[html] private for Poe; set in Halifax.
The fire had changed the wolves of Bleeding Souls. Choking smoke, sooty ash and raging flames tend to change the way you look at things. Sedition didn't know how many survived but by listening to howls for each other, he guessed more than he originally thought. Those that survived were stronger for it, and Sedition couldn't help but feel that there should have been others that could have survived in his place. He was getting old and feeble - the sickness had proven that; but he didn't let such feelings cloud his judgment. He was a Wick and regardless of the reputation Salvaged might have given that surname, he felt proud to be one. It was moments like this when he was alone that he pictured himself back in Berowick alongside his sister and family. He had chosen a wanderer's life but it didn't ease the homesickness that sometimes crept into his thoughts.
His strength was slowly returning thanks to the herbs he had salvaged from a pharmacy in the huge city. The nausea had passed but he knew it would take time for his body to finish healing. Time he knew, he had plenty of. Settling down in his fully-shifted form near the huge "university" he took out the same journal he had scavenged. Daniel had flew by to double-check on him (thanks to Vorraussetzung's ability to worry) and had given him a message to return. He had declined and instead told his sister about his plan to gather information on the offspring of Teri, perhaps build a biography and tell the residents of 'Souls of Berowick. They were even closer now in these new lands and he felt those children, relatives and friends deserved to know of them. Opening the book he pulled out an old pen and slowly, steadily began to write. Even a murderer needs to tell his story.
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________Poe had lived most of her life with two parents by spirit, and none in practice. Likely, even suitable for any child that came from anything but love. They had always been plentiful in Bleeding Souls, the hoards of rape children, so many of them connected to her by blood thanks to the widely deemed demon, Salvaged Eternity. The devil's sons and daughters fit in well with that crowd. But this was not the Bleeding Souls that Poe had been born into--just over the rainbow, but a history apart, and as far as she knew (which was apparently no further than the tip of her own stubby nose), she was the last of that line in the area. But he careened through her veins with the ease of a familiar stranger that she had long ago accepted she would not get to know. Especially not the way that she had secretly, guiltily wished for earlier in her life. So like all of the half-assedness that she lived her life through, she let his ghost (and even more prevalently, the ghost of his look alike son) loiter on the periphery, and kept her hands to herself.
________She was good at that, now. Keeping her hands and heart to herself, moving only to the rhythm of the songs and dances that she had saw everywhere, in everyone. It proved to be a lovely, lonely way to live she thought as she finished the gauze wrappings around her torso. Her side, from hip to breast had been burnt in her solo escape from her home in the old City, and ugly signs of a looming infection had taken her to a drug store for dusty old supplies that she had read about a long time ago in a human survival guide (which, for the most part, struck her as a little pitiful despite her appreciation for the human world--they were so ill adapt for the lands they grew from). So from her chest to hip she wore clean white gauze, followed by a faded pink tutu that tilted stiffly with her hippy walk. The campus here was far more impressive than the one over the mountains, grande and feral and so quiet, even from the outer edges. So the lone figure focused on a book in hand, quickly pulled in her attention and path. No introduction, no question, the impish lady sat herself down a foot from the grey man and chanced a glance at his book--or journal, it would be revealed.
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OOC:
Your avatars always amaze me. So pretty.
BIC:
There was a certain happiness to a blank journal and one that Zenith had often spoke of not wanting to soil. That creature used to take forever to write in a new journal someone would find and it had always flustered Sed. The journal had different scrawlings through it, tiny maps and descriptions; even names for those that he had trouble remembering. Turning to the small family tree and Berowick page he put down a few lines and wrote, as well as crossing out 'Teri Wick' underneath the crossed out Jikara and Seon. The lines that led down would only contain his children since he knew mothers would be something that few would want to speak of. About to turn the page he heard the quiet steps of another and he glanced up. Ice blue eyes glanced at the white gauze and the tutu and couldn't help but smile. Finishing another couple of lines he closed the book and turned his attention to the female sitting there.
"Another survivor of the fire." An idle comment and one that he hoped wouldn't spark off an emotional backlash. Every wolf he met was obviously a survivor but it didn't stop the words from coming. A gentle sigh escaped his lips and he cut to the chase, curious as always to know how exactly 'legendary' his cousin had been. "Did you happen to know Salvaged Eternity?" Feel rather rude for not introducing himself he added, "Sedition Wick, a cousin of his."
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Words cannot describe how much I suck. :|
________He had a friendly air to him, with a smile upon approach and no more than a batted eyelid as she plopped down next to him. An easy smile and the sharpened eye-corners of a worn in impish interest were her simplified reply, even as he brought up what could have been a touchy subject. Her smile only broadened, a little tired and relieved, but not so phased as it maybe should have been, and she nodded. The wolves of her homeland were hearty bunch, and her slow discovery of the menagerie of familiar strangers' scents confirmed it. The packs were scattered, broken entirely perhaps, but the individuals held true. It was an easy train of thought, light and certain, and very abruptly thrown for a loop (more like a damn tornado) upon the next easy comment.
________Her friendly, contented face fell away with a thud and left a wide-eyed, shell shocked stare in its place. It had been some time since she had heard her father's name, and never in such a context. She found herself choking on her own dried throat as Sedition drew the genetic line between the two, and ever-so daintily, Poe slapped a hand over her mouth to block her hacking from splattering on the grayed male's face.
________"Uh," she strained, cleared her throat and laughed without purpose or aim. "Yeah. No. Not technically," she found herself saying before her thoughts caught up with her tongue, dodging around her graceless reaction. "He was my father. Genetically speaking," she explained with a thick swallow, shuffling her weight with a discomfort that she was not used to. Poe could slip and slide herself through most conversations, or even situations to her own degree of self-assured dignity, but to suddenly find a crack in a door that she had stared at, closed, for the entirety of her life had her off guard and feeling suddenly and deeply childish. She lifted a hand and brushed it absently up the back of her neck and along her hair, down the underside of her bushy ponytail that she tugged and twirled momentarily, immaturely. "Why do you ask?" It was a courtesy question, and it came out sounding just so. The indulgent questions were battling it out on the butterfly-steeds in her stomach, for the chance to launch themselves off of her tongue in its place.
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