I ish LAAAATTTTEEEE T~T Sowwy o~o

Noss had returned less than an hour ago, but it had taken him as long to find his way back to the Chien Hotel. Needless to say, he was less than satisfied with Ralla's explanation of her running away and staying, but he was no less guilty. He had seen her eyes light up when he had confessed that he was planning on only leaving to return. He had also seen the uncharacteristic anger when she had begun to scold him for giving her an unearthly scare. He hated to admit it, but standing up to him like that had taken her real courage; something he had always filled in for her. Now that she was showing it herself...did she really need him anymore? Did she need him to protect her anymore...? She has that other white wolf now, he thought with a bittersweet pang. He may not have thought much of the looks he gave her, but he had fought the blind wolf, and had been impressed with his skill despite his handicap. More than that, Ralla had interfered. The two had shown devotion in battle, even though Ralla still seemed confused as to why she had acted as she had. She probably just thought she was doing the right thing, he thought with a knowing smirk.

The first thing he smelled when he opened the doors to the hotel was the scent of alcohol; lots of it. Underneath the blanket of booze was an all-too familiar scent that made Noss remember what trouble he was going to be in for. He made his way over to the couch, his heavy footsteps impossible to ignore on the creaking floorboards, and saw Strel lounged out, a few bottles around him and one in his hand. It was obvious what the redhead had been doing, as well as his current state. Noss felt many emotions upon sighting the redhead, but the first was apprehension. How would he approach him? Talk to him? He knew that Strel wasn't pleased with him at all, especially after his show back at AniWaya. Instead, he opted to act as he usually did. Would he probably get a bottle thrown at him along the way? Probably. Some hateful words? Almost assured. But he knew that Strel didn't want to be alone and drunk. Noss had been that way, and it had been embarassing...

"Hey," he said plainly, crouching next to the side of the couch, a foot or so away from where the redhead was laying. For a moment he just looked at the man, reminding himself of the reason why he was going to stay. When he had told Ralla about Strel, she had been shocked, for sure. But that smile that he knew was hers alone had lit up her face, and she had congratulated him, of all things. Right; now I just have to work for it. "I'm gone for a day and you're already diving into the bottles? I'm flattered." Alright, that probably hadn't been the best way to start their conversation...

Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.

Da-da-da-derp? :3

He almost had to laugh at the added 'darling'. Him? Darling? The two put together seemed so alien. He chuckled a little when Strel tried to push him--secretly pleased that the redhead would even consider still touching him, let alone speak--while trying his best to keep serious. At the very least, he wanted to be serious enough to be able to help Strel out. ... He was failing. He had never seen the tailor look so...endearingly goofy. It struck a chord in him, and although the object of aiding the redhead remained, there grew a desire to drag it out a little... Oh yes, he could be a tortious, self-serving bastard. "Man enough to what? Drink some stale water?" he shot back, vaguely entertained with Strel's slur. Beneath the banter that they were already falling into, Noss knew there was that bitter note, though. He heard it loud and clear.

He watched as Strel unsteadily righted himself, striking a pose, sitting while looking down on the warrior, as Noss kept steady on crouched knees. "Never knew you to like drinking alone." True, he had only drunk freely with the redhead that one time, but from his impressions, he didn't see Strel as the kind to enjoy drinking himself into a stupor without someone to slur a sarcastic remark to. While it didn't fit Noss's image of the man, if Strel enjoyed drinking to this point...well...what was he supposed to do? Take the bottles and bury them? Interesting idea... Might make Strel throw some furniture at me though, he thought with a snicker. But just as he had been enjoying their greeting-banter, the matter suddenly turned serious. Noss straightened his face and looked up at Strel, seeing those lavender eyes misted over with the influence of the alcohol.

"We talked. Told her my intentions. She told me hers. I'll tell you the full story when you're sober. Long story short...you won't be missing a living punching bag anytime soon." He realized that maybe he should've told the full story to Strel sooner, but...after surprising him like a he did a while ago, he had been apprehensive to just out and tell him 'Hey, I plan on coming back permanantly!'. Yeah...that'd go over well... Especially since I have to leave again soon and come back... Again... Noss could imagine that that would earn him a few bruises from aforementioned thrown furniture... Or, if words could bruise a man... Why do I let him do that again...? Oh, right. I dug my own grave. Standing, Noss offered Strel his hand; not entirely expecting the redhead to take it, but offering anyway. "Come on. I'll take you upstairs." First thing was first; get Strel upstairs to his room...maybe...if Strel agreed to move or forced Noss to just carry him up again.

Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.

Post attack tonight >.> Must force self to post at least once in all >< Including my 3000-word-a-post-goal-thread T~T ...I think I need some of that rum -.-

Noss could hear the slurr in those words, not to mention the tell-tale sign of broken speech. He didn't know how hard the liquor was that Strel had drunk--although the word 'rum' he had come to affiliate with strong--but he almost had to laugh at Strel's explanation. Alaine and Sylvie? Those were two names he hand't heard before. Alright, he'd heard them, but not met the owners. Noss had to take an internal breath, though, subconsciously relieved that Strel's drinking partners hadn't been male. If they had, he would've felt the unnerving presence of jealousy, and he didn't know how that would blow over after he would berate himself relentlessly. "I think if I drank more I wouldn't be able to keep myself in check." Noss was no fool; he knew the effects of alcohol. But as to the full meaning of that statement, he left it up and out for open contemplation. Whatever conclusion Strel drew, he at least hoped it wouldn't be a completely wrong one.

Noss's own ears twitched forward as Strel seemed to take an interest in Ralla's choice. It didn't bother him; not anymore. Secrets and lies seemed so unnecessary, especially since Noss's confession. What did he have to hide? "She's going to stay in AniWaya, but she wants to take go back to the Moon Tribe in the spring, to tell our father her official leave. And then before all that she wants to take a trip to the mountains to see when they'll be passable... She used to make sense," he said while rubbing the back of his head. He was going to continue on that the full truth of what he himself was going to do, but he was...nervous... Despite how much Strel insisted that he would not and did not miss Noss--such as his next words, which made Noss smirk again--he knew that Strel's interest meant concern. And if he didn't care about Noss in the slightest, he would've booted him from the get-go of his confession, courtesy or not. "Of course she'll return, she says. What I have to wonder is if Father will honor her wishes... Well, not to say I won't back her up anymore..." He let that statement hang as well as he saw Strel staring absentmindedly at his hand. After then offering to take the redhead upstairs, he had to wonder if the look in Strel's eyes--so different from normal--was because of the rum or because of how he was feeling...or a little of both.

Strel's adamant refusal made Noss sigh, even though the strong words continued. He just chalked it all up to the rum again. So said, he did a repeat of the day he had confessed to Strel, lifting him and making his way up to his room. It was the same again; beating fists, curse words... And Noss had to argue with himself; why wasn't he just telling Strel about what he was going to do? Was it out of concern that he would react too strongly while drunk? Confident that Strel would wait? Worry that he would be shot down? Told to go home? Noss had never loved anyone but his family; he didn't know how to react to being rejected in such a way. Strel had never said no, hence he still had hope. If Strel ever seriously told him to go home--to leave, never return, never show his face--Noss honestly wouldn't know what to do. Arriving at the doors, Noss settled the drunken body of his first love--such a word still seemed unfamiliar in Noss's vocabulary...--as he went to lock the door again. Wouldn't do for Strel to wander out and about in his state. Oh moon, I'm doting.... I'm doting... He never thought the day would come where he would do that to anyone but Ralla. Strel just had that habit of mixing him up and turning him upside down...

Sitting in a chair that he pulled up next to the bed, the better, more sensible part of his mind--the part that rarely made an appearance--won out on the internal argument, so he decided to tell Strel right then and there what he was going to do. "I'm going with Ralla on the trip to the mountains and back to the Tribe," he said point blank. "I can't just let her take a journey that big by herself... And I have to tell our father about my official leave, too." Turning his head to the side, eager and apprehensive to hear Strel's reaction, Noss awaited the assault of more curses that were sure to come... Or a bedside table. He wasn't leaving the furniture out of the equation yet...

Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.

Excited for the snow storm? I kinda am and am not cuz now I have to rework all my timeline stuffs >.> Oh wells; MAJOR PLOTTAGE! X3

Strel's mannerisms were shifting violently whichever way the large warrior pushed him--or, really, whichever way his emotions felt like going--and Noss almost grinned at the silly scene that Strel was making with that throw pillow. With quite the fright, endearing--that exact word, no manly connotation about it--came to mind, even though the conversation was turning serious. He had half expected Strel to react the way he was, though he had almost hoped that the redhead would hear the last part and not make Noss have to mushily explain himself. He should've learned, though; inebriation often meant misunderstanding.

Despite Strel's initial reaction and the way he tried to make himself look happy, the way he said those words didn't make it sound at all like he meant it. The words stung, no doubt--Does he really think that about me...?--but at the moment, he just needed to make himself clear, at the very least. That was the very minimum. When Strel had told Noss about his rapes...Noss had been angry, to be sure. But the other experiences had made it painfully clear to the gray behemoth of why Strelein acted the way he did. Strel was like Ralla; afraid, angry, and alone in the fight. At the very least that was pretty egotistical to think himself as something so pondered in the tailor's mind, but confronting his younger sister had shown him how easily little fears could grow into monsters that rarely had pretty faces. And then that infuriating white wolf... He would never apologize to him, even if Ralla defended him to the ends of the earth. But...he had to give him credit for trying to defend her. And so she had not been completely alone. In the present case, Noss wanted to support Strel through what his mind was facing just as Strel had kept him in check for far longer than he had imagined during their confrontation back at AniWaya. Had Strel not been there, Noss would've likely jumped Kemo from the get-go and literally mauled him. It was not a nice or polite thought--far, far from it--but it was truth. Someone endangering or getting too close to Ralla would never be forgiven in his mind.

And he felt that same protecting passion for Strel.

As he rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to find the words to convey what he wanted to say, he had to stop himself a few times from questioning himself again how to the redhead had wormed his way into Noss's inner circle. What's done is done. And now I have to keep up my end of the bargain. Yes; Noss still felt that love for the tailor. Love for their times together and times to come; love for the way that Strel seemed to be able to magically keep him under control at the most crucial of times and for the way that his words sparked such intense banter that Noss did not engage in often but seemed to do so frequently with the redhead. But that required that he make an active effort to keep the tailor from being so upset as often as he had been because of Noss himself. He didn't like to see Strel so out of places...because it made him feel lost, too. He saw the misty sheen cover Strel's eyes and had to keep himself from touching the redhead's cheek again. That would only freak him out; make him angrier. "I am leaving, Strel. But not permanantly. I'll be back; here." This time he emphasized that he was going to return; he didn't want to leave these particular stones unturned. "I'm going to renounce my claim of being chief, Strel. I...I don't want to be there if..." That's where he trailed off, suddenly embarassed again at how words that needed to be spoken often didn't let you speak them easily. He had already said 'I love you'; these words paled in comparison. "you're not..."

He got up then and started to pace, Strel's stinging words beginning to affect him. Often Noss reacted carelessly to the most mundane words thrown at him--vehemently, if insulting--but Noss found himself more troubled and actually hurt rather than offended when Strel used those words as weapons. Every warrior had chinks in their armor, and Noss's chinks were becoming irksome the more he let them be. "Do you really mean that...?" he asked, referring to if Strel really didn't enjoy his company. He had asked that once before, when he had attempted to distance himself, and had gotten a guarded answer that was neither yes or no. So now he asked again, even though the timing was terrible because of Strel's drunken state. He knew there had been a reason why he had wanted to tell Strel when he was sober... At the same time, with a spark of foolish hope, Strel could've meant the words in a way where he would miss Noss; that he, maybe, would miss the ruckus that Noss seemed to cause so often, it seemed. The thinking of a hopeless-romantic indeed.

Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.

"Going dum, dum, dum, dum, dum dum dum dum." ^w^ Alternatively, there's "It's all around the world; la la la la la la." Also, the last line in this post; take it as a cheesy compliment from a cheesy wolf -w-

As Noss watched the inebriated tailor, he was reminded of why he didn't like females. They cried, they gossiped, they were stereotypically weak at the worst of times; so much so that Noss had grown tired of having to tiptoe around their delicate sensibilities and treat them as if he were handling a fragile thread of glass. But Strel was different. Noss didn't view him as weak--quite the contrary, Noss often saw Strel as one with strength where he lacked it--but he knew that everyone had weaknesses. Even Noss; and Strel was painfully aware of them. Watching Strel, Noss took in his words as he asked for his promise again, as if he had to ask twice just to convince himself. But Noss nodded his head, connecting to that lavender gaze, marvelling that he had made even the slightbest breakthrough. With a very romanticized comparison, Strel was not a glass thread but cloth thread. He was strong when woven together and made a grand tapestry that drew your eyes, a silent banter that never made you tired or any less surprised when a stitch took an unexpected turn. While watching Strel create, Noss had taken notice and seen that Strel's hands worked the fabrics the same way. But alone, those threads were weak; easily able to unravel and cut. Strel had few of those loose ends, and Noss was oblivious enough to miss some. But since Strel had once willingly shown him a thread end, he knew not to pull on it, but instead wanted to tuck it back into the redhead's tapestry. What had love done to him?

He was unaware of the conflict concerning his insensibility to invite Strel with him and Ralla to gon on the scouting mission and the long trip south, but in his mind, it was simple and straightforward; Strel's place was in Cour des Miracles, and Noss didn't want to risk Strel's life on what might turn out to be a dangerous foray, despite how unlikely that seemed. But Noss knew his father; knew it would be unwise to present the man he loved before the Chief, risking the man's anger that he would never have a direct heir and that he was losing his son to a foreign pack. He would confront his father on the matter himself, and spare Strel the stress, humiliation, and danger. That was just how his mind worked, and once it had decided on that decidedly safe path, he saw no wrong in it or its logic. Moments ticked by, and Noss watched the change in Strel's demeanor shift as they kept tempo. Just like Noss had once done to him, Strel took one hand and stroked his face, and Noss imperceptibly leaned his cheek into the warm cup of his palm. There was no denying it; Noss craved the warmth--the intimacy--that no other seemed to have. But that warmth didn't only come from those hands or eyes; it came from a place that Noss was afraid to explore and try to explain, lest he become weak and be unable to guard himself against it or what threatened it. Instead, he was content to accept it as it was, for the time. Maybe one day the tailor would be able to craft a blanket to thaw his frigid heart.

He followed the trail of that hand as it pulled back, the moment suddenly turning surreal, as Strel invited him closer. He crept onto the bed, the guise of subtlety a lost cause on the large warrior, and he sat back on his legs as he looked down at the redheaded man who had seemingly so easily made Noss do the unthinkable. He tried to reconnect the touch, and so Noss reached out his arms to try and encircle the tailor, to draw him nearer. He remembered their first night together and how spontaneous it had been; how unplanned, how self-serving to the both of them. If Noss had insisted that he had repaid his favor and decided not to follow Strel, where would he be now? Probably carting his unwilling sister back to the tribe for a fate that neither of them agreed with or liked, Noss sentencing himself to an arranged marriage of some sort for the good of the pack and tribe. But he didn't want that anymore; not in the least. He had meant it when he said he didn't want to be there is Strel wasn't; it was like having the most delicious cake on earth--unsurpassable and only one slice to its name--and then tasting every other cake only to be disappointed that none of them could please him like that single slice. He could never forget.

Maybe Strel knew him well enough to know that even though he was trying to be serious, he was openly pleased that Strel had admitted, if even a little, that he wanted Noss to stay. It was pleasurable; being wanted. And maybe Strel knew that as Noss leaned in to hold him close, inhaling that distinct scent that had almost drugged Noss on their first meeting, he wanted to protect the man in his arms. And hopefully he knew that it was the best way Noss could show his true affection without bursting out with straightforward words that would embarrass them both, and honestly, Noss was afraid to push the buttons much further on a drunken Strel. But...

Noss found he didn't mind holding onto this thread at all.

Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.