Title: Now This Is Home
Description: All welcome, especially weres
Silverdragon - September 18, 2004 04:02 AM (GMT)
((If you would like to be a thug--or possibly someone more powerful pretending to be a thug--or a damsel, click here. Damsel Rescue To talk to Faolin near the forest, try here. Faolin in the Woods))
As he stepped through the doorway, Faolin felt a great weight lifting from his broad shoulders. Now, he breathes deeply as he casts his dark gaze over the room. This is much better than the city. This is much more like home. So very much so that he feels out of place in leather. After collecting his drink--in a mug no less--he settles into a corner and slips out of his jacket to feel more in tune with the establishment. Not that jeans and a T shirt could equal the cloak-tunic-kilt feel of the place, but it's a little better. This is exactly his kind of place, and the Wolf suspects that he'll be here often. It would be useful if he had a pack to meet with. Soon, perhaps. Hopefully.
Connell drinks thoughtfully, everything about his position dark. His clothes are black, his corner in the shadows, his eyes deep, his hair not far from a raven's shade. Everything dark except his soul. He radiates wariness and a strange, predatory feeling, but not evil. Almost the opposite, in fact. And confidence to spare. The man leans back casually, now taking a closer look at his fellows. If one happens to meet his eye, he watches back until they look away. Faolin is not afraid to be seen--though he carefully keeps his fangs from catching any light. That sort of thing tends to frighten people off.
Arcane Blood - September 18, 2004 01:10 PM (GMT)
He's dark. Too dark to possibly be a man living on the streets. But he is. Even though nobody would suspect him to have money, he doesn't. He steals his leather from where he lives. Which is, on the streets.
Anyway. He walked in, and lifted his head from looking at the ground. He was miserable today. Even more miserable than he'd been in the past few days, and he was of course feeling worse because he couldn't afford a drink. So instead, he climbed up onto a barstool, and slumped over the bar, his coal black hair falling in his face, and the red strips that accompanied it falling as well.
In another moment, he came to his senses. He sat right on the barstool, and placed his elbows on the bar counter. He tried to recollect himself, and focus his blue eyes on something. He was trying to keep his mind of... other things. Such as this damned curse of his. There was no way in hell he wanted this.
Despite how much he tried, he remained without a focus. He wasn't paying attention yo anything around him.
Silverdragon - September 19, 2004 05:23 AM (GMT)
Well, that's handy. Being able to ignore the stare of, say, the dark man in the shadowed corner there is a useful trick. Faolin doesn't mean to be rude, of course--not that he'd care much if he were. It's just a...well...it's a thing with him. The newcomer is acting strangely, and it's in his nature, or half of it anyway, to observe his behaviour. It's more than likely that Connell is watching for signs of weakness. Does he mean to leap over his table, attack the stranger, and drag him down the road for his [nonexistent] pack to eat? Of course not. At least, we all hope so. But nevertheless, half of him says watch. Wait and see if the stranger is ill. What then? Meh. The watching is important. Why? Because it shuts his wolf side the hell up, that's why. Over time, one discovers that if one happens to be two creatures in one body, sometimes it's just best to do what the other wants so it'll leave you alone. If he grants it this demand, he might be able to ignore others. To bring the whole beautiful scene full circle, it's his own handy trick. Ooo, the world is an rich tapestry and so on. The coincidence, the fate of it all. Sure.
At any rate, the odd stranger starts irritating Connell after a while. No reason, it's just annoying to be helplessly watching someone who looks like they could either drop dead any second, or start throwing coasters and waving their arms yelling about the end of the world and yellow raincoats. Or something. The Ruadh is annoyed because he is curious. For instance, why come into a pub if you don't mean to drink? What kind of loser would do that? At least he had the courtesy to buy a drink and not look like some lost idiot wasting away on a bar stool with nothing better to do b--...........
What in hell? The man(ish) doesn't understand why he's mentally babbling on about nothing. Maybe he shouldn't have bought that drink. He eyes it dubiously, but decides it'll do him more good than harm. And all the while, he has half a mind to go one better than staring and march over there to ask what the hell is wrong with that guy.
Just because.
It's bothering him.
Arcane Blood - September 24, 2004 02:51 AM (GMT)
(I apologize for taking so long. -bows deeply.- I am hoping you will understand I did not mean to inconvienence you.)
Why was he in the pub with no money for a drink? Well, because he felt like it. And because he could. End of story.
He was half lost in thought, and half just... there, staring at nothing. The bartender had come over to him once and asked him if he was getting anything, but he declined, although not wanting to. He didn't have the money.
He didn't realize anyone was staring at him or bugged by his presence, so he just remained there in silence. He was quite pitiful really, and besides his clothes, he was a mess. He had an overly pale face (which wasn't make up that he couldn't afford anyway) and lifeless, bloodshot eyes.
So why is he in the pub again? Because he needed to sit and think things out. And he needed people to pity him for his lack of money.
Silverdragon - October 2, 2004 03:27 AM (GMT)
He may not have the cash or nature for donations, but he does have plenty of time. Where is he going to go? To work? To howl on some hill crest and hope somebody answers? Blah. The depressing effects of alcohol serve to mellow the Ruadh out, and also to make him more apathetic than usual. Why bother? His time might be better spent talking with strangers. After all, he remembers, perking up suddenly, you never know who's seen a were. Nonetheless, Faolin sighs as he takes his drink and moves to the bar, sliding onto a stool with grace that seems misplaced in his larger figure. He's not bulky, but he does have some muscle mass on him. He's compact, that's what he is. Power packed into a smaller package. Built for endurance and speed.
Maybe more endurance than speed.
Anyway, he turns a little, making it clear to whom he's speaking. ((I'm not exactly certain which of your character he should be addressing, so consider it humour if it turns out that this would seem like a strange thing to say.)) "What's eatin' ya, kid?" An acceptable phrasing, for a canine.
Arcane Blood - October 2, 2004 05:11 PM (GMT)
Realizing he's being spoken to, Morlos lifts his head a little, black hair falling in his face in an attempt to hide his less than acceptable appearance. He makes no attempt to brush the hair away, however, and sets his eyes upon the stranger. "Who, me?" It was spoken in a way that he knew who Faolin was speaking to. He had hoped it wasn't him, however.
"Nothing much."
It wasn't even funny how droned he sounded, and how lifeless he looked.
Silverdragon - October 12, 2004 02:09 AM (GMT)
A slight raising of one dark eyebrow labels Faolin's expression 'dubious.' He doesn't believe Morlos. "Funny," he says quietly, "doesn't look like it." The Ruadh flags the waiter down for another round of drinks for himself and his new friend. They could both use it, he thinks. Taking his time with a long drink, he studies the boy. Younger than himself by about a decade, unless some trick is being played on his eyes. Possible, but he doesn't think it likely. However, he does not have the ability to discern the nature of this one any more than the others. That is, his friend could be hiding anything. So while he seems relaxed, a part of his mind--a large part--stays on its guard, watching every move, noting ever expression, keeping an eye on the rest of the room with the watchfulness of a wolf. His clothes don't seem to quite fit him, and he looks a little roughed up. It doesn't surprise Faolin, but makes him curious. Has he met with some kind of trouble? How many creatures are in this city? Did this boy come across one? Perhaps, he thinks, he could at least get some information from the kid. Or maybe something else, you never know.
Faolin rests an arm on the bar, his expression now patient, and otherwise blank. But his body language, on a layer under that of 'subtle,' says that he is truly willing to listen, and even lend what aid he can give. Only another wolf, or supernatural being, could read it. His human body language only shows the 'listening' part.
Speaking of wolves, it would be quite reasonable to wonder why Connell is so willing to help someone he's never met--when he doesn't even know that Morlos is a fellow were. It could be called one of his few real weaknesses--the ironic instincts of a born leader. Of wolves, anyway. The small, the injured, the helpless. It's his place and his job to protect them and keep the Pack together. So regardless of the fact that the boy is a stranger and is more likely to win the lottery than to actually become Pack, Faolin still feels obligated to do what he can. And he's aware that no one asked him for his help, and he may even be butting in. He'd probably keep trying anyway. And don't think it won't annoy him; he can think of a few ways to be better spending his time, but he would never be able to seek them. Not while there's troubled teenagers to untangle and damsels to be rescued. Insert Ruadh sigh here.
