Thu 07:56AM EST
Morning in the forest: sunlight slanting through the trees, birdsong echoing from unseen throats. And one man shirtless in front of a small cabin, whistling quietly to himself as he whittles.
Strikes-the-Heart
Thu 07:58AM EST
And the wayward crash-strum-bag of overLOUD headphones in the distance. Not too often y'hear headphones in the distance....
not too often at all.
Santiago Eyes-Like-Flint
Thu 08:01AM EST
Living in the endless silent darkness of a desert night, your senses get sharp. The distant headphone noise hits his ears but he doesn't look up. Swarthy-skinned, with short dark hair and a carefully trimmed goatee, the man continues whittling. Pieces of wood shavings pile slowly between his feet on the steps.
Patiently waiting, unruffled, steady as stone. Sidewinder in the day.
Strikes-the-Heart
Thu 08:07AM EST
Closer still.
Is trouble ever something you can small on the air? Like humor, or garlic, or the other ten-thousand things in between. Tromp. Tromp. Tromp. Small (...barely surviving.) shrubs are trambled under the weight of his boots.
Santiago Eyes-Like-Flint
Thu 08:10AM EST
Bare to the waist, Santiago's skin is crisscrossed by a handful of lighter marks. Ragged scars from claws and teeth. Thin ones from blades. A few circular ones from bullets - but not many, all in all. Not many. Coiled over his shoulders and rippling down his sides, two black tattoos - identical at first glance; ever-so-slightly different at the second. As Luc Strikes-the-Heart tramples into view the man on the porch raises his dark (black.) eyes. His whistling doesn't ever falter, and wood shavings continue to pile slowly up. He smiles slightly in greeting, but the eyes are flat and hard - almost reptile.
When Luc is within ten feet he sets his craft aside carefully. It looks like an arrowhead made of wood, and doubtlessly it was some talen or other. Brushing off his hands with careful deliberation, the Forseti rises to his feet. Tall and lean, his muscles are supple and rigid, his motion fluid and unhesitant.
"You Lucian Strikes-the-Heart, Skald of Great Fenris?"
Strikes-the-Heart
Thu 08:15AM EST
"Yeah, so ah'm guessin thats not you."
Smirk. Won't you EVER be serious? The man had stonish eyes, one supposed almost flinty. [..catch flame.] And settled within the steely grey of Luc's own. Chuckling lowly, the youth's eyes easily glance away...
Santiago Eyes-Like-Flint
Thu 08:20AM EST
Smile widens. "I'm Santiago Eyes-Like-Flint, Cliath Forseti of Great Fenris. Want to set that down so we can get started?" A nod to the CD player, and then a jerk of the thumb over his shoulder. "Stick it next to the talen there and it should be all right."
Santiago probably had ten years or so on Lucian. Both Cliaths, it would seem the Change is not anything close to an equal opportunity offender. The experience of living - not as a Garou, perhaps, but living nonetheless - is there in his face and his eyes, which have beheld the expanse of virgin deserts too harsh for men to survive intact and sane. The jury is still out on whether Santiago had survived intact and sane (look at those eyes).
Strikes-the-Heart
Thu 08:23AM EST
Weaver-Taint. It was all over the the kid. The kind that might make a rational garou spit. [..likely Santiago KNEW which pack, Luc was runnin with.] Not that Santiago was sane either...
But that is a story for another day. Respect, that was the word of the day, and regardless of flip attitude Luc held the man in high regard. The man who -would- be teacher. Cd player and keys are set asside, hat shoved in his backpocket.
Welcome to the School of Hard Knocks.
Santiago Eyes-Like-Flint
Thu 08:27AM EST
Santiago steps aside for Luc to set his things down. And while Luc's leaning over to do just that? The Forseti attacks without warning from behind - tooth and claw.
Lesson One...
Santiago Eyes-Like-Flint
Thu 08:33AM EST
--claws scoring the Skald's back, enough to tear his shirt and leave thin red lines on his skin. Enough to teach a lesson (--coulda ripped your spine out, kid--) not nearly enough to do serious damage.
"Lesson one!" rumbles the Hispo behind him, paws braced for the undoubted counterattack. "Always watch your back, Skald!"
Santiago Eyes-Like-Flint
Thu 09:24AM EST
Immediately, the Skald turns and presses the attack. A flurry of snapping and biting, some attacks hitting only air and fur; others finding blood. But Garou are tough, and Get tougher than most, and when the dust settles the warily circling dire-wolves are bleeding only lightly.
(This? This isn't a wound. It's a SCRATCH.)
Next installment: round two!
Strikes-the-Heart
Thu 09:30AM EST
Dires Wolf: A huge greyish beast that wouldn't even respond to the name 'Luc' if pressed. No we've tapped into something far more primal. Tongue lolls out to lick that scrap of blood [..not nearly enough.] from his gapping maw...
Saliva drip on barren earth as he circles the older wolf. Watching it for cheap tricks, this is a "friendly" match right? Never mind the mutual urge to lay the other into an unscious state.
Scractches won't do.
Santiago Eyes-Like-Flint
Thu 09:34AM EST
"(ws)Paws?" A lolling wolfish grin: all white teeth and pink (red) tongue. The lean direwolf takes a single step back - changes form - and suddenly the black tattoos winding over shoulder and down sides are
GUNS?!!
"(ws)Not quite." Snap of teeth in the air - and back he leaps, 20, 30 feet, out of range of the teeth. "Come and get me, Skald!"
Strikes-the-Heart
Thu 09:39AM EST
Chase is instinctive.
The huge beast breathes in the last lingering scents of his sleeker enemy. [..gunpowder and wood.] Tongue lolling out even and body surges forward after the departing man-wolf...
Strikes form seeming to melt as he moves, the slow churn of muscle and fur (...bones melt) growing small and --faster.
Beanpole.
Wolf.
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