, rolling his eyes at her. “Besides yourself, who says you're even pretty?” the youth said, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't find her particularly attractive—then again, Harlowe hadn't shown much signs of sexuality thus far, perhaps because he was too young, or perhaps because nothing had struck his fancy just yet. He hadn't known a purely white wolf other than his mother, and so he could not possibly know that was his particular thing. There was nothing inherently wrong or ugly about this woman, true—Harlowe simply did not find her stunningly attractive.

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#9
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WotD: Yen.


Obviously there had been a misunderstanding here, but Princess was too wrapped up in being offended to realize this. She had been good, she had been behaving. She had been watching herself for ages now, being very careful to avoid offending anyone. Sometimes, though, it was hard not to slip back into her stubborn and admittedly prissy ways. She would always have those traits, even if she worked to ignore them. The young Chance woman would always be the way she was, it was just a matter of curbing her tongue every once in a while.

Besides herself? Well, everyone did—Princess Chance had always been, and would always be, very pretty. Many had told her as such, and perhaps it was because they could easily sense that she had a yen for compliments, desiring them more than water and food, practically. "A lot of people think I'm pretty," she said, the tone simple, as if to make him realize what a stupid question that was. "Don't you think I'm pretty?" She couldn't imagine why he wouldn't, because she was pretty. The end.

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#10
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Harlowe had no idea what a pretty girl was, really—girls were just different from boys, and he found the ones that weren't his sisters to be strange creatures. Even this one was strange—here she was in a library, holding books to her chest, and yet she seemed concerned with his opinion. She seemed to desperately need his validation and reassurance that she was pretty; it was a strange sort of thing, Harlowe thought. Even so, there was something wonderful in having this power over her. This was something the creamy-furred youth had never possessed before, and it struck him, inflating his chest and sending a bolt of adrenaline through his body.


The girl said lots of others thought she was pretty—and then there was the pleading question that only served to increase this wonderful feeling in the D'Angelo boy. What was this, holding something over another? The tawny youth leaned forward, sizing her up with his calculating jade eyes. They roved over her slowly and with scrutiny—it didn't matter if he didn't know what pretty was really supposed to be. He could tell her yes and give her merry validation and look like a fool, or he could relish this power over her a little longer; naturally, he close the latter. Bony shoulders rolled upwards in a slow shrug, and his suddenly disinterested eyes flicked back to her face. “I don't know,” he responded. “Have you ever considered others tell you you're pretty because it's what you want to hear?” the youth asked, tilting his head to the side. There was something akin to a smirk on his face, malice in hoping this would sink into her skull—if she really was the reading type, maybe it would stick with her.

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#11
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Poor Princess. :<


The young Chance woman stood silently as he studied her, the short fur at the back of her neck prickling as he studied her bit by bit. He was making her feel uncomfortable, looking at her so intently, but she was determined to wait until he told her she was pretty, because she was. Then, she would be free to go home and read her new book, although she had little interest in reading now. The day had begun as a fun adventure to find new books, but now she was worried about how she looked and what others thought of her. It was rare for her to feel self-concious, but she certainly was now.

"No," she said slowly, shaking her head. No, Harlowe was wrong, so very wrong. "No, they tell me because it's true. It is." Princess felt silly, standing there and arguing with a mere child, but she did not want to leave now. Princess did not want to leave until he finally agreed with her, or until she was so upset that she needed to leave of her own accord.

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#12
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derpa herp derp


His mother was very, very pretty. Harlowe had always thought she was the most beautiful and kindly woman in the world. It didn't matter much anymore, though, since she was gone—the tawny-furred youth had yet to really absorb that fact into his mind, let alone begin to digest it. Princess didn't look anything like his mother, and since Naniko was the basis of his scale of pretty... well. Again he rolled his shoulders in a shrug, trying to look disinterested in the conversation now. He had passed his vague judgment, neither validating her nor shutting her down, leaving her in some haunting limbo, hopefully. Maybe it would bother her for months that he hadn't begun salivating over her; Harlowe couldn't tell.


She spoke again, informing him that the others told her these things because they were true statements; at this, the creamy-furred youth couldn't help but scoff. His jade eyes turned back to her, now a clear smirk on his face. He was spiraling out of control of himself; though he wanted to look calm and collected, the desire to hurt was too strong, and he felt its pull overwhelm the desire to remain calm. “I think my sisters are much prettier than you,” he informed her shortly. His sisters weren't even that pretty, and they were still prettier than Princess, since they looked kind of like his mother.

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#13
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Slow Megg is slow. You can post again or close up? <3


Princess was a needy individual, she knew. She needed praise and to know that others thought well of her. The young woman was insecure sometimes, and this was one of those times. Harlowe had drawn that emotion out in her. She did not understand how, but he had done it somehow. When she went home, she was sure that Haven would fix it and make everything better for her, but her mind was not on that right now. She was upset by Harlowe's indifference, and then by his denial of the beauty that she knew she posessed.

Clutching the book tighter, Princess decided that enough was enough. She was leaving now. Lifting her chin and averting her gaze, Princess said to him, "It was a real joy talking to you." Of course, it really was not, but she was upset and did not want to hear anything else he might have to say to her. Princess had wanted to find many books to bring back with her, but she had only found the one, and she did not care to look for more at the moment. She held the book to her chest, leaving with her head held high. She did not know what part she played in the misunderstanding that had just occurred, and frankly, she did not care. In her mind, she was not at fault.

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