I'm not saying I'm one for violence

Max Klein · 07-05-2012, 07:05 PM

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Setting	Location	Form	NPCs
Location: Forest of Nod, IF Date: 05 July Weather: Overcast, muggy Time: Afternoon			Rémy Lebeau

(450) Max is sulking and has been MIA for about two weeks, lololol. Don't mind his angst.

art by crypsis

It had been exactly two weeks and the anger in his chest had finally settled to a dull roar.

Ezekiel is gone, Myrika had said. He’s left. His perception of the world had shattered with her voice and he had tripped over himself running back to the caves. He had gone through Ezekiel’s home and looked for something--anything--to explain why he had gone. There was nothing. In a fury, he had torn apart the place. He had cut his hand pretty badly and the pad ached sorely, but he wouldn’t see a medic. Not that he could, he had thought bitterly. Enkiel was gone too. Why had Zeke taken him and not Max? Why hadn’t he even said goodbye?

So for two weeks, Max wallowed in despair. He rode his horse hard and looked for fights, even when there were no threats to be found. New scars came to join the large one on his side. The freshest of these was a gaping cut above his eye, just to the right of it, where a dagger had cut nearly to the bone. It had been a stupid fight and he didn’t remember much about it, but the wound was angry and deep and had bled for hours before he had finally gone to Rémy. The coy-dog had cursed him up and down, ranting on his funny way of speaking, and stitched him up as best he could able. After being swatted around and called several hundred names, Max had been told to earn his keep and help feed the clan.

That was why, with fresh stitches on his head, Max was sulking and trailing after the older coy-dog. They were on foot and in the forest behind the Mansion, and Max’s angry gaze was locked on the patch of black that formed an amorphous shape along Rémy’s shoulders. The crossbow was slung over his back and a quiver hung from his hip. Rémy had his stick and a large leather sack, but they were far from proper hunting grounds and as such, the endless drawl was trailing back from his companion. “…I jes sayin’, Maxie, t’ain’t nuttin’ personal, but you ain’t doin’ no good t’anyone actin’ like a cat wit its tail stuck in a door.”

Max said nothing, but a low growl reverberated through his chest. Rémy shook his head and waved a free hand in a loose motion, as if he was batting a fly. “Oooh I’m real a'scared,” he chided. “Maybe we go use you as bait n’see if we can fine us some-tin’ that likes t’eat pourri.”

The white dog considered loosening an arrow right into the Cajun’s back, but thought better of it.

Sparrow · 07-11-2012, 11:46 AM

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(375) I hope you don't mind a sociable Sparrow!

Despite not knowing Ezekiel all too well, she was a little sad to see him up and leave all of a sudden without a word to the clan. She saw the other coyotes'reactions, how hard some of them took it. Sparrow could not feel the same, but she emphasized to the best of her ability. Myrika would make a good Aquila, this she was certain of, and the clan could not dwell long on the confusion the de le Poer man left in his wake. There were duties to perform and borders to be protected, and while there is a time to wonder over his departure, there was also a time to overcome it and move on.

She had just returned from her trip from the south, and was make a straight line towards the schoolhouse to report to Myrika and to retire to her den for the night. Being back in Inferni, with the fresh scent of salt and honeysuckle renewed in her senses, was a stupendous, and she realized once she was deep in the Nod just how homesick she was for the clan; she was too focused on the packages and the journey itself to notice that she terribly missed Inferni. But, it was all well now, and sighed contently as she walked through the trees and past the underbrush, for once taking her time to get to her destination unlike the past few days.

Opening eyes she did not notice that she close, her ears moved forward to again catch the sounds that she thought heard. Curious, she quickened her pace until it became clear that they were the voices of her clan mates. With a small smile, she followed after them, deciding that it would not hurt to greet them and then to get on to her business. A couple of minutes passed, and she finally caught up. "Hi Rémy, Max," she said softly once she was in earshot of the coydogs, and sped up the last couple of yards so that she was a few feet behind them. She noticed that the man who taught her how to shoot seemed upset about something, but she pretended that she did not notice and continued,"How are you guys doing?"

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Max Klein · 07-15-2012, 02:07 PM

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(335) Yaaaaay Big Grin

art by crypsis

Despite his adolescent fury, even Max had to admit that Rémy had a set of skills well suited for the clan. It explained why Ezekiel had picked him up out in a blizzard or whatever it had been. Rémy was a man made for tracking; his skills in it were remarkable, enough so that he picked up on signs even a well-versed hunter might miss. He was talented with spices and stave combat, and Max had seen him hit a bird with a throwing knife. The coydog was in fact carrying all of these things—he held the stick so that it rested along the back end of his upper arm, a stance that looked relaxed. Training told Max otherwise. Woe to those who underestimated the length of oak or the black-mouthed dog that carried it.

He nearly ran into Rémy as the older man turned, ears high, and Max frowned and followed his gaze. The sour expression on his face shifted (but only slightly) at Sparrow’s arrival, though he didn’t return her greeting with anything more than a low grunt. His companion, on the other hand, was smiling toothily and already making a fuss about the matter.

“Oh cher, what a wonderful surprise! I thought I was gonna be stuck with dis here tahyo all by my lonesome. Allons!” he called, and gestured for them both. “Tree always betta fo’ huntin’, we gonna round us up sometin'.” He eased back into the lead, long legs giving him a fair stride to—as Max suspected—put some distance between himself and the other two. The white coydog grunted again and looked over at Sparrow. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want,” he offered, and lifted one hand to gingerly brush his hair away from his fresh stitches. It was a subconscious gesture; up until now he had all but forgotten about them, but being around someone else—especially a girl—made him all too aware of how banged up he must have looked.

Sparrow · 07-15-2012, 09:29 PM

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:3 ~~

She grinned as Rémy went on in his strange accent and words, and was distracted by his eccentric behavior as she was suddenly pulled into their hunting excursion. Sparrow guessed that she did not mind--after all, reporting back to Myrika could always wait until later that day or until tomorrow, since she had nothing urgent to say. Besides, the company seemed enjoyable, and the chance to socialize with her clan mates that she had not caught a whiff of for the past few days was interesting enough for the woman.

She nearly began to step up her pace so that she could keep up with the cur dog, for her was moving swiftly, but the white man spoke, and to stop herself from being disrespectful, made her speed as steady as Max's. "I don't mind at all, really," she murmured with another smile, though her words trailed off and lips faltered a little when she noticed the stitches when he moved his hair out of the way. Either her eyes were not as sharp as she believed them to be or Rémy's fussing that kept her from noticing, but it was not until she spotted the small stitches for her acknowledge the other bumps and scratches she did not recall seeing since her leave.

"What happened to you? Are you okay" she asked softly, her voice more worried than it was demanding. Sparrow jumped to a million conclusions, but the most prevailing thought in her mind was Max's well being. She remembered the happy beast with the toothy grin and gleaming eyes, but now that she looked closer, all she could see was a soured and seemingly defeated creature. And it worried her.

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Max Klein · 07-19-2012, 10:31 AM

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art by crypsis

As his companion’s back became further distanced and his ramblings quieted, Max tell into step with Sparrow. He was comfortable around her, as apparent in his loose-limbed walk, but even that did not change the sour expression on his face. He frowned at her question, looked at his feet, and was incredibly sorry he had not thought about the consequences of coming home bruised and bloodied (though he had no blood on him presently, of course).

He wanted to tell her he had been angry, and taken out his troubles on strangers. He wanted to boast about some border attack where he fought off five or six wolves, but the lie would not come. Instead he shrugged, jostling the crossbow so that it brushed against the tips of his arrows. “I’m fine,” he lied. His voice remained even and careful; controlled. “Just got into a scrap with a wolf. A big one. With a knife,” he added, hoping this might make the story sound more reasonable. “You should see him,” he added, and offered a crooked smirk. It fell short of his eyes, which were still hollow and sad.

Sparrow · 07-27-2012, 10:30 PM

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short post, but they are always the best, no?

When he did not met her gaze when she spoke her concern, she comfirmed that there was something off other than his bumps and bruises. Nevertheless, she quietly listened to his reasons, her gentle, liquid-gold gaze never leaving him. Though it was not within her nature to be demanding, she definately wanted to know what was up with the man. He was a fellow clan mate, and even further, a teacher and a friend. She was not going to outright tell him to speak to her, but she made it clear that she was there to listen if he wanted closure.

Sparrow entertained the story he was putting forth, and murmured thoughtfully, "I am glad that you made it out safely. A knife knife is a very dangerous weapon to be in a fight with." She would know, having inflicted deadly wounds herself with one before. When he mentioned the wolf's well being, she raised an eyebrow, questioning. She noticed, despite his cheery words, that his eyes could not mimic such a facade as well. "What did the poor beast do to upset you?" she asked curious, her tone lacking any concern for the figure he supposedly fought.
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Max Klein · 08-07-2012, 10:18 AM

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(389)

art by crypsis

Fighting had given him an outlet. If he had been another man he might have turned to drink, to devil-grass, even to sex—but he was angry and only the feeling of flesh on flesh, of blood, of struggle and challenge, would serve him. Now that his body ached and his bruises were fading he had only pain to look forward to. Still, as stiff and uncomfortable as he was, it was good. It would remind him of his place in the world and reinforce the idea that no one, not even those who you come to love, are reliable.

The question slowed his story only slightly, but Max was recovering. His animated face was a fair, if unpracticed mask, and he offered her a small (but honest) smile. “He insulted my mother,” the boy explained, and shook his head lightly. “Said some words I don’t feel like repeating. Ugly bastard, he was.” There was no anger in his voice, no remorse either. Max had been beaten and abused by his mother, and hardly needed an excuse to fight. Still, it seemed reasonable. Besides, the insults had been made to him and Max was a hair-trigger when it came to his bloodline.

Ahead of them, Remy held his hand up sharply. Max stilled and waited. The coy-dog then motioned to a patch of thick underbrush, and Max, taking the sign for what it was, hoisted the crossbow to his shoulder. His companion moved quickly, and with a sweeping gesture, spooked the animal hiding in the brush. Max didn’t think, only fired, and was rewarded with a squealing death cry. Ahead of them, the Cajun laughed. “Yeah, you go on n’ give ‘em hell, Maxie. Lookit dis here,” he hoisted the groundhog aloft with the arrow, and yanked it free with his other hand. “Catch us a few more o’ dees and we gon’ eat good tonight.”

The trio went on, with Remy instructing Sparrow on appropriate “bushwhacking” techniques. Max’s crossbow took down two more before the sun was low enough to force them back to the Mansion. There, despite his protests, Max allowed the older dog to re-examine his scars and forced the boy to tell a story (this one about a clever fox that tricked a wolf into being beaten and eventually killed), and fed them all generously.

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