OOC: Art© to MEL! <33 this thread has the potential to become mature because it doesn't take much (actually it takes nothing at all) to make Hurricane flip his shit.

Hurricane stole the body yet again. He had known what he had done to that woman the last time he had been around. He wondered how his seed was doing inside of her (he knew that he impregnated her, he had a feeling) but you could say that he really didn't care about the children, if they were alive or not, the only reason he wondered about the woman was because he knew she was still alive in that pack where he had found her at. In fact, when he woke up, he had been in that same house that he had found that woman at. She had not been there when he had woken up though, which made him wonder why he had been there in the first place. He was quick to find his baseball bat with the nails protruding out of the end of it, and he changed from these strange clothes that he had never seen before into his white, bloodstained jeans that he had found in the same place his bat was.

He left the packlands rather quickly and the first thing he had done was looked for ash, mud, soil, something to blacken his pelt. This body was not him, so he needed to make the adjustments. He did them automatically, often times without even remembering that he did them. He was lucky to find an fire pit outside of the packlands. He found that it had been used only the night before, and the ashes that were in there were not only wood, but also flesh of some kind. It wasn't wolf flesh, for he knew what that smelt like, but it was something else, something gamey, like a deer or something. The man wiggled out of his jeans and then plopped his body down and into the ash. He rolled around in it until his white hair had turned gray. He knew his fur was not dirty enough so he had gotten up and he looked around for his next solution. Mud. He had searched for some time for some puddles, and then also some river banks so he could smear mud on his white chest, which would stick to his pelt, dirtying it. Watching him do it was like watching someone with a fetish of like chocolate being rubbed all over their body. It was quite a weird sight this was for sure. When the muddied beast had finished with this, he stalked through the forest, his nail studded bat dragged along the ground.

He was headed south west, into this unknown land he had found himself in. He wondered what there was to do around here, you know, besides decapitation. The bitches he had been finding when he had been out and about were okay looking, the one mutt with no tail being the prettiest one, and the ulgiest being that one stupid red and white bitch who didn't deserve to live. He forget what he had even done to her. Did he kill her and burn her? It sounded like something he would do. The man actually stopped to think about it for a moment, and when he did not find anything the muddied beast continued on walking through the forest, a frustrated and bored grunt coming from his maw as he stalked along.

OOC: maybe someone else can jump in later? idk... +3

hehehehe the sound of a woman's giggling caught the sociopath's ears. He cocked his head, his body stopped moving, the crinkling of the bat against the leaves on the ground stopped, but the sound of footsteps continued, the giggles continued in a small stream of sound. His maw let out a growl, whoever this was, was obviously giggling at him, and he didn't like it one bit. He was going to find this giggling bitch and put her out of her misery. He swiftly pulled his bat up to his shoulder and then he ran through the terrain until he had been a good few yards away from her, him standing there with a bloodied and leafy bat along with his bloodstained white jeans that adorned his hips. He wore no jacket, nothing to cover his chest that was tinted grey and black because of the ashes that covered his pelt. His scars still stuck out though, the heart on his back, the "mars" in his side, the scar on his nose. Laughter would turn into sobs, and he didn't even need to do anything.

Awh, did little girlie figure out that it's not worth living anymore? Or does she just know what it about to happen to her? the man asked, sarcasm thick on his tongue, his voice much deeper than the dominant personality Mars, and the secondary personality, Bartholomew. The man tapped the bat on his shoulder, a wicked grin passing on his lips as he had dared to try and move towards her, hostility evident in the man's footsteps, his posture. He was not kidding, and his intentions of battle, or of a fight was clear on his body. He had no respect for women, for life in general. All he knew was that he did not like that she was once laughing at him. She shouldn't have laughed. She shouldn't have been here. It was all her fault. Not Hurricane's, nope, it couldn't be his fault. He did nothing funny for her to be laughing at him, this was for sure.