[M] drug sniffin' dog.

Barrett · 05-30-2010, 03:23 AM

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► private for lolita, set in halifax during early afternoon.

► this thread is rated mature for drug use & language, starting in the 1^st post.

They'd given him just enough to make finding the peninsula foolproof, and not a bit more. Take Route 2. Period. No more. That had been going great, he figured, right up until about the time Route 2 ended. What the fuck was he supposed to do then? Halcyon Mountain had been the answer, even though travelling with all his things would be a bitch. He figured he could get a good vantage point, if nothing else.

As it happened, his journey took him quite near the newest reaches of Inferni's empire--unfortunately, the sheer dementedness of the piked skulls sent him packing long before he could wonder further south and pick up his grandfather's scent (which he would surely recognise, when the time came). After that he got a little off-course, and he wound up coming down off of the mountain somewhere just where the scent and sounds of the forest began to clash with those of the sea.

From there the best he could figure to do was head west, and so he pressed on through the Dampwoods, only missing Phoenix Valley by a margin of two or three miles. When he hit water--what was actually the Shubenacadie Grand Lake--he followed it down the west side and was surprised to find it spat him out in a vast human settlement, or at least what was left of one. This far north in Halifax, Nature was taking back what was hers.

"Bad ass," he breathed, yellow eyes wide as he took in every detail of the scenery. "Fuck it, lost anyway," he resolved after little deliberation, propping his bike up against a wall and swinging his backpack down to the ground as well. He stretched lazily and scratched at an itch behind his head, only to grow distracted when a very familiar scent began to tickle his nose. It seemed the wind was in his favour.

He cast his belongings a wistful glance before continuing tentatively on foot. The brakes, the general movement of the bike, not to mention the jostling of his bag over every rock and bump did not make for a very stealthy entrance, although it certainly made travel more exciting. Only now was he aware of every critter scurrying about and the distant cry of a bird.

Through the green and concrete, he at last spotted the source of that tantalising smell--and now he wondered how he ever missed her. Her vibrant red locks stood out more than his mother's crimson accents ever would, if for contrast alone. "Erm, 'sup?" he tried, quickly waving an arm to get her attention just in case she hadn't spotted him yet. "Do you know how to get to Crimson Dreams from here?" Worth a shot.

Lolita Monroe · 06-07-2010, 03:49 PM

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Sorry for the delay, dahling! ♥ 300+ words. WotD: Fathom.

The flamboyant woman stood, leaning against the building with a joint held between her lips. Her hair was pushed over one shoulder, small tangles evident in it, as was common for the Monroe woman. She had never been able to fathom why some luperci were so focused on their appearances, because it was something she certainly did not care about. Lolita looked natural, feral, with the exception of the branded tattoo and the fiery hair. The tattoo was there because she'd been branded in death, of course—her hair was dyed for the pure enjoyment of seeing the contrast against her pale, cream-colored fur, as well as to bring out the bright, jade eyes in her face. With the exception of keeping her hair vibrantly dyed, however, Lolita did not care or bother with her appearance. It hardly mattered.

Miss Monroe glanced up, almost startled by the strange boy's presence. Lolita had not realized there was anyone there with her, but she gave him a quick scan. Something was very vaguely familiar about him, but she shrugged it off. There was nothing obvious that sprang to mind, so it did not seem worth dwelling on. "Crimson Dreams? Hmmm," she drawled, considering it. The only member of that pack she'd ever met had been Kansas, and he had told her a bit about it, as well as she had been able to pick up information in passing. She tried to think back to the day she had met Kansas, trying to remember which direction her had come from that day. She pointed southwest, a half-hearted gesture. "I thiiiink it's that way. I know there's another pack down there, too, but the one you're looking for is led by a woman," she said. "Why? Something important there?" she inquired, curiousity piqued. He was not from around here.

Barrett · 06-18-2010, 08:36 PM

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► WC: 405

► -rejoices that construction has at least temporarily ceased, allowing her to resume some kind of normalcy with regards to sleep schedule.-

Regular, meticulous grooming was a tedious undertaking that inevitably fell to the wayside in light of more interesting exploits. It was a task he begrudgingly performed only when absolutely necessary: essentially whenever things started getting poky or itchy. Only then would he pluck the briers and dried twigs from his coat or flush out the dust and mud that clung to his fur as if by magnetic attraction. As his natural colouring did a grand job of camouflaging such things, he could quite possibly get away with bathing less often than the average wolf. It wasn't as if his fur were matted or mangy--obviously some level of maintenance was expected from society, and he would oblige if only because those who completely neglected their appearance were shunned.

In any case, this woman seemed to operate on a similar wavelength while holding a certain level of intrigue; despite her initial start he found himself gravitating closer, although his entire posture and demeanour reeked of neutrality and non-aggression. His interest was, if anything, simple and almost child-like. His ears flickered forward intently as he awaited some kind of response, although he found his pale yellow gaze lifting to the white smoke that danced around her fingertips and away into the sky. He blinked when her hand moved, and the direction she suggested confirmed that he'd indeed been on the right track. "Okay, cool; thanks," he piped up in turn as his tail swung thrice in a show of gratitude.

He paused briefly to consider the question that followed; how much should he share? She was old enough that he felt he owed her an explanation (and she had just helped him out), but she was also just young enough (an illusion made stronger by what he considered an act of youthful rebellion--smoking) that he wanted to impress her. One hand lifted to brush some dark chestnut hair from his face and he tucked it behind his cap before offering a little shrug. "My mum's friend's there and I'm supposed to deliver a message," he replied nonchalantly. The words were undoubtedly truthful--he would just omit the fact the only actual message he had to deliver was 'Here I am! Mommy would be so worried if I hadn't found you!' Right... because that would make her take him seriously.

His arm swept across the dilapidated buildings and overgrown rubble. "How 'bout this place, then? Does it have a name?" he wondered, before adding: "'n how 'bout you? I'm Barrett."

Lolita Monroe · 06-30-2010, 01:54 AM

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This thread makes me giddy, and I have no concept of replying in order after coming off a like... month-long absence, anyway. xD 300+

The boy before her was young, though not much younger than herself, technically. Lolita had died when she was eleven months old, and forever she would stay that young. Of course, she would not tell anyone this. Most seemed to assume she was older, and therefore treated her as such. She assumed it was likely that they would take an adult seriously about being dead, rather than an eleven-month-old pup. It was hardly worth explaining the discrepency in her age and her time on earth, as well. Lolita just considered it easier to pretend, like everything else seemed to be in her strange and bizarre afterlife.

The creamy colored Dahlian lifted the joint off of her lips for a moment, though she shrugged in acceptance. She did not know anyone in Crimson Dreams other than Kansas, so there was hardly any point in questioning who it was that he was looking for. She certainly would not be able to help him in that respect. It also was none of her business, both the person that he sought and the message he was meant to deliver. "Would I know your mother? There's something... I guess you just remind me of someone," she mused. She doubted it was his mother; the scent would be stronger, wouldn't it? Unless, of course, she only knew his mother in passing. Still though, it was something she couldn't quite put a finger on. She placed the joint between her lips thoughtfully, inhaling deeply.

Once again, she removed the rolled piece from between her lips. "Lolita Monroe," she breathed, the smoke practically pouring from her mouth with the words. "Pleasure to meet you, Barrett," she said, and it was. This was a rare good mood for Lolita. "And this broken city is Halifax. I live over in Dahlia de Mai, but I have a house here, as well, to escape to. A friend of mine had a place out here, too, but I haven't seen him in a while, and I'm sure there are other souls around, as well." Lolita considered Anselm close enough to being a friend to label him as such, though she hadn't seen him since the end of the war when he had helped her to understand that it had not been personal. Everything had been because of Haku.

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