Redhawk Caldera i'm out looking for action

because of injury plot timeline set before this. ensuing chaos in three, two, one ...

after the early vestiges of morning and the rise of the sun chase away the last of the webbing abyss of night, tvarog heads southeast of the altar. the territory offered little in the way of substance and while charming and ethereal to those with a more refined eye for such things, the duskrunner moves on without a second thought. with winter coming to it’s full-swing the press of impending death lingers ever closer; the reaper creeping ever nearer. he was healthy, all things considered but travel-weary and though he hasn’t taken the time to note his general appearance, no doubt a bit worse for wear.

without clan leaves his hunting options to the slim pickins’ or scraps like some sort of fucking scavanger.

in the region of the badlands, the clans were typically small to medium sized; working well enough for them as there were often numerous branch-off’s and resources stretched thin in the heart of the ravaged wasteland they called home. naturally, he gravitates away from the bigger packs that occupy the wilderness; black, leathery nostrils drawing in the scent of the pack’s claim he draws cautiously nearer in the here'n'now.

instinct told tvarog to quit his inner bitching and vying about ‘packless freedoms’ and admit that if he didn’t strap himself down with a clan for the winter, he wasn’t likely to survive long. it is instinct that drives him nearer; instinct that forces him to stop a respectful distance away, tip his head and send up a howl for anyone — guardian or leadership — close enough to greet him.

Q, for the most part, kept to herself other than hollering to anyone who would listen and doing as she was told. Unruly as she had been as a kid, in recent days she was not making much trouble. The distraction of moving was to thank for that, but now that she was feeling settled Q had the grand idea to do some exploring beyond the Caldera. She was heading to the borders to do just that when she accidentally came across some tall, dark, and very-much-so interesting to her dude. 

Nothing really scared Q. She was a bold girl—bolder than most, for no good reason—who, when she first heard thunder, rejoined with her own thunderclaps (read: loud and annoying yapping). There was something to this stranger that compelled Q to not straight up ignore him and go about her day and do as she pleased. He was good looking, and she was... well, she was going to make herself useful to her family for once. Maybe invite him to join them for the good of the pack. Could she do that...?

Hello there, she greeted when she was close enough, grinning. She was no guard, nor was she a leader... but she could be helpful, right?

can I be removed from PPC? <3

the girl that arrives on the scene to greet him is young, if tvarog had to wager a guess not even a yearling yet as he gives a precursory study of her with ghastly jack’o’lantern orange gaze. yet, she greets him all the same; grinning as she did so. her pelage is an interesting combination of black, grey and red — where does the red come from, he cannot help but wonder? — and the duskrunner, far from any societal gentleman, does not politely inquire for an adult. to him, she is adult enough to greet him at the borders, evidenced enough by the fact that she was there.

hey, tvarog greets her, gaze lifting to survey the lands held within the claim of her pack. so very different from the sands and roughrock of his homeland. though playin’ nice isn’t exactly something tvarog’s good at — an unfortunate trait he’s willing to blame upon spending all of his life in his birthclan — he treads with caution and flirts with niceties. regardless, he appreciates what he perceives to be her gumption. questions flit across his mind but he chooses to ask none of them, favoring each more stupid than the last:

what was the name of her clan? did they need members?

he wouldn’t recognize the name even if it was given to him. they smelled like they could use an extra set of jaws but he was doubtful she’d offer that information right off the bat.

i’m tvarog. he offers his name instead.

I'm Q, she introduced in turn with bright eyes. What brings you to my neck of the woods? She asked, interested. It would be cool if he was trying to join their ranks; they could use the number, and he was quite easy on the eyes. Like, her day was better for seeing his damn good looking face. 

She hoped he would stay a while. Forever, maybe. Oh, by the way, my neck of the woods is called Redhawk Caldera, Q informed, feeling quite helpful.

the girl introduces herself as 'q'; simple, easy to remember. likely unlike his own name, steeped heavily in the mythology of slavic gods that he didn't necessarily believe in; and in fact often questioned the decision to name him after a god, having had to suspect that it would work to shape him in some manner or another despite his general skepticism. her inquiry brings a small smile to his lips; a twitch of one, really; drawing a breath and repeating redhawk caldera, huh? when she offers the pack's name to him.

it was certainly more of a creative name than badlands.

can't say i've heard of it, tvarog admits on a low drawl. but i'm new to these wilds. so, of course he hadn't heard of it. might be lookin' to join the ranks, providing you and yours'll have me.

I'll have you, Q answered quickly, not thinking of anything suggestive while saying it; innocence of a child, and all of that, let her speak so baldly. But we will see if the rest will, too. I'm not the head honcho here, she shared, though there was nothing about her that suggested as much in the first place. Q was hardly an authoratative presence, but she showed up and would be there when needed. 

So, she threw her head back to call for @Towhee, @Phox, and @Niamh. It was lost on Q that her aunt could not hear at all. To Q, she was just hard of hearing. For a while there her parents might have imagined the same about her as she adoringly imitated her aunts own speech patterns because Towhee had been her idol. Not that Towhee might ever know that fun fact. Anyway, her aunt still was her idol, but she just managed to find her own voice. Someone's bound to come along soon for you now, she said smilingly. You are welcomeeeee.

She wasn't surprised or alarmed to find Quetzal's trail meandering near the borders, and she didn't press herself to catch up with her daughter in order to make sure that she was fine. It was only when she was summoned that the Regent picked up a lope and bounded forward with a relaxed, lofty stride to where the summons had come from. She'd called out for all three leaders, so Niamh could only assume that she'd met someone who wanted to join. A howl for help, or call of distress would likely have sounded much different. 

She assessed the situation as soon as she caught sight of the two dark wolves in the distance; one smaller and marked with golden highlights that she recognized and cherished, and the other was much larger and darker, with some lighter ticking and highlights along the latter part of his back behind the thick ruff of his shoulders. His orange eyes were calm, and Quetzal herself seemed relaxed enough (had she finally begun to rid herself of the screechy youth phase? It seemed so- but Niamh didn't want to jinx it) so she approached with an air of authority as she would approach any loner who had come to their borders. Even if this was a friend of Quetzal's, Niamh would almost always put business first.

She reached her daughter's side and growled- an affectionate note as she touched her nose briefly to her daughter's temple before she fixed her honeyed gaze upon their visitor. He was actually...Quite handsome. And Niamh was not perfect, when it came to remembering decorum over attraction so luckily for him, she was coaxed to use a slight bit of humour to break the silence. 

"You must be very lucky," She said in a flat voice. "This is one of our most dangerous guardians," She said, tilting her head just enough so that only Q would notice the wink she'd been given. She didn't chuckle or echo her own statement with a smile, but sat and tilted her head back a bit, watching the male with cool scrutiny, willing him to respond.

a small, wry smile is given when the girl, q, mentions that she'd have him, a change of his visage borne of the thought that she might not be so sure of that in time. he was a bastard thru and thru and no doubt it was bound to get him into trouble whether he wanted it to or not. though he was not incapable of respect and certainly more prone to it when it was enforced by hierarchy and the need of survival breathing down his back as winter bites eagerly at his heels, waiting to claim his life ...his personality at it's core still stood. you could take the wolf out of the badlands but you couldn't take the badlands outta the wolf.

she calls for the leaders, he presumes and gives a small, sage nod as she says that someone should be along. true to word, it isn't long before a blonde pelaged woman appeared, greeting q with an affectionate growl. tvarog almost peers away because it feels like a moment he shouldn't be encroaching upon but doesn't and instead offers the older of the two his rapt attention when she speaks. no doubt, tvarog muses; wholly willing to believe it whether there was truth to it or not.

i'm tvarog, he makes the self introduction again for the presumed leader's benefit. i'm lookin' to join.

Q puffed up her chest to her mothers encouragement, and did not deflate when she saw the wink; if she wanted to be that, she could, but to be called it did wonders to her ego. Hell yeah I am, she smirked, winking back to her mother and then trying the wink on Tvarog. No doubt? Damn right!!! She nods, approving of him. 

When he said he wanted to join, Q looked to her mother. She didn't see why not! But what did her mom think?

Quetzal's enthusiasm never seemed to fade- and while on some days Niamh found it tough to handle without turning into the screeching harpy she not-so-secretly was, she also found it endearing when it was properly focused. Enthusiasm meant that there was potential- but also lots of room for silliness, and as the children grew into young adults, she'd begun to tolerate the latter much less, so she didn't exactly acknowledge Quetzal when she emphatically responded to her statement. She quietly gave her daughter a calm, but slightly stern look, hoping she might take that as enough of an indication that she had to straighten up a bit, and take her role more seriously. It was Niamh's fault, really- after all, she'd stoked the child's confidence only moments ago, and now expected her to rein it in. Lofty expectations for the daughter of the Regent; to be able to handle a bit of humour, without going all willy-nilly and forgetting that she was acting as a representative of her pack. 

"Tvarog," She repeated, tilting her head back and casting her gaze downward at him. "I'm Niamh, Regent of Redhawk Caldera. And Sergeant-at-Arms," She tacked on, as she did love her titles. "Mother of fierce defenders as well," She said, so that Quetzal might be satisfied, and behave accordingly if she too was granted a title. She then turned her attention to her daughter. While Tvarog had come for business, it would also be expected of him to respect Niamh's authority, and spare a bit of patience while she tested out her daughter's skills. While others might have done more interviews with family and friends, Niamh preferred to put her children to work in the field.

"Quetzal, what questions do you have for Tvarog?" She asked smartly, having turned her austere gaze to her daughter. "We need to make sure he is a suitable fit for our pack." From Quetzal's earlier enthusiasm, she guessed that Tvarog had already passed her daughter's expectations...But just how well did she know this stranger, and had he actually done anything to prove his merit?

the girl's enthusiasm was catching and endearing, tvarog supposes. he has little experience with children or teenagers despite having been one himself many moons ago. in the badlands there had been a certain division, a barrier that neither had crossed: he tended to his duties as second-in-command and though certainly he sired his fair share of offshoot children, giving to his more self-indulgent tendencies he couldn't imagine himself in any sort of role as father or cubsitter.

that was better left to wolves with a better temperament and patience.

niamh introduces herself, giving her lofty title — that he can respect — and affirms his prior consideration that she is q's mother. his gaze shifts between the two when the task of presenting the all-so-important questions to suss whether or not he was a fit for them and theirs is given to q. with a patience that he adopts as he goes, tvarog's gaze shifts to hers as he awaits her questions and further judgement of his responses.