D-Day

[Anselm de le Poer]

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@$%&In a cosmic sort of sense, it was downright laughable that he'd responded to his daughter's departure as poorly as he had responded to her arrival. The irony was lost on Anselm. His mind was blank, only filled with an array of wailing sirens and flashing red lights. The door hadn't wanted to open, and even after all of these years, a back-up generator remained dedicated to its task. Nnnt, nnnt, nnnt!!! The sound was growing deafening, and he rummaged through the boxes in the small storage room like a madman. Several were filled with gas masks, devices that he could not understand the purpose of, and he flung them to the floor with a backwards swing of his hand. They clattered against the concrete, but the sound was all but mute compared to the ever-persistent alarms. Finally, he found something that grabbed his attention. Warning labels, not unlike the one's he'd found in a book when he first discovered the symbols that would become his tattoos--explosive.


@$%&The hybrid yanked the small box, tucked it under his arm, and grabbed two canisters of gasoline in each hand before hauling out of there. Even as he moved further and further from the old warehouse, he could still hear the blasted ringing in his ears. After a little while, it was hard to say whether he still heard the alarms from their original source or if it was all in his head. Placing the canisters on the ground, he glared angrily around the old air port. A military plane loomed in front of him, as did an old fuelling truck. Last time he had focused his negativity inward and it hadn't gotten him anywhere but hundreds of miles from home. Right now, (he thought) he was at least a few dozen miles from anybody who might care, and he was going to let all hell break loose. There would be no inner turmoil or madness this time, thanks--he was projecting it outward.


@$%&He ducked behind a concrete barrier and sat with the box in his lap. He skimmed the instructions briefly and studied the small, rock-like object in his hand. The tattooed male was almost sceptical--how could a rock be explosive? But hell, why not? Yanking the small metal pin from the top, he hucked it like a hot coal in the direction of the fuel truck and ducked down for cover. Even though it should have been obvious (his hands were over his ears), there seemed to be an unnatural silence for three split seconds before he heard the loudest sound he'd ever heard in his life. Even though he was the instigator, he still found himself starting slightly in his seat, eyes wide as the ground rumbled around him. The explosion was louder than the greatest thunderclap--worlds ahead of the most cacophonous crashing waterfalls. Was it safe? He was just about to turn around when a secondary explosion tore through the once quiet airport, and now there was... there was a lot of light. He stood, jaw agape, as the mushroom cloud of fire rose up from the old fuel truck. And all at once, he was no longer angry or sad, but his mind was still spinning. All was quiet now, save for the crackle of fire and the damn siren still whining somewhere in the background, but all he could hear was a faint ringing sound in his ears.


» p - Brooklyn! Halifax Airport. Don't worry, even though he's ... not happy, he knows better than to take it out on random people. >_> -Cough.- I had sooo much fun writing this. X: -Pyro.-

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[Brooklyn D'Angelo]

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.......Sorry for the mega fail! 300+ Brook wasn't sure what to believe any more. Her mother had not come back to Crimson Dreams. She'd gone to some other pack and although she had hoped otherwise, she'd chosen someone else over them. For a long time, Brooklyn had contemplated moving there, but the ties that bound her to her homeland could not be so easily broken. She loved the Manor and the memories that came with it, she loved the way everything worked there. She didn't want to succumb to someone else's rules, not now and not here. Halifax held little for her now, especially with the way it reminded her of her mother and the terrible addiction which had torn her family apart, but it was still a beautiful city to lose oneself in. The bang came as a shock, and the young wolf jumped, settling immediately into a combat position. However, it seemed that no one was attacking her and with the smell of burning gasoline permeating the air, her curiosity was piqued. She followed the scent carefully, trying to make herself as unseen as possible. It was hard, especially in her coat and in Optime form, but it would do for now. The fire caught her attention and she stood and stared, her mouth open. It was beautiful, to say the least. It burned so majestically, engulfing everything and turning the sky bright. It fascinated her like the fire of the house her mother had burned had managed to fascinate her. She approached, heedless of her own safety. What mattered now was to increase the fire, to make it burn brighter than ever. The wolf standing some feet away could have been a ghost for all she could see of him. "Beautiful," she exhaled softly, trying not to break the spell of the moment. Oh, if only she could make it last longer, if only she had the knowledge to make more fire.

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[Anselm de le Poer]

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        The crackling flames accented his coat perfectly--flickering orange and gold enhanced the faint reddish tint to his fur and the sooty black accents now became ashes that danced in the light. His red eyes were especially infernal as they reflected the shimmering flames that had taken on a life of their own. In a sense it mirrored the hell-fire felt within--though somehow, seeing it externalised held a placating effect. He stood for a moment in silence, jaw slightly agape and gaze focused skyward as the fire reached eagerly for the heavens, angry and furious that it could not despite its best efforts. He traced a line down one of the swaying flames to the charred fuel truck, and only now did he spot the other wolf standing on the other side.


        Instantly his ears fell back, and for a split second his muscles tensed as he fought the urge to flee. Though there were no sheriffs or juries this day in age, there was still a kind of natural law that permeated their society and he had a strong hunch arson was just as offensive now as it had been to the humans. The parking lot and runways extended practically beyond the extent of his sight, however, and though he did not fear the fire spreading much at all beyond their immediate area, he could still imagine a number of folks being (reasonably) upset over his actions. The high-pitched ring in his ears was only now beginning to fade.


        Perhaps he hadn't been spotted yet. Part of him (damn it all) was also concerned they may have been injured, though their posture sought to assure him otherwise. He hadn't realised anybody else was so near by. He lowered himself slowly to all fours, knowing full well that even the faintest movement could trigger jarring and immediate responses in their species, and kept low to the ground, padding behind the barriers as he moved closer to the stranger. Amidst the burning oil he eventually registered the other's scent as wolfish and feminine. His dark-tipped ears pricked forward as he completed his careful 180 around the truck and closer to the awestruck girl, his eyes focused with grim intensity as he considered what he ought to do next. It didn't even occur to him that she may have been just as delighted as he was.


's all good o:

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