Vlad, like his player, had dropped the ball. A week of recruitment scouting turned into four, and he returned to Saltwinter hungry and empty-handed. The Rat was gone, Singarti hadn't completed the joining interview, and it was bitterly cold. Saltwinter had not been able to attract any new faces in his absence - or so it seemed on first inspection.
Braving high winds, Vlad skulked along the shore at low tide, rooting through debris in search of something edible. He ate a couple of dead crabs - whole - and chased it with seaweed, puking and re-eating the concoction several times before it would stay down. He stopped and waited for his stomach to settle, turning stark yellow eyes on the angry ocean.
WELL YES! i am so loving this guy. iffy on the details re her circumstances as they relate to SW because tat thread isn’t done yet
So that was that. Caiaphas had fractured her paw, her autonomy, and for all anyone knew, whatever semblance of spirit lingered still inside of her. With a step not so bountiful anymore—each prohibitive stride brought with it a wince instead of a galumph–the freshly delegated Thrall was forced to slow up and negotiate with the concept of urgency. Was that stupid rock over there REALLY more comfortable than the stupid rock right here, and was it worth the grueling streak on her itinerary? She was finding with each hobble, dignity trailing behind her on an unraveling spool, that curiosity was starting to have somewhat of a chastening effect on her lifestyle.
The sea dragged its clench-white knuckles across the strand, nauseous with wave-fetter and mussels stirred up from the ocean floor, spitting them at the indigent feet of the Seahag’s ragtag own. The creature made short work of some crabs tossed onto the beach, slurping down algae and not longer after that, spewing it in technicolor all over the sand. Horror and disgust tasseled out on Lusca's face, jaw agape, as he made even shorter work of that, repeating this—clearly systematized—process two or three times until his gut finally accepted the redundant alms. She made an audible and retching urp sound, a wad of gastric acid wedging in her throat—threatening to void her stomach contents. Lips taut, she crammed it back down. No gain in giving him dessert.
Pulling a sullen look, Lusca huffed at Vlad and rose stiffly to her feet, limping several more yards away from both him and the wind-torn waterline to settle in a spot on the hard substrate amidst the tidal pools. She wound herself up into a tight ball and watched him, squint-eyed, from afar; bones trembling from the trifecta of cold, pain, and hunger that encumbered her.
Until she gave herself away by retching, Lusca had done a sterling job of looking and smelling like just another heap of whatever - and even then, the ambient sounds of the seaside did much to mask the sound. Vlad twisted his head to squint down the beach, missing Lusca twice before discovering that yes, that hairy boulder over there had eyes.
"'ey!" he hollered, halving the distance between them with several short, bouncing steps. Whoever this was, she had not adjusted well to living on a beach. Had Caiaphas neglected to issue this wolf with a Saltwinter welcome pack? Vlad's ears pressed forward, fighting the wind.
"Why you make sleeps een beach? You vant being ice wulf? I geev gud teep for you - best ice wulf also dead wulf!" He couldn't help himself (or didn't want to) - the laughter bubbled out; a loud and unrefined sound.
"Come come come, you go cave."
:D :D :D W007! No probs, will try to assist.
The second he spoke her eyebrows crumpled into a perplexed bundle. The diction with which he spoke was prodigious—novel, to her, as though his vocal chords were striking flint with every glottal consonant. ”I think your tongue is swollen.” she curled her lip at him, saying then: ”try chewing your food if it has pincers.” She subtly stared at his mouth, willing him to open it so that she may bear witness to the crab swinging from his uvula to Chandelier by Sia.
Vlad’s intentions–whether they were his best or not–were met with more than just some mulish resistance. She withdrew, visibly–ears flush against her skull. No, certainly no, to the cave thing. No more spelunking!! Especially not here in Bitch Canyon. Lusca did not verbalize her noncompliance, instead, coiled herself more snugly and gave Vlad some very masterful and austere side-eye as he made a raucous, crowing with laughter at the expense of her hardship. What a dickweed.
Vlad took it literally at first, and performed some QA on his tongue by smacking his lips and blowing a successful raspberry. His tongue performed admirably, and it was not until after a few moments of mental standby mode that he clocked that she had insulted him. Brash laughter hitched a ride on the wind for a second time, more sinister in character than before. "Gerl meck yoke on voice!" he crowed. There was an unmistakeable edge beneath his inexpert wielding of the words. The Saltwinter wolf advanced, head lowered and eyes glowering above a broad, toothy smile. "Thees so new theeng for Vlad - so new yoke. So - I telling yoke now. You leesen? Engry wulf seet on beach of Vlad, meck so gud yoke, Vlad eat wulf!" Funny, right?
Lusca pitched back her eyes, imploring Lord, take me now as his brain buffered and struggled at first to parse her words. Sometime later, however, it did finally manage to locate the /Vlad/Utilities/sarcasm_detect.exe folder, at which point she intoned loudly: "Jassssss vezzy gute!" In her mind, she was patting him on the head. Outwardly, she nodded in a manner that suggested he was the proud owner of one, maybe three, braincells.
As he barged into her personal bubble, steely eyes battened down on her, Lusca took turns squinting up the oppressive, swarthy barrel of his snout, and down upon the grimy state of his phalanges with a rankled expression, ears slicking back with rooted disapproval. Nah. Chick had inflexible strictures regarding who was permitted to enter her cushy sphere of emotional unavailability, and this guy did not make the list––so she was definitely not about to abide this heinous moving violation (besides, it would be a ginormous miscarriage of justice if she let it slide. Maybe if he wiggled his cleavage at her?).
The inkblot stared at his toes a second or more longer before slowly drawing a leg from beneath her chest, daintily using the tippy-tops of her claws to hopefully scooch his foot away. Leaning away from him, she re-situated herself, wiggling back into a curled ball (to conserve energy for when she was running for her pitiful life in three to five minutes, as a rough estimate), darkly clouded all up in his face.
Being that Vlad hovered over her like a sanctimommy hovers over her gluten-free forcefed, anemic spawn, if he so deigned to consume her, she stood little to no chance of making good her escape. And when Lusca felt threatened, mouthing off––however unwise in her circumstances––functioned on the same reflex as elbows when one is being tickled within an inch of their life. Caiaphas already milked every last ounce of fear from her bones––although there was some semblance of it pulsing faintly in her chest, she was mostly anesthetized.
"I wouldn't, Vlad." This is where you slam a shot glass of whiskey sour and ensue with fightin' words. Also where your friend holds you by the collar of your shirt so you don't get immediately laid out. Unfortunately, as it were, Lusca had no such friend. Or any friends, in fact. Trash talk to your heart's content, girlfriend. R.I.P. Nobody will miss you.
"I've been gradually building up a tolerance to poisonous newts. So, like, most of my blood is toxic." She informed him blandly, eyes half-lidded. Lying, obviously. The frontline personnel of all her defense mechanisms. "If you do, though, may I suggest you start at my head? I think the reservoir of poison is concentrated near my ass." She paused, looked him up and down, and tilted her muzzle away dismissively. "In your case, also known as the face."
A set of scrawny toes appeared from the bristling black fuzz, booping the nearest of Vlad's paws with all the strength of a fridge magnet. Sass and attitude followed, none of it appropriate for a wolf that ought to be fearing for her life. But she didn't move. Could she move? Vlad narrowed his eyes, studying the super-sized sea urchin at his feet. Caiaphas must have been at least partially conscious to welcome this lil' ol' ho into the fold, and he wasn't about to sacrifice his spot in the cave over ego. Threats and violence were two tools in a vast and varied arsenal.
"Ooooh, toxeeeeek," he echoed, shuffling around to Lusca's back end. "Thees no gud. No cenn leafing so beeg toxeek on beech. Aha! I meck marking so danger theeng for to warning peck." Vlad hiked up a leg and let go.
A shrinking look riffed her brow, willingness to tempt providence quickly stemming as the premier carny in Caiaphas’ mutant circus encircled her. He was creating noises with his mouth, but she could hardly interpret the general meaning behind the many words as each lost their footing on their way out of his gob. Something about marking, danger, blah blah blabbity whatever. Engry Urchin flattened her ears and perched her gaze on Vlad as he drew around to her backside, cocking a hind-leg to release a parabola of urine that arced rather artistically through the air, making its intended x-mark well and true. His accuracy would have been pretty commendable were she not the unlucky victim of his home grown tidal bore. It was even frothy. The creativity! The realism! Truly, this guy was an artist.
Meanwhile, Luc froze in place, and on a breath’s asthmatic crosscurrent, whispered: “You just...” Not unlike a deer paralyzed in the headlights of a shitty little Kia, her eyes dilated to the size of saucers, helplessly witnessing her dignity's member falling off like a gangrened limb as Vlad's stream continued on seven men strong. She had no idea how to react to this situation–nobody'd never, ever, ever clapped back at her like this before. It was an entirely new, most entirely unpleasant milestone in her life, and the upsettingly warm sensation that marinated on her skin made it all the more traumatic.
Clammy fingers clutched her skeleton while her soul withered into nothing more than an empty husk at her feet. And as his spigot’s stream mawkishly drained to a leak, Lusca–an eerie calm settling around her–rose to her feet and wound around to face him. In that moment she was uncertain if she wanted to make her escape (read: attempt a gait swifter than a hobble), or platoon fire. You may have the hydration game down to a science, but I’m on that fiber train, bro-chachos–I’ll shit inside your heart.
She stood stock-still and glared hatefully at him in deathgrip silence. No words, no violence. A dim and fire-slicked stare.
"Meck wee-pee," Vlad finished casually, as though Lusca had simply forgotten the word. She got slowly to her feet, willing Vlad's swift demise with every inch of her being, in all conceivable ways — spontaneous combustion, piano from the sky, freak aneurysm. He just stood there, leering at the angry urchin (a nickname that would be bestowed upon her later) until some other thought fluttered past and stole his attention. "I go," he declared, half-turning inland before adding. "Not needing say thenks - ees pleasure of Vlad."
i thought i had for sure wrapped this up. sorry! archiving. vlad's a hoot and a half.
Fumbling, Lusca was parted from her wit, and as Vlad turned to leave she felt that without some soul-withering valediction their interaction had been rather half-baked.
"PISS CLEANS WOUNDS! YOU'VE ONLY MADE ME STRONGER!" She hollered in a desperate attempt to redeem her dignity and, by proxy, her morale. Though this went about as well as throwing paper to the wind.
Vlad seemingly held aloof from the outcries and the covert intimidations constituting them; he disappeared after a short time, and when Lusca felt confident that she was free from harm, she screamed. Woe be her.