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aw. I wanted Festivity to accidentally visit Inferni before becoming aware of the current state of hostilities. I’m open to anything happening in this thread, but please do not kill my shiny new character-toy!
Already the day was waning. Cool, grey-skied and cheerless, a chilly wind was blowing stiffly enough that Festivity wrapped a cloak tightly around her slender shoulders to stop from shivering. The nippy pre-dusk hours were the excuse she gave herself anyway; the truth lay closer to the fact that this particular group of canines chose to line their borders with wolf skulls. Instinct urged the hybrid to turn tail and preserve the intact state of her hide. A sort of morbid curiosity laced with skewed rationalism kept her rooted where she was. After all, Festivity didn’t have a drop of wolven blood in her body and although she wasn’t a fighter, the petite mixed breed was quite confident in her skill at the noble art of running away.
And so Festivity waited to be found at the borders, uneasily shifting from foot to foot.
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He had only been here for a couple of days, but it felt like an eternity. Back home he knew a lot about most of the pack members...where everyone slept what they liked to do throughout the day. He'd watched them a lot. But here things seemed a lot more secretive. He had seen the procession leave the lands, Gabriel and the others, but hadn't followed them to their destination. He'd told Anselm that he would stay inside Inferni until all of the fighting was over, that being one of the conditions of his joining.
Sirius had thought that he would gain answers by becoming a part of the clan, that he might be able to figure out who his father was. It had to be someone from here that his mother had consorted with...there weren't many coyotes that he knew of who weren't a member of Inferni. He would keep looking and keep asking questions. The four month old hybrid had promised that he wouldn't leave...but he'd never said anything about the borders. He could just go a little ways out...not too far. He could always just run back into the clan's territory if any really horrible creature came about, after all.
The bronze male was just getting to the edges of it when he smelled it, a strange scent that came drifting over the cool breeze toward him. Someone was there. His heart began to thud quickly and he looked about, large ears turning in different directions. Were they close? He couldn't distinguish how far away the outsider was. But...He was a member here. It was his duty to make sure that the borders were protected! He started toward the area from which the smell was coming from, noting that it got a little stronger with each step that he took.
He stared into the grasses surrounding the territory, squinting. He couldn't see anything, and it was getting darker by the minute. This frustrated him; he could smell whoever it was, but he had no idea where they were. "Who's there?" Sirius demanded, glancing about at the many clumps of grass. If only he had x-ray vision.
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-nibbleson- heeeeyyy
A youthful voice demanded an explanation into the dimming light. "Over here!" She called out and waved toward the still-faceless voice, but didn't move any further. Her position on the grasslands shouldn't be hard to see; though her mottled coloration lent itself nicely to concealment, she wasn't trying to hide. Festivity paused a moment to let the pack native approach, and then spoke again. "I am a storyteller by trade," her voice was rich and thickly accented but her diction was purposefully clear and grammar flawless. He - she at least thought the voice sounded masculine - ought to have no troubles understanding her. "I've come to offer you and yours a sampling of my skills, perhaps in exchange for a share of your meat and mead." She borrowed heavily on the flowery language she'd used in Europe, which served both as an introduction and a back door exit strategy.
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He wanted to stay in the cover of the grass, so that whoever it wasn't wouldn't be able to attack him, but his curiousity was beginning to get the better of him. What did Anselm know anyway? Maybe it wasn't a wolf at all, but another coyote. He could hear what she was saying and could understand it, but some of the words that she spoke were unfamiliar. He thought about them for a moment. Mead? What was that? He emerged, a puzzled look on his face. What sort of an animal was it? Some kind of a cat, maybe? He had seen cougars before....but no, she wasn't the right color. And she was built sort of like him, but she looked different, at the same time. He'd never seen her kind before. But then, maybe she hadn't seen any that looked like him before either. "I don't knows any storytellers. What does that mean? And what is mead?" Sirius did want to ask her where she'd come from, but he didn't know if it would be rude or not. He hadn't had very many conversations with wolves other than his father or other family members. But whether this creature was a threat or not didn't really matter to him any more--he was excited by the prospect of even speaking to someone else, someone new. She didn't look like she wanted to hurt him, anyway. "You is got a cool...hairs. Your hairs are different colours"
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In the end, it was a youth who greeted her at the edge of the skull-rimmed landscape. Odd, that one so young would venture to the borders of his homeland unaccompanied. Sandstone (Festivity's mother) had never allowed her daughter such freedoms, not until she was older and properly wary. A tall order for the outgoing, curious child and she suspected the coyote who met her might would be a cut from the same cloth. Perhaps he had escaped his keeper as Festivity had done countless times. Or perhaps he had none, and his protection was left in hands of the clear threat posed by the long lonely line of dessicated wolf heads. In any case, she meant no harm and thus felt no reserve in continuing their conversation.
"There are not very many of us," she replied softly. A sad but fortunate truth, because society could only support a limited amount of those whose trade did not produce tangible things. At the same time, Festivity believed in the importance of her work, of telling tales and teaching old wisdoms, lest they be forgotten. She also followed this path out of passion. Her place of diplomat in her father's caravan might have been more practical, but this was what she loved. Whether she was a teacher or simply a night's entertainment, it mattered little. "It means that I tell stories, young one. Lots and lots of stories."
Festivity had, by now, dropped the flowery formalities and exchanged her manner for one more appropriate for his age. Yet she tried not to condescend - nobody liked to be talked down to, even children. "Mead is a type of alcohol. It's probably a good thing that you don't know what it is yet." She smiled then, endeared by his commentary on her coloration. Pulling her cloak to one side, she displayed the calico patterned spots of her hide. "I inherited these colors from my mother. She was taller though, and very beautiful."
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