Post by ♥ Nathan ♥ on Jun 11, 2012 18:52:00 GMT -5
Nate said:
Nathan’s wolf is lonely, and it is making him restless.
He doesn’t like feeling at odds with the beast, but it is more than a week since the creature roamed wild – well, as wild as Nathan’s living room ever got, which is at least out of his cage of skin and bone and will – and with Logan so near, the pressure is rising to an insatiable itch. His wolf is consumed by jealousy and need and something like love, and it is making the man irritable to resist it; a sacrifice to his stability and organization that he is not willing to make. It is not enough to wander the night alone.
The conversation is broached, cautiously; the arrangements are made, with a surprisingly small amount of bargaining. Nathan swears to keep them both safe. They settle in, Logan and Nate, on the back porch as the sun sets, hemmed in by trees and white privacy fencing, safe and alone.
For Nathan it is not about finding the key within him to turn, but instead giving up and giving in; a simple release to a new frame of mind that settles about him like a comfortable second skin. It is a practiced methodology, a routine amount of pain and twisting and writhing on the wooden decking, one that is familiar enough that the shreds of the man’s mind which remain can simply shut it out. Succumb. Within the transformation the beast takes hold, presses out through fang and claw and fierce thought, and as the rippling flesh settles to ragged black fur the creature lays still, born anew.
He simply breathes – harsh inhalations through the nose, mouth clapped shut – and stares into the depth of darkness of the yard, the forest beyond. The wolf’s nostrils flare into recognition, absorb the scent that surrounds him, and with a strength of will he slowly rises, paces, turns, and settles again by the man nearby – a man consumed with the agony of his own change. Whining, the black wolf settles into wait, narrow chin perched on those great paws, blue eyes reflecting a minimal amount of almost human concern.
What it wants lays at the other end of that twisted journey, and for once in its life, the beast is patient.
Logan. said:
Logan doesn’t like changing. He did it once to see if he could manage it, again because Billy demanded it. There is something about surrendering his humanity to an animal that irks him. Maybe it’s those years spent hunting down werewolves that lost control, maybe it’s his need to be present, in control. Maybe it’s the fear that somehow, someway, he’ll get stuck like that – end up living and dying as an animal.
Nathan breaches the subject. Logan finds that for all of his reluctance, he is willing and the thing in him –his wolf—is excited. He cannot deny Nathan of anything, even when he harbors fears and doubts. In the other man’s company, Logan feels secure, as if all of those morbid scenarios his mind dreamt up could never be a possibility.
The sun sets and Logan allows his beast to take precedence. The process is painful and for him, longer, drawn out as his body adjusts to the metamorphosis. His mind falls away and what opens its eyes is no longer human, but wolf. The groggy, lethargic thing stirs slowly. He gives an impressive, noisy yawn, runs a tongue over black jowls, seems content to just lay there, useless and existing.
When those gray eyes land on the black wolf, however, there is an immediate change. Triangle ears perk up and the laziness falls away, replaced with an unadulterated, frenetic excitement. The bear of a wolf is on its feet, loping the small distance to the other animal. A bushy tail wags, a gigantic paw presses playfully against the black wolf’s leg.
His wet tongue darts over a muzzle, over a mouth, over teeth, over eyes – everywhere. He’s huffing, breathing in the dark animal’s unique and familiar scent. The gray runs his chin over a black-furred back, settles in a thick patch of fur at the nape of the other’s neck. It opens its massive jaws and secures a mouthful of that fur, worries a patch of flesh and skin gently.
He seems quite content to stand there and soak the black wolf in his slobber.
Happiness, pure and free, expressed in canine terms.
Nate said:
The silver animal stirs, and the black wolf raises his head, tail brushing a slow sweep across the deck behind him. He rises to meet his partner, stiff-legged and tall, though the beast that is his opposite outranks him in muscle and meat; he is a weedy, long-limbed thing, a borzoi to the grey’s barrel-chested bear. They greet in a mess of teeth and slobber and clicking nails, weight shifting about in unrestrained joy as tails flag high and bodies wriggle in excited abandon.
It is, perhaps, the first time the beast has had its every need met: it feels a strange fulfillment, a settling comfort and relaxation it has not known. With the silver wolf at his side his fury abates; there is no need for compulsive acts of dominance and order, wicked flashes of fang and claw replaced with softened blows and mocking, lighthearted gestures. It is the first time the creature has played. He bows onto thin forelimbs, lifting his muzzle up to rake his teeth through the thick coated underside of the grey wolf’s neck.
Briefly, the animal freezes against his partner’s incessant ministrations about his skull and neck, ears flitting back to pin in the barest flash of irritation before releasing, relaxing – something like submitting. Moments later he shrugs the grey off him, shakes out his unkempt coat, and bares those pearly whites in what would normally be an aggressive display, the gesture softened by the slowness of it, the caution.
He clamps his wide jaws upon the silver’s neck in even exchange, just behind the ear, but instead of bothering at the fur and flesh clasped between those fangs he twists, gently but persistently, pulling – then dragging – the silver wolf with him. Only when the animal is dropped gently back to the deck beneath him does he relent, replacing sharp pinches of canines with a caressing tongue, soothing away the furrows left in the grey wolf’s fur. The beast then turns that horrible instrument of wet destruction upon his companion’s face, washing his eyes, the corners of his mouth, before retreating. It is a subtle show of power, true, but one that stems more out of misplaced affection than an obsessive need.
In a single step the black wolf is away, onto the grass, taking several strides before he pauses in his flight – turns to look back over his shoulder, stock still and frozen, eyes locked. It is several quick heartbeats before he breaks, a quick dart of movement with a rumbled wuff of invitation, paws scrambling and frenzied in the dirt as the creature makes for the forest.
Logan. said:
The gentle rebuff is enough to keep the silver wolf from drowning its partner in slobber, but the animal’s excitement does not abate. He is brimming over with energy, nearly shivering with it. Teeth settle over his scruff and tug; the gray willingly obeys and follows. Triangle ears flick this way and that; the gesture of dominance from the black wolf is swallowed like an easy medicine. The bear-wolf wears a decidedly dopey expression, lays there with its mouth ajar and huffing from its large set of lungs.
His partner disengages and the silver wolf is immediately alert due to the loss of contact. Gray eyes follow the black animal’s movements, ears erect; attentive, waiting for an indication, a signal. Their eyes meet, there is a stretch of a moment, one that builds with potential, with coaxing suggestion. The second his partner makes for the forest, the silver rises to its feet.
The animal’s body cannot hope to mirror the speed and nimbleness that the black wolf possesses, but the silver beast has a different weapon in its arsenal – dogged determination. This is a familiar sport, a game that the gray wolf feels as though he was made to play. Chasing after this scent, after the owner of this smell – like he was born to do it, and maybe he was.
Evidence in the wolf’s first act. The day it took physical shape was the day it first partook in this specific chase. Obsessive devotion, perhaps, or an intrinsic need. That natural gravity that pulls one creature to another, that thing that defies human definition. The animal is free to pursue its purpose without the desire for explanation.
The pair lope deeper into the forest. The black wolf, the capable quarry, the silver, his dedicated hunter.
Nate said:
The night is dark, and these are his woods, the home he has eked out and claimed despite the pervasive scent of the blonde bitch. He does not need to rely on dim blue eyesight or the curved and broken moonlight to guide him; his nose is aware of every changing scent before him, his paws attuned to every rock and root of his well-mapped territory. Behind him, the grey wolf plods along at a determined, if leisurely gait, and the black beast is driven by the chase; he keeps himself within sight, huffing and whurring and chattering at his companion in encouragement. Every dozen yards he pauses to glance curiously over his shoulder, tongue lolling, before skittering off again – a give and take that never lets the silver close.
In a cloud of dust and a tumult of leaves, the wolf darts ahead and loses himself in the blackness, nimble feet guiding him towards a nearby stream; it is here where the thin creature bunks down, nestled and hidden amongst boulder and branch. He waits, blue eyes seeking, searching, until his prey is within his sights: his grey companion, single-minded and intent upon completing the chase. Unsuspecting. With a torturous slowness, the beast lifts his hindquarters and tenses his muscles, coiled and prepared to spring – and closes the gap between them in a rush of teeth and fur.
They descend to the loam in a tangle of limbs.
When the onyx beast pulls away it is only to reorganize, to shift and settle and pin his partner below him, sprawling out with a paw, his neck, draped over the silver wolf’s back. He starts and bristles at every animal that chances upon them – a squirrel, a doe, a skunk (that sends him wisely backing down) – scattering each in a snarl of possession. The first order of business is to mark the grey as his – to combine their scents so thoroughly – and the black wolf makes a show of snorting and snuffling in the silver’s scruff, rubbing his cheeks in long sweeps across his companion’s shoulders. As though his smell will keep him safe – but more so that the pack understands. His. Mate.
The beast finally relaxes with a slow sigh, blue eyes drawn towards the creek. He clacks his jaw, lips smacking, the compulsive instinct to hunt welling up within him – a wet nose finds itself buried in the fur behind the grey wolf’s ear, and he nudges gently. Insistently.
The chase must be continued, but with a more satisfying prey.
Logan. said:
Excitement grips at the animal’s mind, feeds into his veins, laces his blood with an unrelenting, powerful energy. This beast, the hound that would sleep the world away, will only arise to the black wolf’s call. A stalwart soldier, a willing follower, a steadfast mate, a dogged pursuer. All roles, any role; he is committed. A symbiotic relationship where his needs are met by fulfilling that of his partner.
He has thrown his lot in with the yellow-demon that haunts Blackwater with her scent, with her presence, but the bond is shallow – born from political necessity.
The bond that has him pushing through the forest, chasing the black wolf into the night, runs marrow-deep. He is compelled to follow, to stay near, to eat up the distance between them with a determined gait. There is an undeniable magnetism; he is smitten, driven, hopelessly and willingly trapped.
Darkness swallows his quarry and the silver beast slows, confused. His large nose presses into the earth, claws scratching, coaxing a familiar scent to disperse and concentrate, to provide a clear path. The wolf’s actions turn methodical; a bloodhound on the trail. In his obsessive pursuit, the gray does not notice the exchange of roles – that he has become the hunted, and the black wolf the hunter.
His equilibrium shifts, leaves him in a bewildered mass on the soft forest floor. Leaf litter creates a ruckus under their movements. He is claimed, marked in a flurry of growls and scent-marking. He reacts in much the same way; attempting to reciprocate, attempting to establish that yes, he is the black beast’s, and the black beast is his. His partner calms and so too does the gray; his temperament, his reactions, are tied to that of his partner’s. A mirror, a reflection; support.
A nose against his ear cajoles him into standing and the gray wolf rises to its feet. He falls into line with his partner, reads into the black wolf’s body language, his actions. He understands and begins sifting through the air, testing for tell-tale molecules.
The invisible path, a coaxing siren’s call singing of the hunt, leads deeper into the forest. On the opposite side of a small clearing, nibbling on the bark of a tree, is a sizeable buck. The creature’s antlers are sharp spikes, the first growth of the season. The gray passes its black partner a look. There are no need for words here, only simple instinct, an innate understanding.
He slowly makes his way around, circling through the brush to the other side. The gray aims to startle the animal into retreating straight into his nimble, agile, and faster partner’s path.
