old habits

Denver Mathis · 09-12-2011, 09:41 PM

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for mel! oh snap, looks like some of that cowboy is coming out >> weird starter, hope it's okay. Tongue

He rubbed his eyes as the morning sun shone hard down on his face. Groaning, he rolled over on the uncomfortable mattress, scowling. He still hadn't earned himself a more comfortable room or bed. With a sigh, he wondered again if this had been the right choice. Life in these lower ranks was not his ideal, but he knew what awaited at the top, and craved that. Soon, he'd be sleeping on the softest sheets on a mattress made of nothing but down feathers and wool.

Stretching, he rose and removed his perfectly folded clothes from the battered dresser, shaking them out before dressing carefully. With a fading hand mirror gathered from Halifax, Denver checked his hair, smoothing out the unruly morning locks. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, the Associate grabbed the newly obtained fashioned length of rope from beside the pseudo-door, throwing it over his shoulder as he walked out, heading north.

He moved quickly through the territory, having become more accustomed to the footpaths and trails that had been created since the pack began to grow. Pale blue eyes scanned the thick underbrush; he needed to get to a clearing. Since finding the rope in the ruined city, Denver had let it sit, unsure of whether or not he wanted to make use of it. The dog knew, after all, how to use a lasso, but it had never occurred to him that he might use those skills ever again. He'd hoped to forget about his roots altogether, but it seemed that this might be something worth practicing.

He settled on a small clearing, with a few short saplings he could attempt to lasso. The pale young man stood for several moments, unraveling the rope and testing his muscle memory. After a few tries, he realized that he had grown fairly poor at this. He was determined, though, and kept trying, swinging and tossing the rope until he was able to successfully aim and lasso one of the small trees. Encouraged, kept going.

Salvia Eternity · 09-15-2011, 12:55 PM

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+3. :>

Salvia’s life had become quite busy since her brother’s return. Her days were split between work on the cabin she now called home, the horse, and her newly acquired kitten. Today was no exception. While she had not yet made it out to the barn, her focus had been centralized around both her home and small pet. Growing daily, he presented a unique challenge that might have failed most. Salvia, however, was not most. She understood the way that cat behavior and hunting tactics differed from those of wolves.

The kitten, affectionately named Abendrot, was currently stalking after a noisy bug. His large feet moved with still, stiff precision, and his attention was completely focused ahead. Salvia, not far behind, watched with an intense motherly gaze—one suggestion she feared more about where the kitten might wander to than whether or not he succeeded in his current game. His hindquarters wiggled as he tensed and leapt forward. The bug was smacked down and crushed, and pleased with himself, the kitten chirped in a bird-like manner that earned a rumbling growl of approval from Salvia.

An unfamiliar noise from nearby drew her attention. With a frown, Salvia rose and picked the kitten up in one large hand. He was getting big, but so was she; nearly full grown, her body had begun to resemble that of a woman. Still-growing hips and breasts displayed her sex plainly, though her shoulders were broad. Lean as she was, it was clear in her gait that she was no delicate flower. Green eyes found the source of the disturbance in the shape of the dog her mother had brought into their family. He was doing something with a rope that she had never seen done before.

Curious, her ears rose to a high point above her thick hair. What on earth was he doing?

Denver Mathis · 09-15-2011, 07:09 PM

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Big Grin

He was panting now. His breath became heavier the more he practiced, the muscles in his right arm stinging from his attempts. For each time he had managed to lasso one of the bushes, there were at least a dozen other tosses that he had missed. The Associate was not yet satisfied with his progress, though he knew he had at least made some. He cursed himself for not carrying around a water skin; his tongue was wet with saliva, but his thirst was not quenched. The next few tosses mostly missed, and at last he threw the rope on the ground with a growl of fury. The mutt stood with his arms crossed, scowling down at the discarded tool. He stared angrily at it for a long moment, before his one standing ear shot forward to the small sound of... what was that?

Whirling, ice-blue eyes found the source clumsily. The familiar shape of a young woman he knew to be Eris's daughter stood on the threshold of the clearing, staring at him. Startled, Denver took a sharp breath and took a half-step back at the sight of her. How long had she been there? He swallowed hard, saliva still flowing from his panting mouth as his chest rose and fell rapidly. "How long've you been there?" he asked hurriedly, suddenly worried and embarrassed, but his face showed nothing but curiosity. She was young, he knew, but he could not escape the sense that she had all of her mother's charm. He forced a mostly pleasant smile. "Sorry; good mornin', miss... what've you got there?" Denver's head bobbed as he squinted at the thing in her arms. He moved closer carefully, eying it warily, unsure of whether it was alive or dead. With a frown, he knew what it was. A live cat. A small one, too. Ew. He turned his head away, staring at it with distaste. "Oh," he muttered, unimpressed and keeping his distance. What was she doing with that thing?

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