rearrangement - four slots available

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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in times of
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members
from two
broken
packs,
lone
strangers;

a solitary
island
off the
coast of
British
Columbia

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[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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It began with fear ─ these
things always begin with
fear.
When a grainy video
taken at a pack gathering
spread like wildfire across
the United States, the
government jumped into
action, pulling the files
on every suspected were-
wolf and detaining them.

The word was that they
were relocated, but no
one really knows. Those
who did not want to suffer
the same fate fled the
country in search of a
rumoured safe haven off
the coast of British
Columbia.

Welcome to Mackenzie
Island.

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𝑺𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑵𝒀 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑵 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫𝑺; 𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑹 𝑶𝑵❟ 𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑳 𝑶𝑵; 𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑶𝑵; 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑵𝑶𝑺𝑬
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𝑺𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑵𝒀 𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺❟ 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝒀 𝑻𝑶 𝑹𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴; 𝑫𝑶𝑵❜𝑻 𝑳𝑬𝑻 𝑰𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴 𝑼𝑺❟ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬 𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑹
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[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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It is a problem that humans could never understand, but when werewolves flock to a single island,
there is turmoil, hierarchy is thrown into chaos, and many are still reeling from the fact that they
have had to leave family and loved ones behind in order to escape an uncertain fate. Emotions
are running high, trust is in short supply, and there is only so much space to share. It is a time of
rearrangement, where those with power are trying to cling to it, others are trying to gain some,
and anyone caught in-between is left trying to decide who to follow. Yet deep down, every were-
wolf is drawn to the embrace of a pack bond, and it is only for so long that those left without a
pack during their escape will be able to stay without one. Who do you trust?
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Mackenzie
Island used
to be a com-
mmunity of
people. It
now lies
abandoned,
most of the
land covered
in deep green
forests.

Shore house.
Forest cabin.

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[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

┌─────────┐

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Silver Lake Pack

alpha
─ Quinn Finlay
Albino_

beta
─ Billie Thackery
rev,
members
─ Alastair Church
chevreuil
─ Josephine Carter
dxisyy
─ Brendin MacGille
Zyn
─ character name
open
─ Silas Montague
chevreuil
─ Ashara Grey
azhefa.

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┌─────────┐

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Elk Springs Pack

alpha
─ Reyna de la Cruz
honeycomb `

beta
─ Lysander Moon
mtuan,
members
─ Jude Leland
sloanghost
─ Benji Wallace
kalo.
─ Tarian Caddell
Zyn
─ Levi Vance
karasu,
─ character name
open
─ character name
open

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Lone Wolves

─ Riley Winchester
chevreuil
─ character name
open
─ Han-Se Jeong
mtuan,
─ Amyas Kane
Silver-
─ Draven Church
Zyn
─ Gabriel Wilde
azhefa.
─ character name
open
─ Catalina Gallego
kalo.
─ Bishop Garland
Crono
─ Montgomery Foster
dxisyy

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the ranks by origin; liable to change
throughout the course of the rp

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[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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𝑺𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑵𝒀 𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺❟ 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝒀 𝑻𝑶 𝑹𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴
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𝑫𝑶𝑵❜𝑻 𝑳𝑬𝑻 𝑰𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴 𝑼𝑺❟ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬 𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑹
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born
— slightly unsettling eye colours, just inhuman enough to be noticeable
— innate strength and endurance, fast healing
— shifting is usually painless, although one's mental state, such as being 'out of tune'
with their wolf can cause pain; they can go weeks without shifting if they wish

bitten
— retain the same eye colour they were born with
— strength granted by turning is highly individual, depending on how much their body
can endure; can be greater or lesser than most born werewolves'
— shifting is painful; it takes time for the pain to decrease, and someone turned at a
young age may shift nearly painlessly as an adult

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All werewolves, whether they were born or bitten, have a reflective membrane
(tapetum lucidum) in their eyes. The government was ID'ing werewolves by shining a
light into their eyes, and crossing the border without a check has become nearly im-
possible, but everyone who has made it to the island had their own way of getting
through.
Werewolves tend to be known as rather immune to injuries and illnesses due to their
healing factor, but they have one inherent weakness: wounds inflicted by another
werewolf's teeth. There seems to be something in the saliva that hinders healing in
fellow werewolves, and these injuries heal at the same slow rate as a human's would.
Werewolves are also quite restricted to the whims of their wolves: when the urge to
shift happens, resisting it can result in sensory hallucinations, a type of 'malfunction-
ing' in the heightened senses of a werewolf, such as smells that aren't really there,
whispers, shapes in the peripheral vision, or even reliving unpleasant memories.
Due to the changes done to the body during the turning of a werewolf, the process
lasts days and results in pain and high fever. Surviving it is not guaranteed, and
more end up dying than living through it. Both born and bitten werewolves shift
into wolves larger than a natural wolf, but the exact size has more to do with chance
and possibly genetics than whether one was born or bitten.

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[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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A werewolf's life gravitates around bonds: some are familial, others romantic, but the
most prevalent of them all is the pack bond. Each werewolf only has one primary bond,
but most live their lives around bonds within bonds: a partner within a pack, a dear
friend within a family. Once a bond is formed, it can be strong enough to feel closer
to a tangible, concrete tie than an emotional connection.
Due to the importance of a bond to the life of a werewolf, lone wolves in the pres-
ence of a bond, especially a strong pack bond, will be drawn to it. Long-term lone
wolves are often wanderers, moving quickly from one place to another, because
they have to remain isolated from bonds in order to remain loners.

Bonds are incredibly important, because bonded werewolves are capable of communi-
cating with each other mentally while in wolf form, and for new werewolves, it can be
a matter of life and death, as a pack bond, especially, can bring stability, without
which new and young (born werewolves usually experience their first shift around the
ages of 12 to 15) werewolves can be extremely volatile, since they are compelled to
shift often.
Yet bonds can also feel limiting, as sometimes families or loved ones are cut out-
side of this ability in favour of a pack bond, although this can be avoided by becom-
ing a part of the same pack, and more than one werewolf has risked turning their
loved ones in order to avoid it. Severing a bond, especially a loving one, tends to
be unpleasant and even physically painful, and can result in an almost inexplicable
feeling of melancholy that is best mended by forming another close bond, whether
that is to a wolf or a pack. However, if a bond has become hostile enough, severing
it may not result in any feelings of pain or melancholia.

Pack bonds revolve strongly around alphas and betas, but there are many ways one
might achieve such a status (or lose it): strength, mental or physical; general accep-
tance; hereditary traditions... Having two or more alphas or betas in the same terri-
tory is abrasive, because the werewolf instinct identifies it as a threat to the exis-
tence and stability of the pack unit, even if this isn't necessarily true. Such a situa-
tion causes involuntary irritation and often results in hostility and violence, which
can even spread to pack members — often depending on their temperament.

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[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

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─ make sure you're familiar with site rules
─ quality is more important than quantity,
but try to post at least 300 words once a
week
─ two characters max for now, reserve
via pm before posting anything; disc
─ diversity & creativity are encouraged;
lgbtqia+ is welcome and loved <3
─ I strongly recommend setting up some
relationships for this roleplay

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• 𝑶̶𝑷̶𝑬̶𝑵̶ / 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑫

the roleplay is now officially closed, but if
you're really interested in joining, please
pm & we'll see what we can work out

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

─────────── 𝘼𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙄𝙍 ────── 𝘾𝙃𝙐𝙍𝘾𝙃 ──────────── ● ── ─ ─
───────────────────────────────────────────── 𝘚𝘐𝘓𝘝𝘌𝘙 𝘓𝘈𝘒𝘌 ───── ─ ─

LOCATION; shore ─ TAGGING; Quinn ─ MENTIONED; Draven, Silas; Silver Lake pack ─ WC; 646

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*
The dark depths around them reached their frigid fingers through Alastair's dense white pelt to press close to his skin. The waves moved with a ubiquitous power that had the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears as he pedaled his wide paws against the water. Quinn's firm grip on his scruff was a steady reminder that crossing to Mackenzie Island must have been the least passive thing he had done in years, and that there was someone relying on him to get them across quickly, before even the stubborn body temperatures of a werewolf would yield to the threat of hypothermia. And really, Alastair was trying to care, but finding feelings of urgency or even impending doom felt like attempting to move an unyielding, numb mass from where his heart was. Ten years of detaching himself from the world had seemed to do the trick, and still, he knew that when it was time, something would arise to sting him with bitter regret or unshakeable self-loathing.
indentindentindentWhen the decision had been made for them to leave, Alastair had not asked any questions or sought to counter it. His packmates' whispers about their fears and the closing snare of the government had drifted in one ear and straight out of the other. Especially when Silas had frothed about his brothers: that was when Alastair had felt the most as if he had sank deep into a solid, gray mass that kept the outside world outside, where it clearly belonged. There was a decade, ten whole years, of distance between Draven and himself, but it never seemed quite enough to cut the claws from the pain caused by everything that had happened then ─ everything Alastair had done, and what he now considered the inevitable consequences of his actions. The pack had left their home and he had simply fallen into pace in their slipstream, and when they had split right before the border, he had coasted after their alpha as if she were the North Star, or the sole observable thing in a void of blue space to navigate by.
indentindentindentHe had dream-like memories of dodging suburbs still brimming with Halloween decorations and leftover Jack-o-lanterns glowing in the night. Whenever they had stopped, there had been a new view to get lost in, some dark landscape twinkling with the lights of a town or just a vast stretch of wilderness, until someone would stir him from his thoughts and they would continue. The border had not seemed like as much of a big deal as the others had made it out to be, but maybe an effortless crossing was exactly why they had split into groups and opted to seek out safety in numbers another day. And when he had been told that they needed a way across the water to reach the Island, Alastair had simply sighed, waded into the water, and started swimming toward the direction that had been pointed out. Maybe what had been meant was finding a better way across, but he was not exactly known for doling out resourceful ideas.

indentindentindentAfter what seemed like ages of plunging through frigid water and fighting against the currents, Alastair's foot collided with a rocky slope beneath the surface, and he scrabbled against the tide to plant his feet onto the bottom. The grip on his fur lifted and he waded across the shoal, splashing water from his soaked pelt onto the craggy shore. The white wolf shook himself from nose to tail, but even then, he was still dripping when he shifted back. Fatigue gripped his limbs and he did not bother with standing up, and instead collapsed onto the first dry stretch of land, flopping his arms out ungracefully on each side. Overhead, the stars were fading out of sight as the light of the rising sun spread across the sky.
*

─────────── 𝙍𝙄𝙇𝙀𝙔 ────── 𝙒𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 ─────────── ● ── ─ ─
───────────────────────────────────────────── 𝘓𝘖𝘕𝘌 𝘞𝘖𝘓𝘍 ───── ─ ─

LOCATION; dock (shore house) ─ TAGGING; Bishop ─ MENTIONED; -- ─ WC; 1,214

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*
A frozen wind swept across the deck of the fishing boat as it powered steadily toward Mackenzie Island with all its engine could muster. The persistent smell clinging to every surface reminded Riley of the pier she had sometimes visited as a child: the fish, the briny waters, and the wood slowly softening in the waves. Those were happy days, before she had known to think about her family's reputation, or understood that there was a whole different creature stowed away somewhere within her, waiting for the day it could finally surface and watch the world through lupine eyes. In the autumns, especially, she could remember having played in the crispy, fallen leaves on the lands of the Winchester house. But always alone.
indentindentindentThe change had been gradual. More rules about how she needed to behave, more talk about what was expected of her, what she should and should not talk about, and how it was imperative that she stay quiet and politely smile when someone talked about their eyes or how their family was too grand for such a small town. How such things stood out. Eventually, she had just drifted into the background of her own life, become robotic and mechanical. She had allowed others to speak in her stead, to tell her what to do because it was easier than trying to gain the courage to argue. She had made excuses to others and to herself, convincing herself into believing that others knew what was best for her, and best for the family. And she had tried so, so hard to be exactly what and who they had wanted her to be.
indentindentindentIn hindsight, the Winchester house had never been the family home it might have seemed from the distance. It had been a prison, not in structure, but in atmosphere. Oppressive, obsessed with tradition and how the Winchesters needed to be what they had always been, into perpetuity. Stately, enigmatic, revered ─ owed a debt by the town that they kept standing on its feet. Someone had once told her that every young woman in town was jealous of what she had, but somewhere deep down, she had been envious of them. All those frightening, wonderful possibilities of the future that their families could not define for them. How they were stubborn and assertive about what they wanted. She had sometimes seen the lights in the windows of other houses in town and felt some kind of buried longing, as if that warm glow had been inviting her to belong instead of feeling as if she were a possession of some kind.

indentindentindentA shiver passing through her roused her from her melancholy state and had her moving her gaze away from the nothingness it had been absently fixated on for what must have been a long time. She wound her arms around herself, hopelessly trying to ward off the biting cold that her light jacket was not meant for. Her eyes found the sight of Bishop where he stood against the paling sky and stretch of sea, as if seeking the dose of reassurance that would carry her through the next few moments as they sailed toward the unknown. Mackenzie Island ─ a safe haven, she had heard. Her family did not often receive visitors who were of their kind as they were deterred by the laws that bound packs, especially ones of their size and stature, but these had been old family friends, from the generations before her parents. They had arrived with news not only of the government's fears, but whispers of an island that some passing loners had mentioned. Her family had laughed this off as a fool's errand, spoken of how enough money could turn anyone's eyes away from the Winchesters ─ yet it had stuck in Riley's mind, covertly taking root.
indentindentindentBut her family had had other plans. A marriage ─ one planned to bolster their status. The moment Riley had heard of the man they had arranged for her to marry, she had been flooded with an inexplicable sense of dread, but all she had done was seal her own fate with a compliant nod. She had imagined her future as more of the same: drifting through her own life and watching it slowly unwind as someone else made her choices for her. Yet everything had changed when she had seen Bishop. She had felt some baffling kinship she could not explain, and a feeling that she could trust this man ─ that what had been preordained for them was not what either of them wanted. It had been a startling burst of bravery that had spurred her to shake off her resignation and speak up ─ to mention the Island, and how they could leave.
indentindentindentThe wind returned to toy with strands of her hair and she brushed them from her eyes, only to have them wilfully return. Although she had felt a strange distance from her emotions, she was grateful for Bishop, because if it hadn't been for him, she never would have made it this far. Not only because she had nervously asked him for the favor ─ one she wanted to repay ─ of talking first to the border agents and then the fisherman captaining their boat, and handing over the incriminating bribes, while she lingered in the shadows and shivered, but because without him, she never would have left. It frightened her to imagine how she would have simply stayed and never dreamed of anything different if it had been some other man, or if she had never heard of the Island. She had remained grateful even when she had felt her bond to her family begin to fracture, because if he hadn't been there to remind her of why they had left, she was certain she would have turned back.

indentindentindentCliffs of dark, craggy rock topped with swaying evergreen forest began gliding past as the fisherman steered the boat into a cove. The silhouette of a house looming above the water broke through the fog, and their speed ebbed as they drifted toward a dock jutting out over the waves. As the tire fender met the boards, a judder passed through the deck beneath Riley's feet and she steadied herself on the railing until the sway of the boat had evened out. The fisherman did not cut the engines and they continued their droning hum as he stood at the helm, looking anywhere but at the two strangers who had paid him a substantial amount of money to veer from his usual route and bring them to an island that had lost the last of its people a few years ago. There was a taste of frost in the air, left over from the frigid night, as Riley picked up her bag and disembarked, but she hesitated at the beginning of the long stretch of walkway that went on to wrap its way around the cliffs and toward the house. She turned to Bishop, all the while trying to once again huddle into herself for some scrap of warmth.
indentindent"Do you think ─," her voice faltered, and she shifted uncomfortably, dropping her gaze to the green-tinged waters all around them. "Do you think it's safe to go in?"
*

─────────── 𝙎𝙄𝙇𝘼𝙎 ────── 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙏𝘼𝙂𝙐𝙀 ────────────── ● ── ─ ─
───────────────────────────────────────────── 𝘚𝘐𝘓𝘝𝘌𝘙 𝘓𝘈𝘒𝘌 ───── ─ ─

LOCATION; shore > woods ─ TAGGING; Amyas ─ MENTIONED; Silver Lake pack ─ WC; 1,069

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*
Each pull of the oars against the trashing mass of the ocean was filled with burning determination. The oarlock complained in menacing creaks as the bow split the waves and frigid water sprayed into the rowboat, but even with his clothes soaked, Silas kept rowing. There had been a line of boats moored to the strand they had parted from, most missing their oars, some turned over and many filled with a pool of nasty, stagnant water, but Silas had thought that there was no harm in borrowing one before the dawn would break and blow their cover. The sky above was lightening now, slowly turning from shades of midnight blue to lavender, and the orange glow pooling on the black rim of the horizon promised that the sun was not far away now.
indentindentindentSilas clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth as the turbulent sea bucked against the side of the boat and threatened to overbalance them. An irritated growl rumbled in the depths of his throat. He had no intention of going for a swim today ─ if he had, he wouldn't have stolen the boat in the first place. Although had it been someone else, the illegal act might have been a calculated choice between getting to Mackenzie Island and avoiding scrutiny, but with Silas, it had been an instance of act first, think later. All he could see ─ or think, or feel ─ was red, even as he glanced over his shoulder and cast his green gaze into the distance to scope the endless view of waves for a sign of the rocky shore the pack had sworn would await for them. The entire world was cloaked in an opaque morning mist, mingling with the froth from the waters below, but he could already see the shape of distant trees growing out of the ocean like a spectral and blanched-green mountain.
indentindentindentThere was a scent burning in his nostrils, one reminiscent of the forest merged with something spiced, rivaling the insistent salt of the cold ocean air. He held onto it like a knife, even as he had no guarantees that it was a scent he would ever again smell outside of his memory. The trespasser. They had crossed the border over to Canada under the cover of the dark and the dense, shaded undergrowth, and Silas had been fuming, not only because the escape meant he could not stay behind to track the beast that had attacked his brother Percy, but because they had made the decision to split into small groups, and he had not heard from any of them since. He was agitated, because for as long as he was apart from the rest of the Silver Lake pack, he could not protect them. It was infuriating, to know that if any of the others had ran into trouble, there was nothing he could do for them. He wouldn't even know.

indentindentindentWith a jolt and a thunk, the bow of the boat drove onto land, cutting into the stretch of silty sand. It was a narrow strip of greyish shore, strewn with craggy rocks and tangles of weather-beaten driftwood, before the forest began like a wall ─ solid, emerald green, and imposing, stretching as far as Silas could see. The water foamed, sea glass green and frothy white, onto the rocks before ebbing back into the ocean. Silas pulled the oars into the boat and unlaced his boots with harsh tugs, before vaulting over the gunwale and into the shallow waters that soaked the legs of his pants. The freezing temperature reminded him it was the beginning of November as it immediately chilled his skin and burrowed into the bones of his bare feet. But he wasted no time as he waded to the shore and began pulling the boat onto land.
indentindentindentHe had nothing to moor the boat with, but for a werewolf, it was no trouble pulling it so far inland that the waves could not reach it and sweep it back into the ocean. The silt was sinking and pushed up from between his toes, but it soon ended, followed by a stretch of pebbles, and then the edge of the woods. He left the boat there, with the bow resting against the tufts of dejected autumn grass, and pulled his fingers through his drenched hair, but before he could decide whether to survey the shore and try to figure out where the others would land or dive into the woods and claim the area as their territory, he was thwarted by the scent he'd kept as the kindling in the furnace of his anger through the drowning dark and the biting cold.
indentindentindentSilas's head jerked sharply to the side, keen to not allow the lingering thread of scent to vanish from his grasp. It was fresh. His trespasser had crossed to the shore of Mackenzie Island. A brutish growl ripped from his chest as pointed, ivory teeth tore through the air and a sturdy black wolf crashed onto the stony ground, charging off after the scent in a spray of pebbles as if it were an invisible line propelling him forward. The dense sable pelt chased the cold from his limbs, shaking off any stiffness and straining his muscles to a hunter's speed. He did not care to sneak, even as he crossed from the open into the cover of the firs, weaving past ruddy trunks on massive paws that thundered against the loam and gouged the ground with each powerful leap. This was his chance to avenge his brothers, and he wasn't going to let the opportunity slip.

indentindentindentRagged snarls filled what had been a quiet morning lulled by the sounds of the ocean. The mat of pine needles under his paw pads was yielding, as if the island had barely seen a werewolf in its day. Clouds of hot breath rolled from his tongue, laving across his sides and dissipating into the gauzy morning light, and in his nose, the stranger's scent mixed with the electrified odour of ozone, as if a storm were looming somewhere in the coming day. When flashes of white pelt came to his view from among the rows of trees, Silas did not hesitate. He pressed forth, levering his hind feet against the springy ground, and the length of his body tensed as he lunged for the white wolf's throat.

[Albino_]

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Quinn Finlay - location; shore
tagged; Alastair - pack; silverlake
alpha - WC; 355

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Times like these are where she is challenged to do right by her pack, for she was the alpha, she had to make the challenging decision. The government was closing in making the pack and her having to leave and split to get past the border and to the safe haven of Mackenzie Island. The murky water surrounded her, everywhere she looked, ocean for miles. Quinn kept hold of a scruff of a white wolf, who which was Alastair, one of her pack members. Quinn adjusted her grip as it slipped a little because of the water making his white fur slick. The blonde haired alpha tried to keep her teeth from chattering, she wouldn't have gotten cold so soon if she was in wolf form, but she wasn't a good swimmer, ironic, yeah. Quinn tried to help with the swimming by paddling her legs behind Alastair.

When the news of them making an escape was said to her, she was ready, and she made a plan that would be safest for her pack, and that was splitting up. Alastair followed her, which was good because she was gonna have a talk with him when they got to shore. Quinn tired to keep her teeth from chattering, the ocean water was wicked cold and she probably was gonna have a cold from this trek. When they reach shore, she would shift to her wolf to warm herself back up. Quinn kept her grip on his scruff, she did feel bad, but she couldn't swim well, and if she tried to swim across, she'd more then likely drown.

Quinn finally saw land in the horizon, getting closer and closer. Quinn smiled as they got closer, they where almost free. Once she felt Alastair get grip on sand, is when she slid off. She waddled out of the water before she shifted into her wolf to warm back up. Where she once stood now stood a black wolf with a single white patch on the chest with emerald green eyes flecked with gold. She then laid down and curled up to help warm her body back up.

[mtuan,]

.. 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐄-𝐇𝐎. 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙋𝙄𝘾𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙀 𝙍𝙀𝙈𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙎 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙈𝙀 !!
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(tags) Reyna, Levi
(misc.) imma five
star michelin-

it's late and i'm so t
ired, please ignore
any mistakes--
1,017 words
mtuan, kim mtuan

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𝐀
𝐊
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𝐋
𝐘
𝐒
𝐀
𝐍
𝐃
𝐄
𝐑

The distant hum of an oversized motorboat racing across crashing waves is somehow what excites Lysander Moon on this day. Something oddly boring and mundane, nothing really to surpass the expectations of others. However, through the slight dampness in the air from the sea and the occasional salty sprays of the sea, somehow, the werewolf finds himself feeling oddly excited. Especially earlier that day, when Elk Springs Pack had been herded onto said boat in an attempt to escape into the unknown- from danger, of course.

Piled into the boat they went, the only covering the crew had was the tarp covering the boat, keeping them from being seen in plain sight by any airborne spies. Of course, Lysander had to admit, it wasn't the greatest cover, by any chance; but it provided what it could at the most crucial moments, anyway. Not that the pack would even stay under the awning-like structure when the sky and weather were quite nice today- er, nice in the beta's standards. With the wind blowing through the boat and his pack, somehow the werewolf felt more at peace across the waters than he had felt in months. It was serene, almost, despite the crashing waves. Of course, it didn't help that the boat was spacious, at least enough for at least ten on deck, and a cabin under aforementioned awning to for those who wished to avoid the breeze. The one that was currently tearing through Lys' hair, causing soft, sable strands to fly in every direction- in accordance to the wind and direction.

The day had begun with the beta of Elk Springs at the rear of the boat, a sturdy grip pulling to the start the motor of their transportation- it was slightly run down off the dock, but he figured it'd do it's job just fine for their special journey. And sure enough, it didn't take long for them to be off. Much to Lysander's pleasure as he found himself at the wheel for the start. He wore nothing but some red and black racer jacket he'd hastily thrown on that morning without sparing much more of a thought and some pair of joggers and sneakers to pair. It wasn't a bad 'fit, the Korean man had to admit- though he mildly wondered how fun it would have been if he could slip off his shoes and walk along the deck barefoot. (Because to be honest- there was only a very little sense of danger that subtly buzzed through the back of the Elk Spring beta's mind. Somehow, this felt more like a vacation or party than anything else-- despite certain circumstances, of course.)

Or maybe a nap. Lysander needed a nap.

It felt vaguely dreamy, to be on some random boat, fleeing to safety. Just vaguely.

Or maybe, they'd just started this too early in the damn day. Maybe that was it.

It's not until the sun had begun to rise further into the sky, the warmth of its rays hitting finally reaching the boat through the ocean current and all, and the pack sprawled across the deck casually, does Lysander finally start the small grill out on the deck, a bag of various meets sitting by his side--

Was it ridiculous to be eating freshly cooked meat on a boat towards a safe island while running from the government? Oh, absolutely. Slightly manic, a little psycho, if anyone had described the situation to Lysander posing in third-party. The question was, did that stop the beta of the pack from grilling out in the middle of the ocean though-- no, not really. It, of course, didn't help that he'd specifically snuck out to purchase these meats in the first place. It doesn't take long for the plates to be set out and the smell of freshly cooked meat to fill the air. Lysander would have been lying if he said the sight and scent combination didn't instantly make his mouth water.

"Hey, Reyna! Can you check the direction of the boat and see if we're headed where we're supposed to? Why do I feel like the current is grabbing the boat right now. And come grab your picks before the food's gone!" A solid call from the deck echoes through the cabin. Somehow, Lysander feels as if he sounded more like an alpha than his own alpha did- much to his amusement. Well, she did seem more and more like a delicate jewel to the pack than anything else, a darling, really. He thinks mildly, the idea still swimming around despite his amusement. If anything, Levi--

The thought doesn't exactly finish when the young man perks at the thought of his pack mate, a snicker forming across his lips. "Yo, Levi! I thought you were gonna help me out with this grilling? I swear, if you slack off, I'm not sparing you any ribs." Mirth dances through Lysander's teasing as he brings his tongs up to point somewhat threateningly in the direction of his fellow pack mate, eyes narrowing as it to prove a point. It's only at the sound of the sizzling beef on the top rack of the grill does Lysander go back to tending heat, a slight scrunch in his nose signifying the way he continued to snicker to himself, nonetheless. "And here I thought we had an agreement on 'co-parenting' today here-"

Lysander wants to laugh at the way aprons hung off of both young men-- as if they weren't embarrassing themselves enough as it was with all the shenanigans Elk Springs endured. Family, they felt like family.

Off in the distance, the shoreline of promise land slowly starts to appear, the pack's safe haven (-hopefully) away from the government. Lysander mildly wonders if they should pause before heading into shore, avoid sharing with whatever creatures that laid before them.

"S'ppose we should hang off shore for a bit and eat our fill before docking? Do we even know how to dock this thing or-" Perhaps someone should have thought about this ahead of time, but Lysander surely hadn't planned that far.