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๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ โโโโโโโโโโ je ne t'oublierai pas. je te laisserai dans la lumiรจre dรฉclinante. puis-tu vivre jusqu'ร ta mort โ xxxx
thirty-three yrs โช he/him โช fighter
location: dutch's room -> nearby woods | tags: dutch, alex ; arden | mentions: --
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--indent--The man narrowed his eyes as Dutch's immediate fall to sarcasm ground uncomfortably in his ears. Dimidian was here for a clean-cut truth, even if it meant that the lacerations would be more painful than the dulled blade the younger wolf was drawing. He stood silent when Dutch went on to explain what had happened, a sickening feeling turning his stomach sour as history was made stark and bare at last. His eyes traveled over the inked flesh that Dutch exposed for him to see, the raven there a mark of death, a cloak of night standing guard against bloodied remembrance.
--indent--Dimidian had never felt any reason to doubt Dutch; he seemed trustworthy enough, and the fighter often enjoyed the short-lived moments they found in one another's direct presence. This was the truth. Tainted relief echoed through his hollow chest: a songbird's trill in an empty forest, wishful in the hope that winter had not yet claimed the wood, that it wasn't too late to chase the spring sun down Earth's face. Dutch had no direct involvement in Melissa's death, his departure had only been the inducement that led to her demise. "She should be alive and not him;" Arden's words from the shed swept the moisture from Dimidian's mouth. Weight seemed to be pressing down on his shoulders, fixing him to the floor. He would stand by what he'd said to Arden; he was not one to impede the path of grief. But, now that he knew the truth -- or, at least, enough of it -- Dimidian knew this couldn't go on forever. Dutch hadn't known what his departure would trigger, but if he could do it again, would he have given his life so that Melissa would live? For Dimidian, the answer sent an icy chill down his spine, binding his throat in sharp spires of frost.
--indent--He stared numbly at Dutch, his mind turning in on itself until something Dutch said yanked him out. Dimidian felt air slam into his lungs as he took a breath, not realizing he'd yet to inhale for some time. Life filled his limbs and he swelled, leaning up off of the protesting door. "'Former alpha?' Jun left?" He gritted his teeth, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as Dutch's tone jabbed at him with a point burning cherry red.
--indent--Oh, Arden. Dimidian felt himself being tugged in all directions: part of him thundered down the steps in search of her, another was prowling forward to face down the animal barking challenges at him, and further within himself was a part of him keening in torment. His eyes narrowed and he curled a lip, none too appreciative of the assumptions Dutch was spitting at him. "I came here for the truth, not to drive you off!" he snapped, so shocked by the venom in his tone that his eyes widened. He stilled for a moment, brows slowly dipping back into a furrow. Anger and something akin to pain flashed in his eyes as he let out a puff of a breath through his nostrils and turned his back to Dutch, hand reaching for the handle. He understood now why the omega had been acting so cagey -- hell, Dimidian understood far too many things now.
--indent--The creak of a floorboard outside the door kept his fingers hovering just above the knob. It took a fraction of a second for him to know what that sound meant and another to whip the door open, revealing the presence of Alexia standing just outside. There was nothing friendly or pleased in the expression steeling over him. The air around him warned of a feral rage simmering beneath his skin -- a rumble of thunder courted his heart, piercing it with shattering bolts of electricity. His eyes narrowed as he studied the girl's face, as if trying to find some reason he ought to dismiss her being there. What he found was guilt and a crusting of blood on one of her nostrils.
--indent--"Outside, now." He demanded, shouldering past Alex with no trace of timidity or care. Rain trickled down his cheeks from tempestuous eyes -- more fittingly the salted spray of a raging sea -- as he stormed down the steps, across the house, and through the front door. What was this damn girl thinking? She was putting everyone at risk by resisting the shift, making herself a ticking time bomb with the potential to send the entire pack's life up in flames. If it was her true intention to oppose the wolf, Dimidian would drag it out by the ear.
--indent--He lurched forward the moment he stepped off the porch, half-stumbling as his body contorted itself into the form that demanded a release. His muscles were taught, tail lashing, ears flat: a far image from the composure of regality that he normally held. As he waited for Alex to catch up, he paced the yard, a permanent snarl fixed on his face, his lips twitching and teeth aching to sink into something that bled. Emotion rolled off of him in waves of crimson fog, so thick that it obscured his vision. Voices clashed in his head in deafening claps, familiar and heart-wrenching and enraging. Past, present, and future collided in blinding supernova.
--indent--When at last Alex approached, he whipped around and glared her down, his breath billowing from his nostrils in heaving roils of white mist. If this was to work, she needed to genuinely fear for her life. It wouldn't be hard with the state he was in; the difficulty would be in resisting the urge to drag her squealing into the trees. How long until Arden would come searching for this beacon of volatility? No ordinary wolf would ever have the mastery over its vocal chords to make the sound that came from Dimidian's gaping jaws as he charged her. When their bodies collided they were of the same form. The black wolf found his footing and shoved his weight into her neck, pining the other canid to the ground. This part was personal: a warning, a clear message of intolerance for violating sacred space. He brought his snarling maw down to her eye level, saliva stringing the gaps between his teeth as his jaws slowly parted to release the low growl from his throat. Dimidian had half an inclination to snap down on her ear, but he was gone in an instant, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of her choices.
--indent--His paws carried him clear across the yard, past the bonfire and into the trees. Once a man, he slumped heavily against a redwood, his heart thudding with such force that he could hardly hear anything besides it. Dimidian groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose while his other hand kept him steady against the bark. He felt empty and defeated, overcome by everything and probably still feeling the after effects of the whiskey, a rose battered and bruised by the pelting rain meant to sustain it.
--indent--When footsteps came for him, he whipped around warily, unsure of who would possibly think it wise to approach him now. Her scent tamed the remaining fires still lingering in his body. She was close, and then closer, and then against him, warm and real. He clutched her form like a lifeline, his eyes wide and unblinking as they stared into the trees beyond the top of her head. Perhaps she realized what she had done, but he tightened his grip at the first tension that warned of her pulling away. His hold relaxed in the quickening heartbeats that followed. He allowed himself to be held, allowed his cheek to lay atop her head, allowed himself to accept the truths begging to be caressed.
--indent--"Arden." Her name was spoken on the breath of an exhale, released from the place she'd claimed in his heart.
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๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐โโโโโโโโโโ you know I'll take my heart clean apart, if it helps yours beat โ
twenty-three yrs โช she/her โช hunter
location: many | tags: quinn, delaney, open | mentions: yehuda, august, arden and cora
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--indent--Heron left her room wearing a bright yellow rain jacket adorned with sunflowers and fat bumblebees. It had a matching bucket hat and rain boot, all a gift from her parents when she had told them how rainy it was during the fall in Pine Knob. They didn't know the truth, of course, as to why exactly she was living here, only that her car accident had changed her outlook on life. It was a difficult and strenuous relationship and she knew her parents were hurt by how closed off she'd become, but Heron knew they could never be as they were until she could learn to manage what she had become.
--indent--With a quiet sigh, she closed the door to her bedroom and headed back to the kitchen in time to see Quinn and Delaney entering it from the stairway hall. She waved to August as he headed out of the house and hung back to watch the two boys while Delaney fixed together come fragrant drink for his companion. When she had a moment to interrupt, she thanked them both for helping her with the snares and let them know which ones to check, then headed outside and to the opposite direction so as to maximize their efficiency. The rain was loud and staticky as it slapped against her hat and coat, so much so that her sensitive hearing soon grew tired of it. Heron sighed and peeled the articles from her body, tossing them back towards the house with a pained expression on her face. She'd never grow used to the way being a werewolf changed even the abilities of her human form; it made her skin crawl. How many times had she been woken in the night because a moth had trapped itself in her room, thumping repeatedly against her window in a futile effort to reach the moon's light. A normal person could dismiss the soft, fluttery pursuit, but to her it almost sounded like a small bird was banging on the glass.
--indent--Grumbling under her breath, Heron headed into the trees with her arms clutching the leather strap of her game sack. It was quieter beneath the forest canopy, where the white noise of the rain was deadened by the layer of spongy pine needles under her feet and the living boughs shielding her head above. She flinched when drop of rain landed occasionally on her face, sending a burst of cold fingers reaching up her temple, threatening brain freeze. Her first snare was empty, though it looked as if something might have been caught in it at some point due to the clumps of damp fur clinging to the twigs scattering the floor.
--indent--Moving on, she made the rounds to each trap, finding success with two while the others had nothing to offer her. Heron hoped that Delaney and Quinn would have better luck, though she did have some beef on stand-by in case there wasn't enough rabbit to thoroughly populate a stew meant to feed many, many hungry mouths.
--indent--The sun was sinking by the time she got back, which only spurred her into panic mode. She was relieved to see that the boys had had some luck and picked their rabbits up from the porch on her way to her usual skinning spot. Normally, she would press the task on Yehuda, but seeing as he had gotten himself injured (again), Heron didn't think he would have the two hands required to get the job done right. She got to work, her movements deft as she prepared each of the rabbits. Their pelts were set aside to be sold later on in town; she knew an old woman who made winter wear from them -- by far Heron's best customer. Maybe Heron could offer a pair to Dutch, the only person she hadn't had something made for.
--indent--When the rabbits were done, she brought them inside and divided them into the proper cuts. She fell into a steady rhythm as she worked, engrossed in sureness of her blade and the well-practiced hand that guided it through the meat. Her father had taught her how to set snares and skin game, mostly as a means to protect her grandmother's vegetable garden and make use of the lives she ended. Rabbit stew was one of the first dishes she'd mastered, the recipe originally her late grandfather's and thus a means of keeping him close.
--indent--When the meat and vegetables had been prepared, Heron placed them into a large dutch oven and then that into the warmed stove. She set the timer and leaned back against the counter, closing her eyes. There was a peaceful loudness about the house: the sound of people conversating and footsteps moving about upstairs. The rain had stopped now, and in the distance she could hear what was most likely Dutch's truck coming up the road. Heron decided she ought to shower before everyone else returned with the same idea. As she left the kitchen and the familiar aroma that was starting to creep from the stove, she nodded politely to Cora and Arden, who had just entered.
--indent--The timer on the stove had her racing from her room some hours later, her bare feet tapping lightly against the wood floors of the cabin, her earbud wire bouncing off her sweatshirted chest. The whole house smelled of the stew, and for a moment she could almost hear the proud laughter of her grandfather as he marveled at her accomplishment. Or maybe that was just boisterous humor from those gathered outside at the bonfire -- it was hard to tell over the symphony singing into her ears. Heron pursed her lips and slid the meal out. One perk to being a werewolf was the considerable dexterity and strength that came along with it; she easily balanced the stew on one mitted hand while the other gathered bowls and utensils from the cupboards and drawers. It took a couple of trips to get on proper shoes and everything set up on the wooden picnic table that lived outside by the firepit, but once it was there and meticulously arranged, Heron felt only warm satisfaction.
--indent--Hands on her hips, she turned to the others, though the cheery "Stew's on!" that chirped from her lips might have been lost to both the jovial conversation occurring a la Delaney and the monstrous noise that erupted from the pack house. Heron's eyes widened and she peered warily towards the cabin, wondering what on earth was going on now.
