all the right moves in all the right [p]laces
#1
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♥. Jefferson. <333 wc: 300+


Arye did not need to stay in Pripyat’s presence to be comfortable. Things here were certainly new. The young girl was still getting used to each new scent, although she had yet to apply those sensory signals to any known faces. Much of Phoenix Valley remained a mystery to Arye, and she sought to remedy that right away. There had to be life beyond the shores with Pripyat. And although it was pleasant to contemplate the changing nature of the sea, there was much for her left to learn.


It took several hours, but with careless footfalls and yellow eyes opened wide, she traversed the stretch of Phoenix Valley. Her senses led her to different places. First she followed the bouquet of scents that floated from the trees that called her forth from the shore. But it did not take long for the vivid colors of the flora to draw her attention away from unfamiliar and non-specific scents of those she did not know.


The creamed colored wolfess approached the garden excitedly. Spring had obviously been kind to this place, as the blooms perfumed the air with wild scents. Now that her attention was sustained by the intoxicatingly fresh scents of the garden of wild flowers, Arye crouched down to examine what flowers might be native to this place. Pripyat had told her that Phoenix Valley, as a whole, was very green. Being in this garden, Arye found that easy to believe now.


The super sweet scent of honey lingered in the air. She turned her face toward the sweetness of that scent, and it seemed that it carried the promise of the taste of summer. She could barely remember her first summer, and so she craved that season, and was hungry for reminders of her early childhood. Throwing caution to the wind, the cream colored femme sought the source of that scent.





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#2
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ilu


Phoenix Valley met its full potential with the settling of spring, the brute knew, though he had only seen one before. Jefferson admitted to none that he found a certain peace in nature he did not elsewhere; it was not that he would be embarrassed or emasculated if the pack knew of his adoration for the spring blossoms, the comforting breeze, the soothing rush of the coast's waves when they were not at their most frigid. His typical meanderings of the pack borders and territory masked his nature walks under the facade of going about his regular responsibilities, and he hardly argued against it.


Spring was still in its earliest form, of course, but with the grass slowly fading to emerald and cloudless skies hanging above, the season dispersed of his worries and anxieties, and he dwelt among the gardenias clear of mind, a peace within his scars. No, the grove would never top the beauty of Firefly Fields at dusk, but he did not spare it regardless.


A smell over the honeybees and their wealth of sugar drifted past, and with mild curiosity he followed it. No alarm in his step or eye, he came upon her non-threateningly, though with a brow raised. "Who are you?"

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#3
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ilu moar wc: 300+





Arye did not remain solitary for long. Soon enough, she was joined by a scarred brute. The scent was familiar. It permeated Phoenix Valley, easily distinguishable throughout the entirety of this pack’s claimed lands. She recognized his scent from when she had first encountered the borders of the Valley pack. Turning to greet a gruff but not impatient voice, she answered him simply and without fear of retribution for being caught alone here. “Arye.” She did not offer any other identifier. The scarred man had simply asked who she was, and she had answered in kind.


Yellow eyes the color of coins looked upon him with mild curiosity before she turned her back to him, her eyes finally, victoriously falling upon the source of the honey. A hive hung in the lower branches of a tree in bloom. She had turned her back to the male who was obviously stronger and older, but did not think twice about it. Perhaps not the wisest move, but Arye did not find any reason to fear him. There was something about his scent that niggled in the back of her mind. “You smell like Pripyat,” she added as an afterthought.

The girl smiled slightly as she said the name of the boy who had often been her companion over the last few days. “Do you know him well?” Arye asked, turning her eyes to look at the scarred brute curiously. She did not know if he would want to talk to her, but it was worth a shot. She would never get answers unless she asked for them. She smoothed a thin fingered hand through her tangle of hair as she regarded the older male with naked curiosity, yellow eyes full of the light of curiosity and a warm, unconscious half smile on her face.



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#4
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short post thread still, yes?

She did not fear him, or if she did, she did not make it obvious. She appeared to be no threat, and for that he was thankful; the man hated proceeding with unruly Patriarch procedures if it meant interrupting an otherwise peaceful day. His expression still one of indifference at her presence, the male found himself briefly reminded of Geneva — perhaps it was Arye's nonchalance in her speech and mannerisms, but whatever it was, Jefferson found his heart hardening immediately against her as a result. He spoke nothing of it.


The comment added to her name surprisingly did not help. Brows raised momentarily, but only as long as she faced away from him, and any and all alarm and interest hid from his tone. "He is my son," he said deliberately, ensuring his power over her from the start. That was where Geneva had broken through his walls, after all — she'd found the cracks in his character and eased her way through. "I assume he let you in."


A sigh, his distracted gaze wandering away. How he yearned for isolation. "I run this pack," he continued, the spirit in his voice listless as if bored of repeating itself. "You'll call me Jefferson. I have the final say if you stay or go."

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#5
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Arye was oblivious to the fact that her behavior could have been insulting. It was the carelessness of youth, and evidence of the trust she had placed in Pripyat. Pripyat had told her that she was welcome to stay, and she had not taken the invitation lightly. It had taken a few days for her to completely trust his invitation, but the slate colored boy was so earnest that she could not find any reason not to take his word at face value.

This naivete might have cost her with anyone else, but Jefferson did not appear overtly negative. She looked over her shoulder, analyzing the features beneath the abundant scars across Jefferson's face. She was looking for any commonalities. She could see some similarities in their features, but decided not to comment on it. "OK, Jefferson," Arye said, turning back to look at him. "Is there anything else you want me to know, or to do, in order to stay?"



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#6
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"Do your duties," he started, eye wandering as he pondered his own expectations. To be asked what they were was rather uncommon; his members were typically good at managing themselves. "Don't fuck around with the other packs, don't fuck around with me, and if you're gonna fuck around with my son, don't think I won't know about it." A brow raised, he knew. He knew he was an overprotective father. Hell, Geneva was gone. He was all Pripyat had left.


Green eye turned back to her. Despite his pointed tone, a level of amusement lay within, and still he made for no intimidation. Turning, the scarred man breathed in the scent of sweet honey, laying his gaze on the nest next. "What brought you here, exactly?"

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#7
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Arye's coin colored eyes widened as Jefferson launched into his speech. She had never heard the f-bomb dropped so many times in her life. Although she had only spent a short time in the company of her biological family, they had taught her to refrain from using such language, especially because she was a "young lady." She had not done very many ladylike things as a young child, but she had never openly used such offensive language before in her life.

She shielded her mouth with her hand as she let her lips form the single syllable of the forbidden word. She could tell that Jefferson was serious, even without his use of expletives. "I won't..." she said, but her voice trailed off. Her brow furrowed and she looked at the one eyed man with a troubled look on her face. "Jefferson...I won't...do that thing...that you don't want me to with anything. I know that it's bad...but what exactly does f--Does that word mean?"



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#8
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What was she, braindead? The man cast a look of mixed frustration and sheer confusion on her, not at all expecting such a question in response to his typical badmouthery. She looked old enough, about Pripyat's age perhaps, and the boy would have known the meaning of such cussing even if his father hadn't been so goddamned horrible at keeping his mouth shut while the boy grew up. The Patriarch's perplexed look shifted slowly to amusement, and with a scoff the man shook his head and started away.


"Whatever you think it means," he shrugged, waving tattered fingers over his shoulder, "don't do it."

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