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311. For AG (:
The exquisite aroma of boiling red maple sap was floating around in the atmosphere. Once heated enough, the substance would become a light amber liquid most commonly known as syrup. Honoré already had a few bottles of homemade syrup lying around his cabin; five bottles were done and put aside for his pack mates should they ever feel like stopping by. As for the rest, well, he planned on making some “tire d’érable” as he called it in French. The Loas wasn’t sure what the correct term in English was though. Sugar on snow? He shrugged to himself, not really bothered with the proper expression for the time being.
Thankfully, starting a fire outside had not been necessary. His small cabin was dotted with a wood stove; its primary function was to keep him warm and the second one was to help with his cooking. Granted, he did not have many provisions and ingredients to choose from but that was about to change. He planned on making a small vegetable garden in his backyard once spring came. Honoré didn’t really consider himself to be a skillful cook but he knew enough to satisfy his appetite and constant yearning for variety.
Using two old rags to keep from burning his paws, the Québécois picked up the saucepan and carried it outside where he carefully poured a small amount of its content on a snow bank. The alabaster male then temporarily set the pot aside to focus on his taffy, twirling it around a stick. He repeated the process with several more sticks, grinning with satisfaction as he examined the candy. Too bad Phoenix Valley wasn’t home to many puppies. Children normally went crazy over maple taffy. Bah! At least he wouldn’t get his ass whooped by a bunch of angry parents because their children were high off sugar and bouncing off the walls.
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OOC: Yikes, delay! Sorry. Back from absence now, with a cold, but oh Souls *squishes* 300+
Lubomir was sick with worry. Ever since the pack meeting he couldn't take his mind off the missing puppies. Firefly's announcement and the subsequent fever that had gripped the pack left him exhausted. He couldn't even drown his sorrows in the library, because who could honestly give a damn about a stack of books when there were pups out there, god knew where. Were they even still alive? Ever since he and Mew had mated he could hardly contain his excitement (and fear, perhaps?) at the thought that there might be puppies soon. He wasn't that old but he wouldn't get any younger and who knew what could happen? Now, with Conor and Emwe both gone, the crushing fear at the back of his mind only intensified.
Breaking away from the search parties, Lubomir had struck out on his own. He went south, his movements slow, trying to pick up any scent. The rain had washed everything away and the more he tried the more annoyed he became. As he travelled, the smell of wolf became stronger. So there was a pack here. It wasn't as far as Crimson Dreams, although what puppies would be doing so close to the sea he could not imagine. Still, perhaps someone knew a thing or two. What distracted him was a sweet smell he had never encountered before. What manner of wolf lived here, that he could not tell. Sure, some wolves cooked, his meal with Bane a testament to that. But never before had he smelled something so sweet and sticky. He cautiously approached the pack lands, looking for any sign of pups. Nothing.
Two possibilities before him. He could either creep into the lands and hope for the best or he could call out. The grey male paused, his heart beating wildly in his chest. With a determined look on his face, the Vitis crossed the border and followed his nose towards the smell. The sigh which greeted him made him look on in confusion, unaware that he was, in fact, in plain sight of the other wolf.
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Yay! AG's back! (:
Honoré couldn’t resist the urge to taste his creation. While he had vowed not to ingest anything sugary on that particular day, his stomach had a mind of its own. It wasn’t like he needed to go on a diet or anything, but too much candy couldn’t be too good for him. Age would eventually catch up to him and he certainly didn’t need any complications with his health. Three months from now, another birthday would come around. And sadly enough, he had no family to celebrate it with. What a shame.
Holding the taffy a few centimeters away from his muzzle, the Loas examined the sticky substance with fascination before he finally gave it a tentative lick. Hm, this definitely wasn’t his best batch. Had he overcooked it? It was a possibility. The candy was still damn good, and the look on his face mirrored his thoughts perfectly.
When he caught sight of another male staring at him from a few feet away, his initial reaction was to take a step back. How long had he been standing there? Chestnut-colored eyes remained on the stranger for a moment; long enough to try and figure out what the heck he was looking at. Was it the hat? Although most people thought his clothes looked funny, his hat definitely wasn’t what had caught this guy’s attention.
The Québécois glanced down; murmuring “Oooh” as he suddenly realized why the grey wolf was looking at him funny. “C’est d’la tire d’érable, you want?” He wouldn’t have referred to the taffy as “tire d’érable” if he’d known what it was called in English. But he didn’t. Oh well!
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OOC: Would you like some fail with your delay?
Well, damn, he'd been spotted. This was not how everything had been planned out. He hovered somewhat uncertainly, not really sure if the other wolf would pose a question and then call out for the leaders or defenders of the pack. Assuming he wasn't one of them, of course. Lubomir looked closer at the male. What a weird guy he was. Clothes no longer shocked him, but hats certainly did. They were uncommon here, as far as he could tell and he'd only seen a few in Europe, mostly worn by travellers who needed to obscure their faces. What this wolf was doing was not hiding. Not with all that sweet stuff around. Lubomir tried again to figure out what it was. Nothing he'd ever had before, that much he could be sure of.
Uh... what language was the guy speaking? Lubomir didn't really understand. It sounded familiar, like a song he'd heard a long time ago or a poem from a book. Was it French? It had been quite a while since he'd tested his French. Je ne comprendre. You speak English? I would like to try, yes. He nodded vigorously, to show his excitement. Why not? It wasn't like he would die from trying anything. Why would a wolf be preparing poison in his own pack lands? The grey wolf walked closer to the other, smiling and wagging his tail. I'm Lubomir. What's your name?
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Luckily for this stranger, Honoré wasn’t much of anything. Not a hunter nor a scout, and definitely not a defender. He was just… him. He had no duties or specific talents to help Phoenix Valley, aside from giving his pack mates a good headache once in a while. He was quite good at that. He could also write poetry and cook, but that was about it. None of what he could do was actually useful. Jefferson was aware of that though, and he didn’t seem to care. And if he did, he hadn’t mentioned it.
Obviously, dealing with trespassers wasn’t his forte. He knew standard protocol, but calling for someone did not seem necessary right now. The Québécois didn’t have much flair, but he was smart enough to know this Lubomir chap belonged to a pack. So he didn’t want to join Phoenix Valley. Good, Honoré wouldn’t have known how to deal with him anyway. “Yes, speak English is okay.” he said, attempting to reassure the other male. The Frenchman brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head, wondering if he’d get chastised for not questioning this visitor before allowing him to cross the borders.
“Me? Honoré,” he said, pointing to himself. He wasted no time offering the grey wolf a piece of maple taffy, waiting anxiously to get some feedback. “For you,”
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OOC: 300+
The more Lubomir hung around this wolf, the more relaxed he became. To all intents and purposes, it seemed that there would be no call for the leaders, no sudden attack from the trees. As the Ambassador for his pack, he knew full well that it was his responsibility to maintain a good relationship with other packs. So far as he could see, though, all this strangely clad wolf was doing was cooking something which appealed to him the more he hung around. The fact that he was speaking English was another forte. Lubomir could do French, but mostly it was broken and shaky, like his legs after running too long. He was getting on in years, that much was obvious. But still, it wouldn't hurt to try new things.
Lubomir concentrated on his body. It responded immediately by shifting. He could feel his bones breaking and moving, his muscles tensing and relaxing, his whole body a mass of brief pain before he stood on two legs. Shaking himself, he gave the strange wolf, Honoré he'd said, a smile. I think this is better for trying. I hope it's okay to ask, but what is this? In two steps he was beside the other wolf, his nostrils flaring with excitement and his tail wagging slightly. It was almost like being a puppy again, all new and shiny. Thank you. With that, Lubomir licked the offered sweet.
It was so sweet his whole body was zinging with it. His tongue exploded in a million different colour, his whole being trembling from it. Never before had he ever tasted something so sweet, something which seemed to flow through his entire blood system. He felt his toes curling and an even bigger smile spread all over his face. This was the greatest ever! Where could he get more? This is amazing, how long have you been making it?
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Although shifting was a natural thing, Honoré couldn’t stop himself from staring in awe as the grey male’s body started to change. He’d never had the opportunity to witness such a phenomenon; it was both scary and fascinating at the same time. After all, the Québécois had never taken the time to shift in front of a mirror. How was he supposed to know what it looked like? His eyes were wide open; two hazel-colored beads fixated upon the visitor. Lubomir was in obvious pain for a few moments, and the Loas unknowingly allowed a pained grimace to settle on his face.
Once the process was all over, the Dahlian wolf granted him a smile. Honoré mirrored it uncertainly, still a little shaken up by what he’d seen. His shock was quickly replaced by excitement when Lubomir gave the taffy a try. He was leaning forward in anticipation, both of his ears perked upwards. It took the other male a few seconds to savor the sticky substance at most, but those seconds seemed like an eternity to the French man. Then it came; the long awaited verdict. He liked it! Honoré had never felt so proud in his life. “S’good, eh?! Been making it long long time. Have some more stuff too, not only tire d’érable!” He could always make him pancakes with maple syrup, too!
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Lubomir was completely unaware of the attention his shifting was garnering from this wolf. He himself had never thought it appropriate to stare at a shifting wolf, but his views on life were so outdated they might as well be full of moths. He couldn't exactly figure out why he never liked watching. As a younger wolf, he would shift next to the river in his pack lands, in a silly attempt at watching himself shift. It was a stupid idea, because his concentration would break and he would end up in excruciating pain. A bit like trying to sneeze with your eyes open. But regardless of that, he still tried, if only to prove to himself that one day he might be able to do it. He was never able to.
What exactly this 'tire d'whatever' was Lubomir could not say but it tasted like a small bit of heaven. His tail wagged furiously and the goofy smile on his face did not once falter. Sure, it was a silly thing to act so puppy-like, but he'd be damned if he tried anything else. With that, he turned to the other man. So this was his craft, his talent. The thing that set him apart from others. Lubomir was amazed. It was very close to magic for him, for he had never tried anything so amazing in his life. With your permission, I will take some back to Dahlia. This is amazing! What else do you make, Honoré? The question here was really how much was he willing to make for Lubomir to try. That, however, would have been a very rude question to ask, so the grey wolf allowed the chef to decide how much he would be given and when and what.
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He blinked, a little taken aback by all the attention his taffy was getting. Was he really that good at making it? And why did Lubomir want to take some home to Dahlia? Honoré wrinkled his nose suspiciously, immediately assuming that Dahlia was his mate. Maybe the grey wolf had done something wrong and now he was trying to redeem himself by bringing his mate some treats. Would he lie to her and take credit for the recipe? Honoré certainly hoped not! He remained silent for a moment, debating whether he should indeed give this wolf permission to take possession of his sugary goodness.
“Okay, but just a little. Because I make for me and friends,” What friends? He had no friends as of yet, but Lubomir didn’t know that. Lying about it was okay, as long as he didn’t get caught. “Can make maple syrup, and hard candy. Oh, and cookies.” he said proudly, feeling rather important. “But can’t give those because I didn’t make yet,” he said with a shrug. Making good stuff took a lot of time. And besides, he couldn’t just give everything away. He had to keep some for nice people, like Jefferson and Geneva. They deserved some too.
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