Wolf RPG

He spent the night on the outskirts, keeping to himself despite the great desire to seek out the man who had welcomed him, or the fine young thing he paraded about the world beyond. Thoughts of the seaside had faded from Renoir's mind; he now thought only of the chaos the bugs had stirred up, and the strange emptiness of the world. It would be a good idea to explore this new place if he were to call it home, yet he was filled with trepidation, and only traveled so far as the edge of the trees. They were barren, as was the hillside, and from his perch along the ridge he could see the distant ocean - a deep dark blue which held quite the shine beneath the light of the sun. He smiled at this, but then turned to look at the trunks of the massive trees around himself, and felt the sadness return to him. How magnifiscent this place must have been! And he had missed his chance to see it.

the teachings of his daughters had begun in earnest, for lasher felt that magickal energy might yet stir the land from its dormancy. no green had risen, and the horrid bugs still clung to the ground and to the barren stalks, though he had grown accustomed to the buzzing of their wings and the ugly clacking of their mandibles.

he walked, pausing often to scrape his paw across the land, hoping to uncover a root or a new leaf of some sort. but naught did he find, and he was distracted from this by the scent of renoir, and the light glinted from the beautiful pelt of the exotic young man as he wandered through the desolate place that donnelaith had become.

in time, taltos fell into step alongside the kappa, saying nothing but letting himself relax in the comfort of their similarities.

The insects had done wonderous, awful things to the forest. There wasn't a single leaf left upon the forest floor or on any tree, not even the highest reaches being safe. Renoir raised his head to try and investigate higher, and then thrust his forequarters up, teetering on his hind legs while bracing himself against one of the wide-trunked trees. With a squint, he gave up. As his paws found the earth again, they made a soft sound upon landing and Ren found himself moved by the odd lack of crunch. He began to investigate his paws, and noticed the shifting form of the dark wolf in his periphery.

Immediately, the boy's features lit up. Alo ankò, his tail fanned at his hocks; he was not afraid to show his glee upon sighting the familiar man, but it wasn't in his nature to hide such things to begin with. Mwen pa t'tande ou yo m'ou yo se byen fofile nan. His tone was light and in no way antagonistic. The boy was thoroughly impressed.

lasher was well-received -- indeed, renoir seemed positively delighted to see him. allowing himself a basking moment in this before taking in the gilded limbs, the effeminancy that the younger man wore as a cloak 'round him, though the tones were mellifluous in their masculinity. "j'ai appris l'art du silence," he murmured with a grin.

he let himself look over renoir more plainly now, inviting the golden wolf to see this and to know that the interest was return -- the glance-over was accompanied by a wan little smile, and taltos murmured presently, "tu es très belle."

renoir and his exotic tongue need say aught -- it was enough for lasher to speak the words, and he drew his eyes away, having sipped at the well of diversion in the form of the feast for his eyes.

Such skills were not taught to Renoir. He was no sleuth, no warrior, not even a proper diplomat - though that was the attempt with his own tutelage. He knew how to speak and use his words, but not his body. There were many things for him to learn. In watching the dark man, he wondered of the many things that they could teach each other — but that thought was so abrupt and out-of-place that he felt suddenly spotlighted, although he was only self-conscious. Yet when the man complimented him in his next breath, Renoir could not help but intake a sharp little breath and bow his head, momentarily stunned.

Women recieved such comments, not men. His home had been quite liberal, but even so, he was not meant to be beautiful and did not expect the kind words. He did not hide from them either, though, and felt a pleasant thrumming in his breast. mèsi - he awkwardly offered, yet still he was looking away, finding a shyness which had never really been an issue before. He could not let the conversation wane for long as it was very rude, and Renoir was many things but he refused outright any impropriety.

It took a moment, but he roused enough courage to say, lakay ou se trè bèl, menm apre tanpèt la nan tout bèt vivan. Perhaps that would lead the man away to some other topic, as Renoir was enjoying this hold of his attention far too much, and felt it only right to deviate.

the boy faltered and flushed, and lasher was charmed by this. when the shy eyes rose again, taltos met them and nodded. renoir spoke of donnelaith, and the druid would agree, for though the wood was stripped of green and no grass remained, the cliffs that dropped steeply down in rolling ridges to the very sea were as fierce and wild as they had been before, and the stark red of the giant trees remained as a beacon for those needing succor.

he wondered why the gilded little hind of a wolf had turned his words aside, but perhaps he was not used to having his beauty complimented. not all were as open as lasher was, and he laughed a little at that. "beau, comme le sont ceux qui vivent dans cette forêt," he rejoined, and here his voice took only a gently teasing tone. 

but his gaze did not lie -- in his gaze lay an invitation; renoir needed only to accept.

He honestly did not know what to do. It was Monet that held the attention of others; the men often wondered about her, and the women were vehmently jealous. Renoir could recall many instances where his own pride and love of her got in the way of friendships, and other moments where he would wedge himself between his sister and a potential love. No such interest was granted to him, though, that he was aware of. The way this man looked at him, complimented him — he found himself enjoying it far too much, and being flabbergasted by it.

All Renoir could manage was a muffled little sound, almost like a laugh, but it felt like a trumpet sounding off on his awkwardness. He shifted his weight and stared off at the trees, trying to think of something else to say while a warmth overtook him. In the end all he muttered was, Repons lan se wi, tout, trè ... trè bon. after which he traced the trees for a moment or two, inveitably landing his gaze upon Lasher's own, though he was not confident enough to hold it for long.

Then he was busying himself with a few strides, some exploration of the surroundings, doing anything to stop himself from looking fondly at the man. Mwen... I.. must go, surely.. Much to see, It was clear he wished for space, though Renoir did not deviate too much from Lasher's company, seemingly undecided upon it.

it had been some time since lasher had flustered another so -- he saw it in the hesitation of renoir's voice, in the stilted tones of his words. and the druid knew he himself was the cause. the boy laughed but it was not a sound of pleasure; rather of confusion. perhaps he had gone too far, for renoir moved off, muttering about the sights to see, of which there were none.

"perhaps you would like to see where the garden was?" the glen-man offered. "deirdre is there, i am certain of it." and there was the gilded man's salvation, embodied in the slight form of a child, whose presence would not allow him to be alone with taltos any longer.

lasher stood aside and waited; if renoir wished to be alone, he would grant it, but he would not abandon the man if company was still wished.

Oui, he hastily takes the bait, passing a shy smile towards Lasher though his eyes do not raise from their anchor of soil. He gives a hasty bow next, and steps away, nearly smacking his golden face upon a sad looking sapling as he moves; with a hushed flurry of apologies the boy steps around the sapling and heads deeper in to the territory, leaving Lasher with (what he assumes to be) a poor impression of himself. He is off to find Deirdre and this garden — but by the time he reaches the inner sanctum of the territory, Renoir's heart is beating far too quickly, and his mind is a blur.