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387 words.
Another day, another bottle. Despite the drama from early in the dawn hours, Talitha's day had been quite the same. Drink after drink, laughing at nothing, she had made her way from the D'Neville mansion. Her feet pressed carefully into the soil of the outlying forest; the Forest of Nod was the only true forested region of the Inferni lands, and the only place enemies could hide. Still, it was more interesting than the flattened land outside of the tree-lined borders and that drew her attention in the setting sun. Her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle she had carried from her bedroom table, adjusting the glass in her hand. Over the Dapplebrook Creek and farther into the trees the Luperci went, singing a broken song past long swigs of the amber whiskey she held on to. Like a child, she swung her arm and skipped across the Frosthold Stream, heading toward the southern border of the Forest of Nod in cheerful abandon. It was almost like being a child once more, though in a different place; since Gabriel had set fire to the forest of her motherland, life had been different. But this home was not so much different than the last. It was still warm, and she was still loved and life was still mediocre at best. Her toes pressed against the invisible border of the Inferni land as she brought the bottle to her lips once again. The liquor burned, bringing superficial tears to her crimson eyes as she swallowed it and focused her attention on the lands outside of her home. The skulls that littered the border were a clear warning: Abandon hope, ye who enter here. Trespassers were unwelcome, and would be found and punished. After all, Inferni was, in Talitha's mind, a powerhouse. Streamlined and svelte, with all of the working parts of a machine. With Gabriel as their Aquila, Talitha knew others deserved to quiver; her father was a symbol of masculinity and fair justice in the crimson sight of his eldest daughter. Those who worked against him would feel the wraith of the cinnamon female. A trilling laugh escaped the lips of the Tirones as the thought settled on her shoulders. She could protect and serve with the best of them; after all, she was a Lykoi.
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 it replies. finally.
Jonathon didn't usually drink alcohol, or smoke, for that matter, but when he found some good booze, he would definetly drink up. The boy could become a booze hound if he found the booze to be acceptable. Of course, the alcohol he carried at this point was perfect. A fine English Scotch that was carried by ship to America, where it had traveled to Canada in the capable hands of an Irish brewer. Despite the hodgepodge of nationalities, Jonathon was pleased with his purchase. It smelled wonderful, and was in the typical holding of a Luperci-made alcohol, very traditional.
Still, he found himself missing the glass decanters that the Scotch, brandy, and whiskey had always come in when he still lived in England. Of course; it wasn't really his fault he had to miss them. Howard got him booted out of the country, and then Howard managed to somehow drink every bottle of liquor that they had brought with them to Canada. And the interesting part of it was that Howard didn't get drunk. Jonathon did.
Who would have thought a creature that could not exist on it's own, a veritable parasite, could have such an amazing head for alcohol? It was astounding, actually, to Jonathon. Howard was an ass and a gay, but an ass and a gay that could outdrink... An ass and a gay that could outdrink an Irishman!
Jonathon felt something stir in his mind as he trudged to find a good place to drink, Scotch in hand. Careful, princess, Howard chuckled. It's not nice to call someone an ass. Jonathon smirked at to himself, and then muttered, "And how, old boy, do you expect to do anything about it?" He looked around with a smug expression until Howard purred. Threateningly. Princess, I don't need the ballsack. You're the one that does. Jonathon's face blanched at the prospect of losing his pride and joy. What a dark day that would be. So be nice, princess, Howard growled.
Jonathon nodded to himself and slowed down as he saw posts with wolf skulls on them. Not a pleasent thing to see for the wolf. So he skirted around the territory that smelled disinctly of coyote, and soon found himself by a small brook, and on the other side, a lovely coyote lass. Well. Coyotes suddenly looked much, much better to Jonathon, especially if they were that pretty. She also had a bottle of something in her hand. A double plus, in Jonathon's books.
He grinned at her, and then opened his muzzle. "So, might I ask who you are, lovely?" he asked. He heard Howard scoff in his mind, and chuckled silently to himself. Howard always sulked and pouted when he flirted.
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[html]3+ She was alone for only a moment before she scented the steps of some stranger. Her guard raised, concerned for who it might be; she rarely held good thoughts when it came to outsiders. Dahlia de Mai had ruined that for her, and the wolves who lived there made it all the worse. Filthy, foul, polluting wolves. They had even reached her blood, her proud Lykoi lineage. She knew not where her wolf blood hailed from, but she knew it was her father's fault that she bore it. She remained still near the brook, quiet as she listened for noises that would herald the presence of an outsider. Her eyes found him first, crimson gaze settling on the distinctly wolfen body that sat on the other side of the brook. Her eyes darkened. "So, might I ask who you are, lovely?" The words brought back a memory of years past, of Andrezej murmuring his seductively foul words into her ears. Couldn't get enough of dear uncle Andre. It gave her the urge to gag, but she kept it back. No weakness could be spared in the sight of a stranger. Certainly not a wolf stranger. A casual toss of her hair came first, hands going to her hips as irritation settled in. "No. No, you may not as who I am," she murmured, voice laced with her always present sultry overtone. It was her land she stood on, and she wanted her answers first, expecting him to tell her who he was. She brought the bottle of amber liquid to her lips, watching warily. "Who are you, stranger. Since you're so keen on questions." Wolves gained little mercy from the de le Poer princess, in word and in sight. With precedent prevailing, she was sure they were all filth. All horrid abominations on the face of the world. This male was no different.
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