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for nikolai. drifter's bay. date it whenever you wish (: maybe they can try to find millstone.
So Gig had a clan, now, and he was satisfied. His satisfaction had made him bold and he had ventured out beyond Inferni's borders, something he intended not to do often. For his apparent whatever attitude, the hybrid had a touch of cowardice; he didn't like to take risks. He wandered the neutral territories in luperci form, silently amazed that while he was a pup they had never ventured into them, although they had lived practically next to them. Well, perhaps not amazed. His father wasn't a drifter, he was a rock. Gig stumbled onto a shorebed, pausing to soak in the details. Rough shells that composed the sand and high tides splashing against the shore.
He decided to break here, hang out for a while. Settling down, he let his eyes wander out over the water. The horizon sparkled like the minerals at his feet. He let his indigo eyes fall closed, wondering where his sudden wanderlust had come from. He had never desired to leave his home, or explore. Curiosity did not seek him. Yet here he was, with some silly idea of starting a new life. How terribly out of character for him. For a second he considering what would happen if he went back, even though his brother was a dick, even though his mom and sister were batty and drove him insane. He fingered the tears in his ears. Once there had been a neat row of earrings, gold and silver, all from his mother. Family tradition. His brother had been fighting with him, right before he left, and he had hooked his-- what, his teeth, maybe, or his claws, Gig couldn't remember-- and tore them right out.
Had it really been enough to drive him away? Or maybe his reason was more psychological. Ah, but enough of that talk. New Years was -- soon, and he was starting fresh, a new Giggle Dracon, Gig of Inferni, the coyote menace. Even if he hadn't a whit of fighting ability or the intention to ever cause trouble. He could always just pretend, right?
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He was a wanderer, a vagrant at heart and fortunately proud of it. The snow made his Christmas and the seas was a worthy valentine, the love of his life and his director. Nikolai moved as the tides did; his movement was sporadic, he followed the moon and the wind and whatever scents it carried. He dieted on fish, and fishing was his pasttime, his recreation for relaxation. He was the wayward son of the sea more than of his own father and mother, more befriended to the ocean waves than to his brethren or brothers. He didn't know where his family was. Finding them was not his drive; he was not seeking anyone or anything. He moved like the ocean: always moving, whose purpose had yet to surface.
His direction of wandering often followed the coastline when he had no particular place to be, not that he ever did. He was a stranger in a strange land here; Canada was nothing like Russia, both in creature and habitat. The air was sickening, and the ocean whispered curses instead of blessings. The salt of the sea reeked such a terrible stench that he often sneezed and choked on it, and yet he was still drawn to stepping beside it, even in the coldest of winter. The wind would whip and toss at his thick, season-adjusted fur, and he would step barefooted in the freezing water without even noticing its temperature. He was adjusted to cold.
The Russian-born hadn't been expecting to see another soul out on the beach, considering how furiously the wind nipped at creatures unaccustomed to it. The ocean had a tendency to love the breeze and carry it around like a child; somehow, Nikolai had come to appreciate that. Of course, he found a coyote or something laying around, and the brute stopped and stared at it a while, wondering if it was dead. Folding his arms, he stepped up a few cautious steps closed and peered at empty, ripped piercing holes scattered on the opposite's face, though they were nothing compared to the expertly placed holes and dots on his own face. If he could thank his parents for anything, he supposed he could for how well he'd been pierced. He bent over a little, staring at the creature. "Hey," he muttered, duel eyes watching, "should get holes repierced. Empty holes look seelly."
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lol. i have been sucking at posts lately .__. pardon this. of course, the way things always went - barely a moment by himself before another stumbled across him. Giggle hadn't sensed the other near him, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. He looked up at the face of the wolf and started, landing awkwardly on his bum. The coyote hybrid composed himself with as much dignity as he could muster, rising back up on to his feet and self consciously feeling his ripped ear holes. 'I don't like piercings much,' he muttered, looking back at the wolf. He released the tension in his shoulders, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The wolf had a peculiar accent, one he hadn't encountered. It was distinctly European, perhaps German, or Russian. He decided not to say anything about it, unsure if the wolf would mind or not. He knew the reputation of wolves and coyotes not getting along so well, after all; why seek trouble?
He rubbed at his ear again, diverting his eyes from the duel-colored gaze. Gig realized suddenly that he might have offended the wolf with his admission, noting the neatly placed piercings lining his face. 'Not that they're all bad, of course.' He offered, letting his hands fall to his sides. 'I just got... tired of them.' Hah. He had gotten tired of a lot of things, including his mother's using her children as experiments for her dyes and piercings. He tightened the cloth around his arm absently. 'Uh, my name is Gig, what's yours?' no need to formally introduce himself. Gig would do- it was short and not entirely embarrassing. He felt awkward and out of place: sociality was not his strong point. The hybrid never could figure out if he was supposed to talk or not, and how formal, and then there was the levels of speaking- small talk, deep talk. Sometimes he almost wished he was a mute so he could just avoid it all.
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This creature seemed somewhat uneasy around him, particularly at first, having jumped a few feet into the air in surprise and giving him a quick but dirty look he'd only seen from those skeptical of Russian migrants--racists, he supposed--but Nikolai somewhat ignored it. He had a curiosity, normally stifled, but somehow aroused by the coyote's looks and piercings. It ran in the family, after all, these piercings; he could do them himself, having been taught by his father at some point of his childhood (obviously before Zaets had taken off), but the act of piercing was an easy one if needles and glittering gems to place were available. Perhaps the grayscale-furred wolf was simply interested in shining, glittering things, perhaps not. Either way, this foreigner was a weird-looking fellow, if anything.
"Bah," the Russian scoffed, standing up straight and turning his duel-colored eyes elsewhere in sudden disinterest at the stranger's dislike for piercings. "Beegk family thingk for me," he shrugged, but turned back to Giggle a moment to point at his pierced eyebrow, where a gold ring lay embedded. "Ringk sign of Russo family. Pierced by my father vhen I vas youngk," he pointed out, folding his arms and allowing his eyes to wander once more. Pierced by his father... before he took off, once again. Nikolai wasn't sure if he resented that or not; after all, he himself had left his mother and her gypsy troupe behind, too. There was nothing left for him there. "I yahm Neekolai," he muttered. What kind of name was "Gig"? "I repierce holes, if vant. Look better veeth piercingks than veethout."
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The Russian was making him nervous, but Giggle hid it as best he could. He realized his appearance must be an odd point for the wolf, with his ripped up ears and bright purple spots that really served no purpose. It wasn't as if he enjoyed being unique, after all. In fact, his goal in life was the complete opposite of being unique. Giggle really just wanted to blend in. Either way, he jumped when the wolf spoke again, and, forcing himself to relax, replied: 'Oh, I see. My-- mother did my ears. She was a little.. free spirited.' He licked his lips and furrowed his brows at Nikolai's suggestion. 'Thank you, Nikolai, but,' the coyote paused, trying to collect his reasonings. 'I'm- I'm really trying to, uh, forget that they were ever done.' That made a lot of sense. He'd forget they were done, after all, it's not as if gaping holes in his ears would serve as reminders, right? The skin would heal itself, eventually. Right?
'Then again,' he muttered, feeling the familiar tug of indecision. Maybe he should throw his seriousness out the window and take hold of his eccentric roots, and redye and repierce himself to his delight. Oh, but, no, he'd feel freakish, more than he already did. 'Nah.' Giggle was speaking under his breath. Realizing this, he refocused on the Russian wolf, feeling rather sheepish. 'So, where do you live? I mean, with what pack- or, I guess, ...what is it you do?' he was sincerely curious, and perhaps more than not trying to push the conversation off of his ears and on to the stranger.
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He was the shameless type, perhaps, as the creature recklessly reached up and seized one of the odd-colored coyote's ears and inspected the once-pierced holes that remained there. They were perhaps past the point of healing, possibly permanently gaping in his ears, perhaps not. "Ya, free spirited," he mumbled, releasing the boy and making his space by backing away. Piercings were not free spirited. What the hell was he talking about? Nikolai wore some sort of indignant scowl on his face as a sort of silent reaction, staring the boy down a long while as he continued to talk. One second, he didn't want a new piercing. The next, he did. He didn't. Nikolai rolled his eyes at the boy's indecisiveness. "Do not just look 'cool'," he said, when the boy couldn't make up his mind. "Mean strongk. Brave. Not veeklingk. I do not know vhat to theenk ovf you." He shrugged his shoulders, blunt. Oh well.
"I yahm part ovf no pahck," the Russian continued, turning to his satchel to sift through it and retrieve one of his maps. It was from around the Dampwoods, near Inferni territory. He had remained there a couple weeks, at least, primarily unnoticed and left to himself. He'd enjoyed it. "Do not belongk in pahck. Need to travel. See oceans. I yahm cartographer." He opened the map for a brief moment before rolling it back up and starting to force it back into his bag. He wasn't much for sharing, anyway. "You are not loner type. Vhere from?"
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