Wheeling Gull Isle Walk the Plank, Ye Scurvy Dog
Crabs?! Giant crabs?! That definitely sounded like a creature from his worst nightmares, ranking right up there with ponies and Bambi.
110 Posts
Ooc — Bryndel
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#1
All Welcome 
So I got impatient  <.<  >.>  Hehehe.
 
The scent and taste of the sea were in his nose and on his tongue, cold and almost unbearably salty. He coughed a little, spreading his jaws wide and lowering them toward the sand as his long pink tongue curled and contorted in a futile attempt to lessen the foreign discomfort, but even when he resorted to scraping his teeth along the top of it it didn’t really do much. He was cold and terribly thirsty, and likely only slaking the latter with something less heavy than a couple additional gallons of ocean was going to fix very much of that.
 
The spiked fur on his throat was smeared with speckly sand that ordinarily would have matched its color near-exactly, but at the moment both were unevenly darkened from their recent thorough soaking. The same pattern of sand was strewn here and there throughout the rest of his pelt, for which a quick shivering shake did little to dislodge the wet clumps from its midst. He continued to grimace and slide his tongue along his front teeth a few times as he raised his head and looked around, nose working overtime in-between its snorting and snuffling attempts to clear the last of the seawater out. The salty scent of the sea was overpowering, to the point that little else got past its tang, though thankfully that was slowly receding as his nares dried out. Driftwood sneezed, and scraped a paw across his nose, and lifted watering eyes to scan the landscape again.
 
Empty, and unfamiliar; there was little there to truly tell him anything. The sandy beach curved away from him in both directions in long, elegant swoops, and the trees that lined its edge opposite the sea quickly grew to thick impenetrability. Ordinarily he would have appreciated the serene beauty of the expanse more, but right at the moment the sly tickling of a small breeze was getting under his skin and making him shiver more. Still snuffling, he moved toward the evergreens, only to be distracted by a small, darker patch of color off to his right revealed half-buried in its own hummock of sand. He blinked away another layer of sea and then moved toward the object: a middling-sized hunk of ocean-weathered wood still in the process of turning from earthy brown to silvery-gray. Its smooth curves beckoned to him, and with a little lift of his tail he bent down and picked it gently up before turning back toward the trees. As he trotted toward them once more, however, his pace slowed and then staggered to a halt, as the strengthening scents smacked him directly in the face. The traces of other wolves had been more subtle and intermittent on the beach, and more easily drowned in the oceanwater’s musk; the forest however contained much clearer smells which struck him unmistakably as he dropped the driftwood branch and gingerly stretched out his watering nose to get a better sniff.
 
The shelter of a dugout beneath some nice thick tree roots looked awfully inviting right now, which was a shame, because the trunks were drenched in layers of scent signage. An extra-big shame too because as was also coming increasingly to his awareness Driftwood had to go, and soon. His nose twitched first one way, then the other as he stood there indecisively for a long moment. Then his left rear leg came up to scratch suddenly at his belly in ticklish discomfort, and he snorted and backed away a step. After another long, hesitant glance at the treeline, with forepaw uncertainly half-raised, Driftwood turned and scooted another few steps back down the beach. Then he squatted awkwardly for another few moments. With a sigh of relief, and another reluctant glance toward the sheltering boughs of the trees, he moved to pick up his chunk of driftwood once again. He figured he could hold its worn curves comfortingly in his jaws while he thought all this through, and figured out just where he was going to find a freshwater source, whilst not stomping all over the toes of the locals if he could help it.
587 Posts
Ooc — KJ
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#2
Coelacanth is in the first phase of her heat and is NOT considered fertile. “During proestrus, the start of the estrous cycle, the bitch attracts male dogs, but is still not receptive to breeding.” This phase will last through April 20, 2018.

Coelacanth rose from the ocean shallows with fluid elegance, and her Neptune eyes tracked the stranger’s haphazard path with interest; she blew the saline from her lips and nose with a soft whuff whose sound was too frail to carry. The splashing of her feathered limbs was louder, and she made no attempt to hide her presence as she waded ashore and shook the water from her fur. The strange wolf, she gleaned from his physical appearance and the tang of fresh urine, was a male — slightly younger than Seelie but far larger. That was all right. So was pretty much everyone.

Within his mouth the male grasped a chunk of weathered wood that the little Groenendael immediately wanted for herself — the “you have it, so I want it,” impulse had always been hers to own, but it seemed especially intense of late. She could practically feel her blood pulsing from the tips of her tufted ears to the downy tread of her paws, and her silken tail arced high above her back as she approached. She did not move toward him directly but instead drew a wide semicircle around him like a filly on a lunge line, pausing when she reached the treeline. Boldly then, she rubbed a shoulder against one of her trees, her atramentous pelage sketched into clusters of urchin-like quills. “This is mine,” was her clearly bespoken message, and after a moment of preening — the natural incline of the territory allowed her to look down her tapered muzzle at him from her current vantage point, making her feel taller — she bestirred herself and gave in to her curiosity.

A roll of gamine shoulders spurred her tiny frame forward, but she stopped when she was still several cautious feet away. Focused on the male wholly now, instead of his marbled brown-and-gray prize, she took in his coloring — reminiscent of many of her family members — and his long limbs. As damp was he was, she could discern what appeared to be a permanent asymmetrical furrowing of his brow, but she thought little of it. He reminded her of Aditya in a way, and her favorable impression of the Morningsider made her eager to make this new wolf’s acquaintance. Tilting her head to one side, then the other, like a curious bird, she boofed at him pointedly, the sound little more than a huff of breath. Who was he, and what did he seek so ardently?
Crabs?! Giant crabs?! That definitely sounded like a creature from his worst nightmares, ranking right up there with ponies and Bambi.
110 Posts
Ooc — Bryndel
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#3
He'd missed her on his way in—at least, he was fairly certain he'd remember running into this extraordinary of a specimen. He'd never before seen any wolf quite like her; she looked and moved like the shadow of a faerie on the breeze, her slim frame's unusual shape accentuated by exotic fringes of dripping, storm-tossed inky fur. Where the sun scattered off its deep expanse, it seemed to hold the shadows of the sea, as well, the shining blue glints recalling the depths from which she had perhaps sprung. The overall effect was rather entrancing, especially for one who couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a fellow canine. For just a minute he had to wonder to himself: had he somehow reached the spirit world, or some other bewitched and utterly foreign lands? Watching the female before him swaying and dancing among the paradisiacal island setting, it seemed entirely possible.

She was staring at him most directly, without a word, and for a long moment Driftwood stared right back at her, disconcertedly. His body began to lean back, hunching away from her just a little and moving one sandy tan paw back an uncertain half a step, furrowing the sand. He felt more crude and awkward than ever, in her intimidating presence; perhaps her bright pinning gaze and imperious silence was judgement passed upon an over-arrogant mortal who trespassed upon magical lands and presences far beyond their ken. She had drifted around him with a wide buffer of sand kept between the two, floating along and perhaps not even physically contacting the sand at all, it seemed to Driftwood; was she a wolf at all, or a fey spirit in disguise? He blinked, and then self-consciously realized that he was staring, quite rudely, and dropped his eyes to her neat black toes instead. He could still taste her scent quite clearly on the air, however, far more alluring and fascinating than most wolves' scents he could recall... but while she might be languorously measuring her svelte length against the trees' widths, he rather doubted she was here to flirt. There was a definite covetous possessiveness in her every move, from the rough brushing of bark against fur to the authoritative directness in her strides. It was more as if she was flaunting not only her ownership of these lands where he didn't belong, but also her body, which he obviously didn't have the authority to claim either. While she was plainly not one to waste words, her body language was screeching volumes, here... making thoroughly sure that he knew down to his bones just who was in charge and laid claim to this territory.

And he did know. He sat there consciously telling himself to behave, willing his tail to tuck itself between his legs and his head to stay deferentially low. He wasn't quite entirely certain how flesh-and-blood she was, whether she was a queen among the island's faerie people or just the local pack, but either way he truly did not wish to argue his much more lowly status. His tail did beat against the tawny insides of his legs, however; it was difficult to contain himself, seeing a face that looked anything like his own after so long in the company of birds, bees, and random walruses and the like. He'd been living off of rodents and the occasional not-too-rotten fish, as she could probably scent upon him even after his saltwater bath, but more importantly he'd been doing every bit of it alone. It was so incredibly nice to see a canine face once more, however alien, and even if it was obviously fully engaged in judging him from on high at the moment. She approached a little closer as he apprehensively watched out of the corner of his eye—the queen deigned to greet the bedraggled peasant! Truly. It was so very nerve-wracking and exciting both. She loosed a commanding puff of a woof at him, which he fancied held a hint of disapproving disdain as well, and Driftwood cringed down a little further, dropping his driftwood chunk to the sand with a hissing thud. He glanced over at it in surprise, but let it lay there for now—more important things to consider than his little treasure. But when, looking shyly up at her via a quick side-flicker of gold eyes, he saw how her piercing blue eyes kept eagerly tracking the large stick's movement, he reconsidered, and croakily blurted out without thinking.

Oh, I'm so sorry—is this your bit of wood? Did it come from one of your trees perhaps? I found it here, I hadn't thought it belonged to anyone, but please— if you would like it back you may certainly have it. I didn't mean any harm, or uh, disrespect... He hesitated an instant, his neck crooked stiffly downwards, and then made so bold as to actively nudge the small greying log toward the ethereal shadow staring down and passing judgement upon his soul. Please, milady, take this offering in the peace and goodwill in which it is sacrificed... and indeed Driftwood did feel just a bit of a pang at giving the wave-weathered beautiful piece up, but getting back onto the right side of the locals was far more important. Especially since right at the moment he still wouldn't quite bet on this alluringly bizarre creature not being able to smite him with waves and lightning where he stood, or something very like. I didn't want to come here and steal anything. Really! Her very continuing silence and grace helped put him a little more on edge. She seemed to possess so bountifully much of both as she stood there, guardian of the sands and the trees, and he...he obviously possessed so very little of either, as he stood here humbled, out of place and drenched down to unimpressive lanky twigginess. Her adroit motions and glittering sapphire gaze just made him feel so judged, and unworthy! Or was that just the slightly guilty projections of his conscience? He really should have peed in the water, shouldn't he— but just the thought of wading back out there again made him shiver a little more.
587 Posts
Ooc — KJ
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#4
Perhaps the Aralez ought to have been troubled by how intently the tauhou stared at her — but the whiskey and bourbon tangle of his pelt and the brilliant topaz of his gaze afforded him a certain lenience, and Seelie was not a particularly dominant wolf, anyway. On a baser level, the hot flush of hormones that preceded estrus made a siren of the voiceless selkie’s daughter; she liked that the male’s eyes were just a little awestruck and that he was somehow intimidated by her despite her diminutive size. Her bright cerulean eyes roved boldly over the hawkeyed stranger, skimming over his long legs and the tattered curve of his right ear, the now appreciable divot that marred the symmetry of his skull. There were stories in these imperfections, and she longed to know them.

The tiny Groenendael watched the fluid shift of his body into something at once empowering and frightening; his tail beat against the pale fur betwixt his thighs and the carriage of his head dipped submissively. Her alarm grew when the bedraggled castaway responded to her frail attempt at verbal interaction by cringing further, the chunk of wood in his mouth thumping heavily into the sand between his paws — oh, she did want that for her very own! — and she hastened another step forward as he began to speak, one catlike paw lifted uncertainly as though she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to test her luck with him. Even when he nosed the driftwood toward her, she remained still.

He spoke at length, and she kept to her silence, but drew nearer to him with her weight on the tips of her toes — she was ready to flee if he proved aggressive in the slightest and would shy away even if he made overtures of friendliness toward her. Being quick on her feet was one of the atramentous sheepdog’s greatest assets, after all. “Shh,” she soothed him gently, deciding after a few moments of prolonged silence to put her trust between the tauhou’s jaws. Delicate nose quivered as she swept her muzzle slowly forward in an attempt to make physical contact — if he allowed it, she would press her nose through the fur at his scruff to draw in his scent.
Crabs?! Giant crabs?! That definitely sounded like a creature from his worst nightmares, ranking right up there with ponies and Bambi.
110 Posts
Ooc — Bryndel
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#5
She watched, and judged, and let the silence sit there, as laden and cold as his fur. A fire burned within her chilly sapphire eyes, however, as they followed the movements of the driftwood chunk… This, at least, seemed to Driftwood a hopeful sign, if only a small one.
 
She spoke neither to affirm nor disdain his own pitiful words as he offered them beseechingly up. The smallest of confused whimpers escaped him as she padded closer, the susurrus of shadowy paws on sand barely audible even to his keen ears. She moved like the flicker of a flame, like the darting of a dragonfly; it seemed to him that if he blinked she might flicker behind or beside him, or vanish in an instant like smoke in the wind. He remained quiveringly pulled apprehensively in upon himself as she tiptoed nearer: the world’s hairiest and most awkward turtle with his neck pulled in and his legs tucked up into a nonexistent shell. Only his tail managed to actually conceal itself, and it still managed to be audible, if not invisible; it continued to tap an intermittent and haphazard rhythm against his battered thighs, sending off small uneven spritzes of seawater still. His uneven shivering now grew stronger, not just with cold but with fear and excitement mingled. His golden eyes widened at her soft shushing, but besides his involuntary vibrations he didn’t move, even going so far as to hold his breath as her cold nose penetrated his dampened ruff and inhaled deep.
 
Just what foreign scents, he wondered, did her delicately pointed nose taste upon him? Her intentions seemed relatively peaceful, but her mute grace still gave him the jitters. He squinted uncertainly, and after a moment grew just bold enough to inch his own nose forward and breathe in her scent more deeply as well. She smelled of seawater and strange sweetness, and not just because his own nostrils were still crusted with salt. His tail beat more strongly, and then, surprising himself likely near as much as her, his long pink tongue lapped out, wanting to give her a quick and affectionate slurp, though one still appropriately submissive, at least, luckily for Driftwood. In the same instant, his nearest front paw reached out and knocked the ocean-weathered stick a little further in her direction, rolling it with uneven drunken clumsiness that result not just from the clumsily blind fumbling of his foot but also the uneven stubs sticking out from it in various directions like the inserted blunt quills of a porcupine.
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151 Posts
Ooc — Rachel
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#6
Komodo hadn’t expected to encounter a stranger as he rounded the isle’s shores that day. No, strangers were few and far between nowadays — the island entertained such familiarity for him; how he loved it, and how it cursed him! It hadn’t been long since his Minstrels had departed back towards whence they came and Komodo still wasn’t entirely satisfied about his decision to remain. The brute was certain that they were having a wonderful, absolutely fantastic time, for on the road every moment was actually a thousand moments within; a kaleidoscope of what-if’s and could-be’s, the likes of which they had never seen, and would never see again. 

Such opportunity lay before him, in the form of the endless rolling mainland, and he only need to reach out and grab it — but still he did not often make trips to visit and rather gave in to his better senses, retreating to the caverns or simply rounding the barrier sands in order to simply look upon the mainland and wonder what was happening 5 miles, 100 miles, or even 600 miles inland.  While his feet kissed the spit of land that was Wheeling Gull Isle, the earthstalker would never know. 

But he loved the little sheep dog and he was powerless not to support her every endeavor. Furthermore, his service to the wolves of Undersea was something declared by the gods — as good as law. The stormborm wolves had been brought together by nothing more than divine providence [and several days of cruel, tempestuous weather], and he had left once, and then returned to nothing. After some serious brooding on this subject, Komodo decided he must not squander the god’s favor a second time — not often did good fortune occur twice, and three times was even more unheard of. 

If it was the god’s will for him to stay and support Coelacanth’s claim to her beloved island — and the gods were making it as clear as crystals — then Komodo must concede. 
 
Though he had not expected to see a stranger that day, a stranger is what he got. Upon picking up a foreign perfume, Komodo hastened his gait and closed in on the interloper. He made quick work of the distance and soon came to see that Coelacanth, his little leader, had been the first to arrive. The man watched their interactions from a distance — the lick, the gift — and then he pressed forward with his hardened jaw grit and tail lashing. The dappled-coated, salt-strung man did not position himself as leadership [for leadership he was not, touchy subject] but he was certainly above this fellow. Especially one who was far too close to Coelacanth. “Hmm,” the brute grumbled, looking upon the scene with a distinct sense of questioning and simmering displeasure.
night clubs & night stalkers
fast women, fast talkers
loose lips, loose limbs
the lovely loveless

587 Posts
Ooc — KJ
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#7
The trembling of his body pained her — she felt the damp chill in her own bones, then, and tasted the buzzing unease of his trepidation on her lips. Miniature fireworks of saline spritzed unevenly from the erratic tap-flutter-tap of his quivering tail, and she wondered at the restless worry and anticipation that drummed through him. She was about to speak, slim jaws parting as her ingenuous lips shaped themselves around syllables that still didn’t feel familiar, when he bestowed upon her pert chin a quick, exuberant kiss. Every muscle in the sheepdog’s body tensed, but she did not recoil fully; she merely retreated a step to regard him with a certain indecisiveness.

The swipe of his tongue along the sleek curve of her muzzle was a first, of sorts — Moorhen was her lamb and she had come to expect a certain deference from the banded Cairn; and Olive had bent head and carriage to the Groenendael in apology rather than submission of a hierarchal nature. Never before had she been so plainly submitted to, and she didn’t think she liked it very much. That being said, the physical contact was pleasing — if a bit frustrating in a way she could not explain or understand — in her sensitized state and her feathered tail whipped like a windswept banner.

She wasn’t expecting the strange wolf to actually give her the stick, and when he did, knocking it toward her with an awkward shuffle of one forepaw, she rocketed skyward like a startled cat being accosted with a cucumber. She landed neatly, her movements vulpine, and although the caregiver in her registered his weariness all too keenly, she tried to initiate play. He was so tightly wound! Surely he’d feel better after a quick romp to stretch his legs — so she backed up from him with her hindquarters raised in a playful bow, and “barked” invitation before whirling away…

…almost directly into Komodo!

It was a bad time for her empathic nature to kick in, but schedules held no sway over the outpouring of hearts and she knew at once his restlessness and his present unhappiness. “Modo?” she breathed, her flanks heaving with the exhilaration of her sudden sprint. She climbed the rise and made to nose at his cheek, heedless of his rigid, standoffish posture. “What’s wrong?” she wondered, and hoped he would spare a private moment for her at a later point in time. Her Neptune eyes told a story, boring softly into his and then flicking toward the Labyrinth in the distance. “Night, alone?” she suggested to him shyly, wondering if he would acquiesce.

She awaited his response with bated breath — and once he gave it, she delicately but pointedly turned her attention toward her new friend with a steady, fond expression. “Name, tauhou?” she entreated him, her posture relaxed as she sat with her tail cupped against her hip. Invitingly, she patted the sand with her paw to invite the stranded mariner to take his ease, looking winsomely over her shoulder to draw the Earthstalker near so that he could make his own acquaintance.
Crabs?! Giant crabs?! That definitely sounded like a creature from his worst nightmares, ranking right up there with ponies and Bambi.
110 Posts
Ooc — Bryndel
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#8
His veins buzzed with an unholy mix of anticipation and anxiety. She certainly felt and tasted as corporeal as anyone he could remember, though, however unconventional her looks. But he cringed down a little further as his impulsive lick earned him a look from its target; whoops.
 
Although…she didn’t seem to feel the need to speak of it, and she didn’t retreat far. In fact, she wagged her tail quite widely, just before leaping straight up into the air, the most impressive physical feat Driftwood could ever recall seeing in any canine anywhere. His own ears shot up in surprise, echoing the motion, and then a grin flitted uncertainly across his face as she bowed in obvious invitation. He lifted up onto his toes with a happy little bounce of his own while his bedraggled brown tail beat the air more vigorously, vigorously enough that it couldn’t be hidden between his legs any longer. His grin grew stronger as the lady pirouetted with a little woof of challenge—and then that grin drained away like rainwater on a slope, as playtime was abruptly halted by the appearance of a stolid statue of a wolf right behind the first one. Driftwood, like Coelacanth, had been too distracted and keyed-up to properly take notice. Now that he spotted the other male however, his face tautened once more, his sandy brow starting to furrow as his golden eyes dimmed, their corners crinkling with tension.
 
The female was puffing slightly from her acrobatic exertions but did not seem too worried about the intruder. But as he folded worriedly back in upon himself and his tail drooped earthward, Driftwood suspected they knew one another, what with the hulking stern-faced male’s scent seeming very vaguely familiar to him, and the inquisitive black nose the female immediately thrust into the face of the newcomer. That suspected familiarity was quite quickly confirmed, as a moment after naming the intruding stranger the female breathed a heady suggestion to the male: ”Night, alone?” Driftwood stared quivering down at his own damp dusty feet. The words were obviously not meant for him, and he didn’t mean to pry, or to offer any other action that might rouse the ire of the intimidating figure who had happened upon their meeting. It wasn’t his place, and while the female had seemed pretty forgiving of Drift’s trespasses he was not at all certain the second and far more looming figure would be similarly permissive. Driftwood did venture one foot forward briefly, but then, hesitating, replaced it whence it had come. He took a quick peek at the face of the other male and stayed still as he could possibly be. His tail did however tremulously start to flutter again from where it was half-tucked between his stiff hocks, not quite able to shake the budding enthusiasm and hopefulness of a moment before: perhaps once he had taken stock of the situation, and seen Driftwood’s harmlessness, he too might like to play? The low and rumbling mutter from the other male had Driftwood flattening himself more thoroughly to the sand, however, and kept him pinned where he was, though it didn’t stop Drift from sneaking an appealing glance toward the dark female, and then to the near-forgotten stick. Surely his gift would earn him at least a little of a reprieve…?! Or maybe the male wanted it, and that was why he looked so dour. Driftwood debated about creeping over there to see if the glowering black-backed statue wanted the stick instead since by her reaction the female seemed to be thinking of changing her mind.
 
But his nervous attention was diverted again as the female spoke directly to him. … ‘Tau… hou’…? Was that a nickname, or an insult, or…what? He cocked his head a little in bafflement as he tasted the unfamiliar word. He was uncertain how he was expected to react to it, although the lovely svelte black creature seemed kind and friendly enough as she said it. His tail thumped unevenly and uncertainly, audible again as he took in the girl’s friendly invitation and easy manner with both of the boys, and then he remembered to focus on the part of the question he actually had understood. My name’s not Tauhou. Everyone calls me Driftwood. Right? Right. He emphasized this with a tiny but decisive nod as he proudly straightened himself just a little. Then he crouched back down again, alertly readying himself to play—and only then remembered to insert the usual follow-up question. Who’re you? he asked, eyes darting from the female to the male and back again.
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151 Posts
Ooc — Rachel
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#9
Coelacanth engaged the boy in play and Komodo further cut his critical, gilded gaze at the unfolding situation. Had the sheepdog not closed the distance between them in a matter of balletic leaps, the brute would have done it for her. That was enough. Instead, she nearly crashed into him and bade him greeting. At her question, the angakkuq grunted roughly, certain that this was neither the time nor place for such things. She spoke the truth, of course, but he’d rather this information be kept for this intruder — he was already acting far too familiar.

Trodding behind her, movements stiff, he followed Driftwood’s question with an interjection. “Y’don’t git t’ask the quest’uns, not when yer on ar’ sands.” Perhaps later he would feel bad for treating the clearly deferential young lad so coldly, but Coelacanth smelled so very particularly good this day, and such prickly behavior truly felt like the most appropriate response, somehow. “She’s head honcho,” he burred, letting him know just who he was playing with and kissing. Here, Komodo looked at Coelacanth to provide her own name, as the completely capable alpha she was — he knew she could introduce herself, if she wanted to; had taught her himself. The man’s own introduction, however, was distinctly left out — he owed this boy nothing, and he did not feel like sharing, so he would not. 
night clubs & night stalkers
fast women, fast talkers
loose lips, loose limbs
the lovely loveless

587 Posts
Ooc — KJ
Master Medic
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#10
“Tauhou, stranger. New come — newcomer,” the Aralez whispered shyly, a gentle smile tugging softly at her velveteen flews. “D-Drrrift — Drrriftwood,” she repeated with consternation writ across her delicate features, her tongue twisting over the syllables of his name, lips still shaping them for a few moments after she’d breathed life into her first poor attempt. She was all too happy to enter into another game of chase with him — this time with Komodo included! — but the guttural burr of the Earthstalker’s voice drew her up short and stiff. Surprised at how brusquely he was treating the island’s latest gift, she turned her head and cocked it pointedly in question.

“What is that supposed to mean?” questioned the shocked widening of her Neptune eyes and the aggravated crick in her ink-feathered tail as it ticked slowly to half-mast, the sumi-e brush tip curved upward like a scimitar at the ready. “No,” she protested succinctly, with a decisive shake of her head. Tufted ears swept forward upon her skull as she assumed an authoritative posture — but she was not a dominant dog, and she had known Komodo for so long, and she did not want him to be angry with her! One ear flicked uncertainly as she broke her stare to look upon the young wolf she classed as harmless and sweet. “Can ask,” she clarified in a silky susurrus. “Always ask.”

“Coelacanth. Seelie,” she told the pack’s newest Tauhou. She didn’t know what a “head honcho” was, but it certainly sounded like a bad thing to be. Part of her wanted to protest and to name her own rank, but doing so would require an explanation of the pack’s unorthodox hierarchy that evaded her own physical capabilities — and right about now, she didn’t trust Komodo to do the honors. What had gotten into him? She was unaware of her own allure to the males, and this made her less compassionate than she typically would have been toward the prickly Angakkuq. In her eyes, he was simply being ornery — and she couldn’t fathom why. “Welcome home,” she told Driftwood, and drew forward to nose tenderly at his shoulder, following through with a sleek shimmy as she snaked against him, mingling their scents. There was nothing sensual about her now.

Happy as she was to welcome the newest member of Undersea home, Seelie found that her taste for their game had ended. She threw the tension from her muscles with a vigorous shake, then passed by Komodo with confusion and frustration swirling in her limpid eyes. “Night, alone,” she repeated, and this time it wasn’t a question. Her throat hurt badly from all the whispering she’d been doing, and she moved inland at a quick clip, seeking water for a drink and a bath.
Crabs?! Giant crabs?! That definitely sounded like a creature from his worst nightmares, ranking right up there with ponies and Bambi.
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Ooc — Bryndel
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#11
He licked his lips nervously, but gave a small, eager bobble of his head as the black-tressed lady deigned to sound out his name. No matter how strangely those syllables might sit on her tongue, they were certainly close enough in his book! Perhaps it would all be all right, now…? But Driftwood cringed again at the harsh voice and harsher stare of the other male. This guy looked so intimidating! Did he ever smile? Or was there perhaps even a glimmer of hope that all his gruff seriousness was an act… Driftwood’s golden eyes met Komodo’s, and that hope died a-borning within the tauhou. Sorry…? he offered in his smallest, meekest voice, looking directly at Komodo as his own slightly-shivering body kissed the damp sands and his ears flattened parallel with his skull. His eyes did flicker to rest on Coelacanth for a minute as Komodo informed him of her rank—but if she was indeed “head honcho,” then why was Komodo acting like he was taking charge of the situation himself?
 
Driftwood was so confused. Especially when the female contradicted the male, and said that Driftwood could always ask. …He was too intimidated to ask what he was thinking right now, though, his tongue knotted in the middle and sticking in the back of his dry throat; also too confused to be able to fully articulate even to himself what exactly he wanted to ask. Maybe later, if the female was findable alone and without her brooding guardian skulking at her heels like a thunderstorm ready to break. Maybe then he could figure a few more things out.
 
Seelie, he whispered, still rather uncertain, lost and befogged. But all his worries were washed away quite suddenly, all other considerations fled, as the most important words of all escaped Coelacanth. Welcome home. Driftwood had trouble believing what he had heard, until Seelie nosed him and then thwumped her length affectionately against him. The affectionate physicality drove the reality of that statement home. Driftwood squeaked in happy excitement, words still failing him though for a completely different and much happier reason now, at least, and his tail could no longer contain its thrilled agreement. He danced forward two zigzaggy half-steps, whilst still mostly in his half-crouch, and his eyes likewise danced with delight. Home! he managed, and then remembered to look back at the disapproving male, as Coelacanth met him with a much colder disapproval back. Driftwood held his place and his tongue further, his sand-speckled rump thudding back down to the ground as he stared apprehensively at his fellow male again, wondering what the other was going to have to say about this latest development, especially. Home? he murmured again, which was almost a question to the guy who had such a grudge against them, whoops, but then again it wasn’t a complete sentence or really even a complete thought…so maybe he was safe there, Drift told himself in apprehensive half-hope. Seelie again suggested the other one meet her on his lonesome tonight, but now it came across as more of a command, and much less of a likely flirtatious invitation. Driftwood still didn’t know what exactly was going on, here, but for once he managed to hold his tongue—and Seelie was already moving off, in any case. Driftwood really wished he could go with her, for more reason than one, but he figured this was probably a clear enough dismissal on her part (and besides which he wasn’t sure the intruding male might not chomp him, if Driftwood dared pace Coelacanth’s footsteps—that had been made pretty clear right here and now, too). He sat and looked back at his fellow male, wondering with a quick squinting glance up at the sky if the hulking grump was going to follow her. His fitful shivering was not all due to the ticklish little cold breeze that was feeling him up and whispering in his ear. This other guy scared him just a little, he wasn’t afraid to admit…and now Seelie might be leaving him alone with him. Driftwood swallowed, but held his place and held his peace. If Drift was going to make this place a home, after all, he’d have to find a place to stand his ground sooner or later…and he didn’t want to leave Seelie, especially, with the impression that he would abandon what was now his rightful turf in order to run and hide. No matter how much he might secretly kind of want to.
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151 Posts
Ooc — Rachel
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#12
last post!

Seelie recovered from his social martyrdom with a type of saccharine elegance that only she could look good in. She swept in and stole the show away from his grumpiness, and for now he was glad for it, because he was feeling that quite disagreeable and knew this young wolf, so in need of healing, needed a home. But, despite her cosseting, he did not loosen his stance or the constriction of his frame and the grit of his jaw. Komodo stood there, hard as ever, as the sheepdog bade them both adieu and left. 

Komodo watched her gamine form as it shuffled away. Later, he would seek her out — somehow things between them were quite unsettled, and he hadn’t realized it until that very moment.

The earthstalker turned his attention back to the shivering thing upon the sands, looking up at him and asking his permission to call this island his home. Driftwood had not been born upon it, as Komodo and Coelacanth had, but he had every right to be here all the same. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he gruffed, turning over his shoulder to move inland and guide the pup home. “Lemme show yuh ‘round…” he continued, figuring this was somehow now his responsibility now that the Aralez had left them. He couldn’t just leave the boy here, alone.
night clubs & night stalkers
fast women, fast talkers
loose lips, loose limbs
the lovely loveless