Wolf RPG

Raka didn’t really know where he was, but that wasn’t a new thing for him. Often he would find himself in unfamiliar areas, his inner compass being completely screwed. Wherever he ends up can’t be helped or predicted, but hey, it’s never bothered him. He took advantage of the opportunity given to him and made quick work of the land. Trekking across it in a seemingly drunken stupor, though he couldn’t be more sober—for the most part anyways. There were times in which he’d accidentally ingest a few poppy seeds here and there, but again, it can’t really be helped. He never learns, constantly forgetting what they look like and the effect they can have. Such an incident had occurred recently, too, though it never really caused him to act overly different. His brain had been scrambled so much already, there was probably nothing that could make him act any worst.

The young coyote stumbled his way towards a tree—perhaps a bit too dramatically—and positioned himself beside it. After hiking his leg up about as far as it could go without snapping off, he relieved himself on the defenseless flora and then stepped back to examine his work. “Look at ya', ya''re beautiful,” he stated, giving the best of the best compliments to his newfound tree-friend. “A true wo'k uh art.” Raka approached the trunk, then, head bobbing as he did so. Pushing himself up onto his hind legs, he placed his forelimbs against the rough bark and then leaned in close, almost as if he were telling a secret to a lover. “You's're mine now. Ah' peed on ya', so's now ya' kin neva' leave me,” he stated, eyeing the tree to assure it had understood fully what he meant. Someday, he would marry the tree—okay, no, he wouldn’t. Getting tied down to one thing? Pfft, as if. “Yo' new names be Clarice. Mah bros and lady-bro gots'ta love ya'.” Raka was getting serious about the tree. Maybe he actually would take her as his bride someday. Only time could tell for sure.

Sava jumped down after hearing this. "Ay there stranger, you look an awful lot like me friendo, Raka? He is my major bro-dude-man, maybe you guys are related!" He jumped around with the stupidest facial expression one could imagine.



(sorry my reply is so short it'll get longer as I get more used to doing this owo)

Startled by the sudden appearance of another ‘yote—seriously, he was like the canine version of madafakan Harry Houdini—Raka stumbled back away from his new lover, landing right on his rump. He continued to sit there, brain very slowly trying to process what had just happened, before it finally clicked and his body jolted back up. You’d think he’d hit his head rather than his butt by the way he stood there with a dazed expression, the words spoken traveling in one ear and right out the other. He stared long and hard at the surprise visitor, wondering if he needed to take action against stranger-danger, until the words finally registered and he gave a lopsided grin. “Raka? Dat's me!” the yearling practically squawked, his lazy simper intensifying. Despite his reaction, however, the loser had yet to realize that the stranger wasn’t a danger at all, for it was none other than one of his homies.

Raka stumbled closer to the other, disregarding the courtesy of “personal space” and getting right up in his face. He studied him, eyes squinting as if that had some sort of sway over his memory. It wasn’t until he caught a nice whiff of the other’s breath that he figured out who the hell it was. “YO, SAVA? IS DAT REALLY YA'?” His mouth stretched wider than necessary as he spoke, unintentionally putting more emphasis on that fact that he was totally, one hundred percent surprised. “Sava, bro, ah' missed ya' so's much,” the boy insisted, completely forgetting that he’d seen him literally a day or two ago. Really, it hadn’t been long at all. Not even seventy-two hours went by with them being apart, yet to him it felt like an eternity—maybe two, possibly twelve, eternities. Who knew for sure? “You's kin't eva' leave again, coo', Dung Bread?” After giving Sava the same look he’d given Clarice moments ago, he pushed his front half from the ground and then draped his forelimbs over his friend’s back, yanking him into some sort of make-shift hug.

Perhaps he would have remained like that for a while longer, too, had he not recalled the presence of his fiancée-to-be. “OH!” Pulling away, he reversed himself back against the tree, gaze never leaving the face of his homeboy. “Dis be Clarice. She be hankerin' aftah marry me so's bad-assly, ya' gots' no idea,” Raka stated, twisting the truth just a wee bit. He leaned his ear close to the trunk as if he was listening to something, nodded, and then returned his attention to Sava. “She be hankerin' aftah marry ya', too, bro. WE KIN BE BRODER-WIVES!” Obviously, he didn’t quite understand the difference between a wife and a husband… okay, so, saying “quite” is being generous. To be brutally honest, he wouldn’t know the difference if it walked up and tea-bagged him right in the face. Raka’s parents never told him about those types of things.

Sava sat there with the dopiest grin on his face while trying to wrap his pea brain around this concept "AY, brada wives, ya say? Ain't wives them thing you use to ah, what was it? O ye, you gety really dopey from drinking em, ye mate? Make you as dopey as we usually are?" He sniffed around Clarise, only his idiot complex made him use his paw, to sniff, and not his nose. I'm not sure you could've come across a more idiotic and blissfully innocent creature if you tried. "Well, my friend, broski, mate-o, you certainly got a good taste in dem. Should be absolutely dope in no time, no' at all."

For once, the young coyote was confused—okay, yeah, no. It wasn’t even close to being the first time his brain throbbed from pure confusion. Hell, he was confused in the womb. Somehow, though, this feeling was still one that seemed new to him. It wasn’t because there appeared to be nothing wrong with his proclamation of engagement to a tree (of all things), or even the fact that his dear friend was unnaturally stupid—no, it was because he was actually questioning these things. For the first time since he’d been conceived, Raka’s brain was really working in an attempt to process what was going on around him. It was an uncomfortable sensation, he’d soon realized, and wanted so desperately for it to stop. What good came out of thinking so much, anyways? There was none, as far as he was concerned.

It was an unlucky thing for his brother to speak so moronically, for it’d only served to further complicate things. The gears in his head were turning, though they creaked and whined with resistance. He tried to deny that his brain was truly functioning, believing that doing so might make the feeling go away. After all, if he didn’t see or think about it, it wasn’t really happening… right? Yeah, that was totally how things worked, no doubt about it. At that, his mouth lifted to display a lopsided grin, the gears in his head slowing to a stop. “No, man, dey're likes... de broders t'wives? Yeah, dat's whut dey are. Right On! We kin be da damn broders t'our wife-to-be,” he declared, still not seeing the issue with what he was saying. “Clarice, man, she's so's lucky t'gots' us bod.” His head turned slowly, light eyes snaking their way over to and up the “body” of his fiancée. There was a look of longing in his eyes, before he winked and flashed a grin at the tree. “Love ya', babe!”