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it wasn’t taking the boy long to acclimate to his new 127.0.0.1. it had been a day, but that hadn’t stopped him from staying up all night and creeping around. thirst had driven him to find the river that streamed throughout the lands. curiosity had then driven him to the larger lake portion off-center of clouded tear’s territory. squinting, he could see an island vaguely outlined in the distance. samson glanced around him, and took a few steps into the chilled water. it was refreshing, to him—he loved to swim.
the werebrid paddled out, realizing he had misjudged the distance. it was much farther away than he thought. but, he couldn’t stop now, so he pursued forward, grateful the wind wasn’t pushing him. after an extended amount of time he finally crawled onto the island shores, sprawling out across it and breathing hard. his limbs ached—but worse, he had agitated his injured leg. and to top it off, he was chilled. panting he rose to his feet and shook himself off. the island was small, but comforting in some small way.
even though he couldn’t hear anything, he could see the smooth ripples of the water. he wasn’t transformed, which was what probably had made the swim so strenuous. but then again, it was nice to get some excersize every once an a while. he limped around, pausing to pick up a long, sweet smelling type of grass and gnaw on it absently while he explored the tiny island.
when he came to the center he stopped and sat. there was nothing to this picture, just trees and water and sky.
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indent The island had struck him as curious. Of course, most things that struck Ahren as curious often had him doing rather stupid things—such as falling through the roof of an old barn, which had left the scar above his eye. As a creature driven by ego, he stumbled through life blindly, managing to gather reason through existence and just as suddenly, let that go. So that perhaps explained why, despite the fact he knew this was a bad idea, the blonde went into the lake. While it was cold, he had survived Canadian winters before. It wasn’t as bad as he had been expecting.
indent Halfway out, his left lung began to burn. Ahren coughed hard, slowed his pace, and cursed himself for acting on impulse. Still, he was intent on reaching that curious little island, if only to see what it held. So as he made the final league and climbed out of the water, shaking his fur as dry as he could (he had pulled the dreadlocks up and managed to keep these mostly dry, luckily) the red-eyed man soon realized he was not alone. A copper colored coyote was sitting nearby. Curious as to who else was dumb enough to swim during the winter, Ahren approached him.
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pardon this length
this island… the oppression of his silence had been lifted. he smiled to himself, feeling he had found the perfect spot for a den. it was away from prying eyes, because surely no one else wanted to venture into those waters just to get here. and the scenery was perfect, just perfect. samson set to mapping out the tiny island, pausing to rest near the shore. it was then that he noticed he had company: a tan dog in optime. the hybrid shifted, closing his eyes as always as the mane grew first, followed by bones until he was standing in his shorter-than-average optime form. he then turned to the dog, whom he assumed was a packmate of his, considering not only their current location but also the heavy scent of the Pack of White Supremacy. sam pulled himself up, letting his gaze size up the other male. ’hello,’ came the quiet offering, not inclined to delve much deeper into conversastion.
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indent The stranger changed his form, as if to accommodate Ahren. Shaking his fur again, the red-eyed man looked up as his companion spoke first. Taking a moment to adjust the messy ponytail he had attempted to pull his dreadlocks into, the scarred coyote finally looked back to the auburn fellow and responded. “I didn’t think anyone would be out here,” he offered, not sure as to why this mattered. It was simple conversation, though, so it seemed to fit.
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sorry for the wait, mdear mdear, and this post will be strange, i've been in a ... mood lately.
red eyes, how strange that this coyote possessed red eyes. he hadn't been aquainted with red as an eye color before, it was creepy-creepy and almost gave him shivers but something about the were wasn't threatening at all and he seemed quite nice, so samson dismissed it. then he was speaking, and sam heard something about out here, so he smiled sheepishly and offered up a 'it's peaceful,' before continuing, bluntly with 'i'm almost-deaf, you'll have to speak up,' without the usual apologetic look. the hybrid was getting used to his situation and he was sick of dancing around the issue, and it really wasn't much of a pain was it? 'sorry,' he added as an after-thought, scratching his head and leaning forward for when the conversastion continued, although if it was only smalltalk it wouldn't last very long. his hands were cold, which was a strange thought but it drifted across his mind's eye, distracting him temporarily. but then he remembered his manners. 'i'm samson adonis,' his voice was getting louder as he got used to the deaf-thing. he hoped he wouldn't end up like one of those creepy old men who shouted everything at the top of their lungs, but then again, it was always nice to hear the words coming out of your mouth incase you screwed up.
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indent A peculiar look crossed Ahren’s face at the mention of the disability—he was not unfamiliar with such things, after seeing as much of the world as he had. His own sister-cousin was herself half-blind, as one of the former women in his life had been. It did not startle him to meet an individual with such a handicap, though it did strike him as anomalous that he might be able to exist within a pack structure. “Ahren de le Poer,” the three-year old responded, making certain he kept eye contact and spoke clearly, loudly. “Can you read and write?” If so, that might make this meeting last longer (or at the very least, allow for more to occur).
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sheeet, son, i've been busy ):
indenthe smiled sheepishly. it was awkward he supposed to be around him, with his disability. communication was such an important factor in pack animals and here he was, lacking the ability. but he was surviving, surviving the best he could and maybe even one day he could heal it- but no, he never would and he knew it, false hopes got you nowhere, and oh- the wolf was talking. he carefully followed the lip movements and strained, slowly comprehending the structure of lip reading. 'pleasure, ahren,' he smiled, thinking the name sounded familiar. had he met another de le poer? probably, but he couldn't think of who it might've been now. samson blinked at the second half of the statement. 'yes, i can,' he explained. maybe it just depended on the wolf or coyote, who thought it was easier to speak through writing or through lip reading, even though he was amatuerish at best with lip reading itself.
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indent The stranger, Samson, despite his handicap, was able to speak—this told Ahren that he had not been born deaf. If so, that function would not be possible. While he was not well educated on medicine or the body, he knew many apothecaries and he had read. Ahren truly was a jack-of-all-trades, even if he didn’t manage to excel at one single thing. “I don’t have anything to write with,” he offered, dropping his eyes for a moment as his hands went up to his pulled-up hair. From within the mass of dreadlocks he produced a hand rolled cigarette and lighter. Off all the things he was full of, surprises were one of them. “How long have you been here?”
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