arden del mier, july 11 '05, luperci ortus, male, coyote[html]
He was following instincts more than anything; intelligence was meaningless given the position he now sordidly found himself stuck in without any means of extrication. Arden del Mier wouldn't admit to anyone that he had no fucking clue where he was going, nor would he disclose that so far he'd asked for directions three times along the way; like any male creature, showing weakness hurt his pride more than anything else. The word Inferni still stirred intensely in his mind, agitating the grossly thin coyote to the point where he knew if he didn't find the borders soon enough all the strength that was left in his weak limbs would falter just as quickly as his morale had.
No sooner had these pessimistic thoughts permeated his thought process than the stench of his kind awoke his senses and caused some sort of recollection to flicker across Arden's bleak features; although the odors were different than he remembered from his old tribe, they told a story that ran along the same lines. This seemingly desolate plain wasn't nearly as barren as he'd initially thought. Bright yellow eyes blinked past the sunlight and tried in vain to focus on a point in the far off distance, searching for any form of life he could solidly guess belonged to the clan that no doubt thrived before him; the effort was worthless, but did little to squelch his excitement. In a pace he hadn't been able to match in nearly three weeks Arden began his steady approach towards the borders, heart thumping excitedly with every footfall that pressed into the warm mud of early September and what would soon be a steadfast autumn.
Upon reaching the imaginary dividing line he gasped for breath, already feeling the effects of having exerted too much energy for such a weak body to manage; his endless months of traveling had left the 'yote in a far worse physical state than he'd started out in. Tail picked up to twine carefully around his lean, sinewy body before falling to his side as quickly as it had first stirred. Now his heart began to beat swiftly once again, but not in order to pump blood to his arteries in exercise; no, this time it was in anticipation and what one could call fear.
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Contact info plz?
(!@#$%)The emaciated male had caught Anselm's attention quickly, as any potential joiner or trespasser might. Negative energy radiated from the thin fellow, too--he seemed rather anxious or unnerved. Quite the opposite, Anselm raised his tail and ears as he approached swiftly, red eyes roving over the coyote's form. The wolfish hybrid's face contorted into an undefined expression that betrayed some mixture of disgust, curiosity, and a tinge of concern. You look like hell, he stated flatly, figuring it was safe to assume the stranger was seeking acceptance amongst their ranks. Nobody showed up to attack in that sort of condition, at least (and even if they did... well, fuck 'em).
(!@#$%)He continued to gaze on expectantly, obviously expecting some sort of explanation for the other's poor physical state. Inferni was the home of fighters; they were all generally expected to take care of themselves and this male was clearly old enough to do so, so what was the excuse? Did he just not care like Samael? Or had he been captured like Lorri? Was he older than he looked and just frail from age? Whatever the reason, he hoped that the stranger had a good excuse and some kind of skills to offset the strike against him. They weren't running some charity soup kitchen here, and anybody simply looking for handouts or protection with nothing to offer in return meant little to him. Regardless, anybody who'd survived this far had been able to do so for a reason--he just needed to figure out what it was.
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e-mail i'd rather not publicly give out but my aim sn is satan sundays.[html]
The reaction he received from the stranger was one he'd been anticipating, and as such he'd already built up a reply that would hopefully put the odds more in his favor than out. Arden knew no pack would admit a straggler who looked like he could barely lift a rock with his left paw. Despite his less than favorable condition, mentally the coyote was stronger than he'd ever been (after all he'd endured, this conclusion was inevitable). Yellow eyes regarded the hybrid before him with a cursory glance that quickly fell to the ground in reverence; no fool to the ways in which acceptance processes went, the male wasn't going to foil his chances of gaining access into Inferni by being disrespectful at the borders. Tail drooped low in between his back hindquarters as he shifted his stance momentarily, gaze never wavering from the ground that lay beneath his feet. Anxiety made the contents of his empty stomach churn with agitation, but he did his best to show none of it.
A million response suggestions pervaded his conscious thought at once, but when he tried to speak the words became impeded. Arden bit hard at his lip, so hard in fact that the faint, metallic taste of blood was tasted on his tongue. He was going to have to spit out a damn good reason for why he looked like shit, otherwise his attempt at joining Inferni would be almost laughable. Who would want an inadequate, feeble mess? "I feel like it, too. I've been traveling for nearly five months now. My name is Arden del Mier and, as you've probably already inferred, I'm here to seek acceptance into Inferni. I realize my current state of well-being isn't promising, but I assure you -- with time -- I can prove to be a worthy asset." He offered, and then fell silent.
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Understandable, I hate that people can just google emails and shit and find crap. e_e
(!@#$%)The other spoke casually and in a manner that seemed entirely sane. Good. Even if Arden was more than a little under the weather, physical problems were easier to fix than mental ones. Still, he wasn't sure how to feel about the only reason cited for his state--the life of a nomad. Anselm had walked that path himself for a good amount of time and had never degraded so much, but he did his best to remember that the coyote was smaller than he was. Anselm could still steal food from other lone wolves with little trouble--maybe Arden couldn't intimidate them as easily into giving up their catches.
(!@#$%)Fair enough, he said finally, tail twitching behind him. What kind of skills do you have? Inferni was always in need of healers--especially with that damned disease running around further south. His ears fell back slightly as he thought of this. Surely, if the illness could immobilise otherwise healthy wolves, it'd have an even easier time attacking a weakened fellow like Arden. His eyes narrowed suspiciously; now he watched the other very carefully. You don't have any colds or anything, do you? Just hungry?
(!@#$%)Anselm did his best to be logical and reasonable--and unfortunately for Arden, if he was sick, it would be illogical and unreasonable to let him into the clan, where he might infect everybody else. His gaze was intense as he awaited an answer--any slight twitch, hesitation, or other indicator of false information would be noted. That included runny noses, discharge, coughing... This wasn't something they could afford to fuck around about.
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