It's the full moon. The white disc hangs above the city, shimmering slightly. There's something almost magical about the moon.

There's certainly something magical about the people it affects.

This place is dark, for there are few streetlights in this part of town. Streets edge on forest, and the Lacroix river can be heard, just out of normal human hearing range. It's not quite the forest, but it's close, and the dark street and forest edge makes a prime hunting spot.

Tonight, there is an addition to the normal predators of the area. Bethany is hunting. Her fur is shiny, brown tinted with cream, with a black nose and yellow-green eyes that glow when light hits them. She's a small, stocky wolf, who when she moves radiates uncertainty in the shout of body language. She isn't thinking much, besides scoping the night's prey. The night is young.

Conan tripped.

He was good at doing stuff like that. Tripping that, is. Even when he had four legs, even when he was so much closer to the ground and could see better than a normal creature could.

The point is, he tripped. Scraped his nose against a rock, and he didn't care how many times he could get beat up or get shot or any such crap, there was nothing quite like falling face first on your own account.

He saw something. A shadow. Couldn't really tell what it was, the moon was blinding him. He growled a warning. Or maybe just to let other creatures of his presence.

He couldn't believe he tripped.

The night is full of mystery. Even when the moon is brightest, secrets hide everywhere. They thrive in the shadows, for it is in there that they are spawned. Brennan’s form was concealed in one such shadow, except for his eyes, illumined by the faint glow coming from the golden irises.
He ambled from the stark shadows of an alleyway, as he felt less comfortable in this urban environment. Brennan raised his head to the sky, staring at the full moon and sniffing the air for prey or others in this place. The skies above Bayfield flickered pinnacles of starlight, hanging onto the velvety deep claret curtain of night.
The moonlight flooding from above gave a silvery sheen to his charcoal colored coat and lit his path, though he really didn’t need the light to navigate. His claws made soft clicking noises against the pavement, then the nearly inaudible sounds gave way to silence.
Brennan was an impatient werewolf.
He takes in a whiff of the air through his black, wet nose and smells the scent of another, and his eyes reach the source. Another werewolf. Two werewolves. A female and a male.

The wolf formerly known as Cort made his way onto the scene. Mostly by scent, since his eyesight wasn't as good as most other werewolves. A consequence of his own, failing human sight. Right now, he smelled others. More in one place than he'd previously smelled at once.

Interesting.

He made no noise just yet, stalking around the edge of the trees. Scoping it out. He recognized at least one of the scents.

Even more interesting.

Something primal in him complained:

I'm hungry.

Another scent on the air, darker: carrion-flesh, sun-dried bones and fresh blood. A strange one.

No god lays direct claim to the were, but Azrael has always had an affinity for them.

This is why he's in wolf-form tonight, the powerful scent of godhood mostly-- mostly-- masked by something that could be taken for werewolf. He's a lanky wolf, tall at the shoulders and slim. His fur is black. His eyes, of course, are white-- they're never anything else.

He's sitting, waiting. Keeping tabs on the mortal were with senses it would take too long to describe in english.

Something growled at her. Uncertain, Beth paused, one paw upraised, before coming to a halt in a somewhat fight-or-flight stance. She growled right back, because she wasn't bloody going to be a pushover on her one wild night out of the month. It was a low growl, for her, quiet-like, but lightened by the feminine overtones that came with being, well, female.

She didn't notice the wolves upwind, just yet, though some sounds carried to her sensitive ears to make her a bit twitchy, because those sounds weren't normal and she didn't know what to do about them.

The strange scent catches her attention, for the were had never encountered anything like it, in human or furred form. What was that? Normally, so many strange happenings would have sent her running. Right now, she just wanted to bite.

Her scent is young, nervous, female, with overtones of frustation and hunger.

Conan frowned, as well as someone who didn't have very many facial muscles could frown. He lift his poor (bleeding) nose to the wind and caught the different smells.

Hm, how interesting.

Only one of them was familiar. It was odd, though, to think that there were so many wolves in one area. Truthfully, he had been half-heartedly hoping that he would have had the area to himself (it would give him a better chance at game), but no.

The responding growl made him cock his head. It sounded threatening, but he wasn't really put on edge. It's a nice night, damnit, just enjoy yourselves.

He found a hole. Pounced. Shoved both paws down it, snuffed out a breath of air from his nose. Ow.

He howled when he saw the moon. It seemed like a proper thing to do, and maybe, just maybe, the others would join him.

It was in his blood. Howling, that is.

The savage young beast blinked, staring at Conan with a tilted head and wide yellow eyes as the fellow were did what was accustomed to do. Brennan glimpsed at the moon, his fixation no longer upon Conan. It was really cliché, but he yelped and howled at the great silver lunar sphere as well.

Hearing the howls, seeing the moon, Cort really had no choice as to what to do; he lifted his head and howled along with them. It felt good, almost, like stretching. Maybe it was just him.

Another howl joins in with the others, out of tune and out of sync, distinct against the armony of the other were.

Azrael's voice, wolf-form.

Beth was perfectly happy to leave the hostility behind. She'd stood up for herself. She was glad not to have to follow through.

Her howl blended with the others, adding a fullness to the mostly masculine chorus, and made it more, shall we say, balanced. Again she wondered at the strangeness of one of them, but only absently. It wasn't important to the vast majority of her canine brain.

Hey. Neat. He'd started a trend. He preened and strutted around for a moment, completely proud of himself for getting all the other wolves to start howling. He tried again, howled, 'come here, let's play', and darted forward.

Come on, where are you? Entertain me!

Well, his wolf form certainly had no qualms with other people. Or, er, wolves.

Brennan's lengthy, fluffy tail began to wag, stirring the crisp, cool air for a few moments, before it ceased to even make one motion. His eyes opened once more, and the howls were no longer released from deep inside his lungs. He got on his feet again, and he stared at Conan, doing the closest thing do raising an eyebrow as was possible for a were.

Cort had stopped in midhowl, when Azrael had joined in. The wolf in him didn't really care, it was just another voice, even if it did sound a bit unnatural. No, it was the humanity in Cort, the small sliver that stopped him.

Azrael? The name came from the depth of his brain. The wolf had no need for it, no understanding. It didn't care, and it not happy at having been interrupted.

The wolf made his way to the rest of the wolves, turning his mud hued orbicles to th' rest of th' lupine bretheren.

((Sorry, I couldn't resist.))

((*Stabs Hat*))

And a few moments later, a black wolf comes trotting casually from its place in the shadows, and sits a few feet from the rest of the pack, its head tilted to one side, its white eyes watching the other were. It's doing the wolf equivalent of smiling.

As though waiting for an invitation, or simply being there to observe, it sits on its haunches within view of the others.

As none of the others seemed about to take the young-seeming one up on it, Beth did. She wasn't that old herself, after all. She came up out of the grass, slinking a bit out of habit, in a sortof I'm here, what next attitude.

Tail taking long, slow strokes, not so much wagging as fluttering happily in the night breeze. Beth's a semi-fluffy wolf, with a feathery tail.

Crouching, a playful about-to-pounce pose, and sneak-attacked the other's tail. Coooool. Tail. She batted at it with a paw from behind, 'cause hey, tail.

Sure, she was aware the strange one was there, but to a wolf? Not all that important unless he attacked her. Awareness in the back of the mind, a bit of extra danger, higher on the wary list than the other strange were.

Conan's tail kept wagging. How nice, he liked this. It didn't occur to him as odd that the others were congregating around him—why should it? He was just tired of beating around the bush, and the meeting of them would be inevitable—best it be under good terms than bad ones. He didn't fancy a scuffle, not tonight. It was too nice of a night.

He wanted to hunt.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to do something, anything.

Another wolf was there, one that was highly familiar. Standing, he trotted to the-wolf-that-was-once-Cort.

Hihowareya?

Say it with an Irish accent for full effect.

Were they just going to sit around all night? He didn't like that idea, there was just too much energy sparking through his veins. Might as well start another trend—such as tearing after that rabbit. It didn't strike him as odd that he didn't even notice the rabbit was there until after he started chasing it. Instinct, baby. Bully for the others that didn't join in, more rabbit for him. Perhaps it would lead to bigger game, like a deer. He liked the idea of having to rely on others to hunt a deer, stalking it strategically, two or three of them taking it down while the others blocked the escape routes.

Who knows? The night was young.

Why am I just jumping on the fucking bandwagon again?

Oh, yeah. You're hungry as hell. If hell's actually that hungry.

Brennan was never one for being a leader or a visionary, so he was the sidekick. The follower. The shadow. Besides, as forementioned, he was hungry, and not just for sesame chicken from the Peking Restaurant downtown. No, he wanted that twitchy little lapine Conan was trailing. He hated rabbits. Ever since he had to read Watership Down as a weekly reading assignment in the tenth grade.

But, hell, he loved to chase them. And hence, he dashed for the rabbit with Conan.

((Ah ha, didn't realize it was my turn... it's probably dead, but who cares, here I go.))

Cort sniffed the wolf that had approached him, recognizing the scent. Friend, it seemed. Then the wolf took off.

Cort then smelled the rabbit, which caused him to join the chase. Food was good, and chase was better. All thoughts of the strange howl had been lost.

He caught up quickly, tongue lolling out in a way that made it look like he was smiling. Maybe he was.

((Blah.))

((Umm. Feel free to skip me.))

Brennan breathed in the delicious smell of the creature's fear as he cantered after it skillfully. His muzzle was so close to the rabbit he could have snatched it, but he was thoroughly enjoying the thrill of the chase and didn't even bother. He simply snapped playfully at the little fluffy animal's heels, putting the rabbit on edge.

That rabbit had a certain lack in luck tonight, for it wouldn't be long until one of the weres took the initiative and took its life before it knew it was dead.

{ooc: Not the greatest post, but hey...}

ooc: Grah, didn't want to hold this up, so, a post.
ic: Beth pounced, playful, on the rabbit. She wasn't exactly hungry, but this was fuuuuuuuun. She sniffed the quivering thing, watching crosseyed as it froze in terror. Cool.

Who says only cats can play with their food?

Is that a yes, or is this a bad time for him to show?