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Green and blue hued eyes searched another part of her pack's territory. Truthfully, Asariel had been doing quite a bit of wandering these past few days. She probably wouldn't settle down too much until she'd searched every little nook and cranny. Asariel was a finicky, curious, all around strange creatures. So simple yet so complex. Simple, in the fact that she was almost always a bubbly, cheerful bundle of joy. Almost annoyingly so. Complex, in the sense that she could almost have many different moods swimming behind her little mask.
Sighing to herself, she plopped down by a large rock, flicking her tail as she gazed around. White. White. More white. Little splotches of brown where the white had melted. More white. Asariel hated winter. It was such a drag. She, herself, liked warmer weather, like Spring and Summer and the beginning of Autumn. She grimaced at the thought of winter. Cold, wet, not too much food...yeah, that was enough to sell her on the not-liking-winter thing.
Oh well. It was all part of the way things were.
Alive, I'm A Livewire
ooc: I'm sorry I took so long, Honore. <3
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(:
What a lovely afternoon. Once again, the Québécois was keeping himself well occupied by effectuating small chores around the house. There was something about having a cottage of his own that made him appreciate manual labor, amazingly enough. This was a hidden side of his personality that’d never surfaced up until now. Honoré planned on making his cabin the best looking one in all of Phoenix Valley. So what if the place looked decrepit? That meant he'd have to work twice as hard to reach his objective; it certainly would keep boredom at bay.
Bluebirds were roaming around the few visible tufts of grass, providing beautiful chirping sounds to accompany the alabaster male’s whistling. He was sitting at the picnic table in his backyard, the exact same place where he’d met one of his pack mates a few nights ago: Geneva. This time, however, he was busy painting the little birdhouse he’d crafted the day before. It was big enough for two or three fully grown birds, he assumed. Honoré didn’t know much about the little fellas and their living arrangements but if they needed a bigger birdhouse, he would have no problem building another one for them.
Upon realizing that he’d forgotten the green colored paint inside his cabin, Honoré reluctantly abandoned his task at hand. He was about to walk through his front door when he caught glimpse of a wolfess sitting a few yards away. She was grimacing and distorting her face in ways that clearly mirrored her disgust for something. Clearing his throat, the arctic wolf took a few steps forward and called out to her. “Hey, toé là, everything okay?” he questioned, grey-tipped ears flicked forward.
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Asariel jumped at the sound of a voice. It was male, by the sound of the tone. She hmphed and glanced up at the male. She was honestly surprised to see someone else out and about for a change. It was nice though, the weather was getting a bit warmer lately and she supposed it was only normal to see someone doing something in the spring-has-sprung weather. However. Just because spring has sprung doesn't mean that there wasn't any white around. Asariel seemed to refuse calling it snow, it was 'white', a shade she hated for the sole reason that it was winter. She smiled warmly at the male, bringing her attention back to him. "Hello," she greeted him, a warm smile on her face. "Yes, everything is fine. It's just that everything is so white yet. I don't like winter, you see." She said, looking down sheepishly.
Asariel didn't have a cabin. Yet. She kept meaning on getting one, finding an empty one or something, but so far she hadn't gotten around to it. So she'd been sleeping under trees for the past little while. Which was kind of okay with her, what was the difference? It would be nice to have a cabin, yes. Have a roof over your head for when it rained...or, in this case, dumped a blanket of white over the territory, and a warm bed to sleep in. Asariel stood up on her two hind legs, seeing as she was almost always in her fully shifted form nowadays, and wandered closer to the other Luperci with her hand extended. "I'm sorry, my name is Asariel. What's yours?" She asked curiously, tilting her head to the side, her dark brunette-shaded waves falling to the side.
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It seemed the female’s grimace was only temporary. It only took a split second for her demeanor to change completely. Now she was smiling. If only everyone could be so easily cheered up, the world would be a better place. Honoré returned her greeting with a “Hello” of his own. But as he listened to her explanation, he couldn’t help but frown. It was hard to understand how a person could simply associate one color, white for example, to a specific thing. She was right in thinking that white was the color of snow, but for her to dislike the pearly pigmentation for that reason was a little far-fetched. If anything, he felt a little insulted.
Honoré looked down at his own pelt, suddenly feeling quite self-conscious. He was white too, was he not? Did she dislike him too? Oh my god, she probably was one of those racist people! The Québécois took a step back, unsure of how to deal with the judgmental girl. When she unexpectedly moved closer, the Loas felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. What was she doing? Chestnut-colored eyes watched her approaching hand suspiciously, attempting to decipher her true intentions behind the seemingly harmless act of politeness. She introduced herself as Asariel and instead of returning the favor by offering her his name in exchange; it was his turn to make a grimace. He wasn’t about to shake the hand of such a narrow-minded lady!
“No. No hand shaking! You hate white people like me and then you want I be nice, eh? No way. Racist!”
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LOL, Asariel, a racist? Not hardly 8D
sorry it's short, I was really rushed!
Asariel's fine eyebrows shot up at his hasty accusation. Racist...? Her look of surprise was replaced with a frown. How dare he accuse her of being racist, of all things! "Now look here!" She growled, striding right up to him and putting her face inches from his, "You have no right to call me racist! You don't even know me!" Her voice upped an octave. She was outraged! This man didn't know her from a hole in the head. The nerve of it all! Asariel was merely describing white as the snow that littered the ground, not his pelt. She liked white. Just not when it snowed.
"I am sorry if you took offense to what I was saying," she said calmly, though her pretty voice was still wavering lightly from her outburst of rage earlier. "But I'm not racist. I was just talking about snow, and only snow. I like white pelts, really." She didn't know how else to plead her case.
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Poor Asariel. D:
The Loas did exactly what the offended female had ordered him to do. Oh, he was looking at her alright! Not only did he watch her, but he literally stared her down. His eyes were wide, unblinking, resembling two round pebbles. Their squabble had rapidly turned into a game for him. While a part of him still believed that she was prejudiced against white wolves, he also realized that she hadn’t meant to offend him with her comment. But now she was all up in his face, growling as if doing so would make a difference. When she got close enough, Honoré feigned a gag. “Urgh. Racist girl has bad breath too.” She didn’t. If anything, she smelled quite lovely. But that wasn’t important.
He could be a royal pain in the ass and poor Asariel was about to realize it. The alabaster male took a step back, bringing his right hand up to pinch his nose, just because commenting on her (not so) bad breath wasn’t enough. Every single word that passed her lips went through one ear and right out the other, until she got to the part where she claimed that she really did like white pelts. “So now you think I’m sexy, eh?” he questioned, giving himself a look over. He looked quite pleased with what he saw. Not bad, not bad at all!
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My, he's quite the character!
Asariel's teal eyes widened as she stared up at him, though he easily towered over her small physique. How rude of him! You should never tell a lady her breath smelled bad, even though it was on the lady's part that she should make sure she smelled good before venturing out into the world. She took a couple steps back, eying him with simmering rage. What a strange character he was, she thought as he stepped away and pinched his nose along with his stupid comment. She rolled her eyes, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole ordeal. Does my breath smell bad? She wondered idly. No, it couldn't. You smell just fine, she told herself. Yes, yes, she smelled just fine. She raised a fine brow as he stepped back and examined himself.
"So now you think I'm sexy, eh?" He said. She nearly snorted in contempt. He was full of it! But, as she did a quick once over with her eyes, she had to admit he was pretty cute; however his personality did not seem to match his handsome appearance. But she wasn't really one to judge, seeing as she'd really only ''known'' him for all of five minutes. She huffed and crossed her arms, tossing her wavy, muddy-hued mane out of her eyes. "I never said you weren't good looking," she muttered under her breath, though after she said it she realized it was probably loud enough for him to hear, and she'd basically just agreed with him, something she'd been meaning not to do. Stupid her, that would only fuel his ego. He was probably the type that believed all the women were fawning over him twenty-four-seven. Ugh, what had she started?
You didn't start anything, her mind chided her, he's the one that started it all by calling you racist! She eyed him again, giving him another look. He certainly didn't seem to be the egomaniac type; in fact, if she'd just seen him and hadn't spoken to him she would believe he was the complete opposite. The saying 'Appearances can be deceiving' ran through her mind. Boy, whoever said that was right! She momentarily contemplated calling him a jackass, but she decided that he hadn't given her a reason to do so.
Yet.
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Honoré felt a wave of satisfaction engulf his mind and ego when the female took a few steps back. The roles had been reversed now; it was his turn to smile. And boy did he smile! It was easy to see how his comment had affected her. Hell, it was probably driving her nuts. He was starting to like this pack mate of his. Manipulating her was so easy; this was entertainment at its finest. He would eventually reassure her and drop his little act, but not yet. No, right now he was having fun. So what if it was at someone else’s expense? It wasn’t wrong if he had every intention of rectifying things before they parted.
His confident smile did not falter; Asariel could huff and puff all she wanted. Obviously, his attitude wasn’t so bad. She could’ve walked away at any given time, it’s not like he would’ve tried to stop her anyway. But she didn’t. Her next comment, however, was completely unexpected. “What was that?” he questioned, leaning toward the girl’s general direction. “Of course you didn’t! Or that would make you, ma chouette, a liar and a racist!” he said, his tone of voice serious. His eyes, however, betrayed his fake sternness.
The Loas paused a moment before heading inside his cabin and coming back out moments later with a can of green paint in his right hand. He then vaguely motioned for her to follow him before making his way toward the picnic table where he’d been painting the birdhouse, “Coming? I go paint myself green so you like me better,” he joked, his French accent piercing through his witty comment.
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Asariel glared at the white wolf before her as he smiled. What was he smiling about? At this point they were fair opposites. He was a stuck up, arrogant, obnoxious snob and...well, Asariel wouldn't say she was perfect. Nobody was. But she wasn't a snob. She was usually a happy, bubbly character. But not now, no, not at all! At the moment she was rather moody, upset that he was so...frustrating. Why did he have to be complex? she wondered.
Asariel stared after him as he disappeared into his cabin, and she stood there, dumbfounded for a couple minutes. How dare he leave her just standing he--oh, there he was. Her eyes followed him as he motioned for her to follow, taking note of the paint in his hands. Hm, whatever was he up to? Contemplating standing there and just letting him go, (because she was mildly offended about her liking him more if he were green) she hesitated. But, deciding better of herself she sighed quietly and gave in, trailing after him. "So what are you doing with green paint?" She asked curiously, because obviously he wouldn't paint himself green. Would he? No, of course not...
Then again, at this point she put nothing past him. It then dawned upon her that he knew her name, but she did not know his. "What's your name?" She asked, "I'm afraid I didn't ask before our little...disagreement." Trust Asariel to always be forgiving. Even though he was kind of ridiculous...
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Her hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. But she followed nonetheless and her compliance alone was another small victory for the Québécois. “See? I knew you liked me,” he teased, unable to control his rather peculiar sense of humor. There was something about Asariel’s demeanor that was unbelievably cute. Maybe it was aura of innocence around her. Or maybe, just maybe, it had to do with how naïve she appeared to be. Whatever it was, it was adorable. When she questioned his motives, Honoré quirked a brow and shot her a look. Obviously, she didn’t believe a single word he’d said about painting himself green. He pondered actually applying the green-colored liquid to his pelt until he realized that it would ruin his silky fur, and he certainly didn’t want that happen.
Still, he ignored her first inquiry. No need to explain something she was about to see. It didn’t take long for another question to reach his ears though. That one he judged worthy of an answer. “Honoré,” he paused before adding the following. “But you can call me sexy if you want.” He chuckled, obviously amused with himself. He wasn’t normally this full of himself, it was a phase. Maybe it had to do with all the sugary goodness he’d eaten recently. He had a little too much energy bottled up within him.
He eventually reached the picnic table where the half-painted birdhouse awaited. Taking a seat, Honoré promptly got to work. He wasn’t a Picasso or anything, but the way he applied and treated the colors demonstrated his passion for art. Perhaps Asariel would get to see the softer side of him after all. “You like?” he questioned, eager to see if they shared the same interests.
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ooc: I'm sorry I took so long to reply! My muse needed a break.
Asariel raised a fine brow as he teased her about liking him. Indeed, he was rather adorable, once you got past his cockiness, if it were possible. "Honoré," she said softly to herself. Was it bad that she liked how it sounded? Was it bad that she had to admit he was rather attractive in his own strange way? Asariel nearly frowned - no. It was not okay. But why isn't it? Her mind inquired. She gave him a look as he added, "But you can call me sexy if you want." A smirk played across her lips. "Fine, Sexy."" Two can play at that game, she figured. Then she got puzzled with herself. What kind of game was she playing, here? A dangerous one? One that would get her in trouble? She sat down opposite from him on the bench, watching with peculiar interest and intent eyes. The birdhouse was actually quite lovely, she had to admit.
Asariel had no talent for art whatsoever, but she did enjoy it. "I do like," She breathed, watching him paint away. Ahah! She knew he wasn't really going to paint himself green. That would have been quite foolish on his part. She did hope the two of them would be able to have some kind of connection, seeing as they seemed to have gotten off to a rocky start. She hated it when things turned out that way. In fact, she couldn't stand it. Pride was a terrible thing. She found herself wanting to talk to this strange man in front of her, but she was determined to hold fast and let him start the conversation, if that was what he wanted.
Angels do show up in the strangest of places, after all.
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No worries :3
An energetic nod was issued when Asariel gave his name a try. She mimicked the pronunciation almost perfectly, which was a little surprising in itself. She had a slight accent of course, but that was to be expected. What he hadn’t foreseen was her next comment. Honoré did a double take when the word “sexy” escaped the tan female’s maw. Well well, little Miss Asariel sure was full of surprises. It seemed she had a sense of humor of her own, unless she truly meant her remark. Another possibility. After all, the Québécois truly was a handsome man. Or so he liked to think. He refrained from replying to her comment though; for once, the male couldn’t find a witty comment to throw her way.
Her true intentions mattered little at this point. It was only when his pack mate voiced her appreciation for the miniature house that Honoré looked up and sought her gaze. He hadn’t really taken the time to do so before; merely because he hadn’t been all that intrigued. But now that she seemed to actually show interest in one of his hobbies, he saw her in a different light. Her silence brought a smile to his lips. Odd, he’d initially classified her as a “cute girl with a big mouth”. But she didn’t seem to fit that description anymore. Had she run out of things to say? “Euh, so, what else you like?” That would get her talking again.
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Asariel couldn't help but smirk as Honoré looked a little surprised by her statement about him being sexy. Yes, indeed she was full of surprises. Surprise was basically her middle name! She tried to resist the smile that wanted to break free and betray her mild amusement, though she figured her eyes had already done so. Asariel was also full of mystery and often left people wondering just what she meant. Did she truly believe he was sexy or was she just toying around? Well, yes she did, but she wasn't about to let him know such information. She was satisfied that he couldn't seem to find some witty remark to throw at her. He smiled then, and she returned the gesture.
As stated before, she knew virtually nothing about art. She didn't know about any famous artists and she certainly wasn't one herself, but she was very creative and she did appreciate a good artists' work. Honoré's work, for example, was a good artists' work. He was doing something productive by making a home for the little birds that flitted and fluttered around in the trees above them. His question hit her ears; "Euh, so, what else do you like?" Hmm, what else did she like? Spring. She liked spring. Social activities with a friend. "Well," she started off, somewhat hesitantly at first, "I like white wolves." She teased, raising a brow as she said this, indicating their...disagreement, earlier. "I like birds, too."
Hm, what else did she like? She found it funny how it was so easy to think of what you liked when nobody asked you; but as soon as someone asked that question, it was difficult to say exactly what you liked. She wondered why this was. Was it only her, or did that happen with everyone? "I like art as well, though I must admit I'm no artist, nor do I know anything about such," she explained, a bit of a sheepish expression crossing her face. She began wondering then if little birds would enjoy their new home, once the birdhouse was finished. She most certainly hoped they did, because it was a perfect piece of work. Just like Mr. Honoré whatever-his-last-name-was himself.
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Honoré could’ve continued egging her on for being a racist, but he didn’t. When she stated how she liked white wolves, he shot her an amused look. So she did have a sense of humor after all. Whoever said first impressions lasted a lifetime was most obviously wrong. This girl was quickly growing on him, despite their initial disagreement. When she mentioned how she liked birds, his smile widened. At least someone shared his appreciation for the little feathered creatures. It was a shame that painting wasn’t her forte though, despite her obvious interest in art. Had she even tried her hand at painting before?
He blinked, wondering if Asariel was simply too scared to give it a try. “Everyone is an artist,” he stated firmly, positive that his pack mate had some talent. Glancing down at the birdhouse, he carefully examined the work he’d done. Most of the background color had been applied, but Asariel could always help with the details and add her own personal touch. Honoré took a clean paintbrush and handed it to her, hoping she wouldn’t shy away from his invitation.
”Take,” he said, a hint of urgency in his voice. He then started tracing different patterns on the miniature house, doing so very slowly so that Asariel could learn and mimic his movements.
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Asariel didn't fail to notice his amused look. She smiled at him after noticing how his smile grew when she mentioned liking birds. She loved birds, though she couldn't understand why others didn't seem to appreciate them. She randomly noticed that he had a nice smile. Indeed, her first impression of him was that he had been a stuck up, arrogant jerk that didn't care about any others. However, her opinion was quickly starting to change. She watched him paint with piqued interest. Oh, how she wished she could do the same! She wished she had some other talent than healing and herbal knowledge...
"Everyone is an artist," she heard him say. She gave him a doubtful look. "Not me, I'm afraid..." She said softly, looking down at the brown planks that made up the picnic table. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Honoré holding out a paintbrush. Her eyes widened; "Oh, I shouldn't...I don't want to ruin it," she said, though she did take the little wooden brush from his hand. She didn't do anything at first, instead she just watched how his hand worked the brush, the paint leaving pretty patterns and designs behind. Eventually, she mustered up the courage to begin painting. Huh, whaddaya know! It wasn't as hard as it looked! She supposed she was doing pretty alright; her designs didn't come out looking like completely shit in the least, anyway. Maybe she did have a bit of talent after all...
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Honoré exhaled harshly; providing a loud snort to express his disagreement. Damn women and their insecurities! What the heck was she afraid of? He was about to ask when she seemingly read his mind and gave him an answer. The Québécois then shook his head, a little put off by the girl’s lack of confidence. “You not ruin it,” he reassured her, which was something he normally wouldn’t do. He watched her mimic his every movement with great interest.
Asariel was doing extremely well for someone who’d never touched a paintbrush before. Something in the way she held the brush irked him, though. She held the instrument a little too tightly and it showed in her work. So he stood up and moved around the picnic table, joining the cream-colored femme on the other side. “Wait,” he said, adopting a sitting position beside his new apprentice. The Frenchman did not take the brush away from her; instead he simply put his hand over hers. His goal was to provide some form of guidance. So he corrected her movements, making them a little more fluent. “Like this, tu comprends?”
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Asariel's pretty face scrunched up as she concentrated. Yes, it was true that she was holding the brush quite tightly -- so tightly that, for a moment, she was afraid that she would snap the fragile wooden utensil like a twig. She smiled at him briefly as his gentle reassurances reached her ears. She flicked these back as she returned to her little masterpiece, overjoyed that her work wasn't turning out to be a complete piece of shit. However, when she looked back up at him, almost as if she were searching for approval, she saw he had a bit of an annoyed expression on his face. She blinked in confusion; she was doing alright, was she not? And, he'd told her to help him out anyway. She was, she had to admit, surprised when Honoré stood up and moved around the table. She began wondering what this strange character was up to now when he sat beside her and placed his hand over hers, dwarfing it.
She watched, amazed, as he guided her and showed her how to make her artwork a little more fluid. She looked up at him with bright eyes, a wide smile crossing her face. She beamed up at him, so very proud with her little feat. She found herself wanting to practice her painting skills; maybe she'd get herself a paintbrush and some paint and start practicing. After all, like everyone seems to say -- practice makes perfect, right? Unless you practiced too much...then it just made you mess up.
After a few more minutes of careful instructing, she looked back up at Honoré for approval. "Am I doing alright, Teach?" She asked, a playful grin on her maw. How fun this was!
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His pupil was a little more comfortable now and her small burst of confidence pleased him greatly. Asariel was actually quite good at painting; it was hard to believe that she’d never tried it before. Of course, the Québécois liked to think that his awesome teaching skills were what made her so good at it. He hadn’t really done much to help her, aside from giving her a small demonstration and telling her to loosen up. But thinking that he had something to do with it made him feel important. Honoré did not feel the need to boast about it though, which was completely unlike him. Now that he’d taken the time to know the girl, showing off did not seem necessary. It was a pleasant feeling.
Asariel understood his explanations perfectly. And as she glanced up, silently seeking approval, Honoré allowed a proud smile to spread from one ear to the other. His so-called racist pack mate was good company. “Very good,” he said with a slow nod. He patiently waited for the girl to finish her work before grabbing another paintbrush and writing something on the side of the bird house. As he did this, the Québécois wondered if his student could read. He hoped so. Honoré gingerly turned the miniature house in a different angle, allowing the girl to see what he’d written. The name “Asariel” now adorned their masterpiece. “Nice, eh?”
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I'm sorry...it's gonna be short and crappy 'cause my muse is dead, but I really need to reply..
Asariel couldn't seem to stop beaming. She felt so...accomplished. And, the funny thing is, she found she really enjoyed her newfound "talent". She felt the need to learn more; she looked up at Honore for mild approval before she looked back at her little masterpiece. She grinned, then set her paint brush in a little cup of water reserved for cleaning the brushes. She couldn't help but wonder what her new friend was doing as he took the little birdhouse back and began painting something on it. She frowned for a moment as he held it up to her. Asariel it said on it. She looked at Honore with an expression that was something like amusement mixed with chastening. "Silly boy, now everyone will know who did the crappy paint job," Her tone was joking, though her face looked completely serious.
She smiled at the little birds fluttering and tweeting around them. "I hope you like your new home, little fellas," Her voice was warm and soft, then she looked at Honore again with a quirky smile. What to do now...
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[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... annerx.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Fade to black? :3 We can have a more recent one soon, if you want! I'll ask for this thread to be archived.
Asariel seemed to appreciate the gesture. The expression on her face did not correspond to her playful tone of voice, which told Honoré that she was only kidding. Her words made him smile, and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he replied. “Can’t let them think it’s me who did crap paint job, yah? It would ruin my reputation.” The Québécois truly believed he had a reputation to withhold when in reality, he didn’t. He knew three people, at most! The rest of the world was oblivious to his existence.
Honoré tentatively touched the birdhouse with one of his fingers. It seemed dry enough. He took the masterpiece with both of his hands and walked over to a nearby tree. A ladder was already there; the plan was simple. He had to climb up those steps without falling off. It was a pretty hard thing to do, considering the fact that he couldn’t let go of the little house. Asking for help would’ve made too much sense, of course. He was awesome. And awesome men simply did not ask for assistance. After struggling with his task at hand for several minutes, Honoré successfully reached the top.
Within minutes, their little house was secured to the strongest-looking branch. His face beamed with pride as he turned around to give Asariel two thumbs up. Little did he know, green paint was all over the palm of his hands.
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