Instead of nursing a presumably bruised ego, Vigilante had taken instead to the proactive responsibility of plotting. At first he had examined the coast with a wide girth, finding the edges of the grotto pack and at length carrying a torch for the appearance of the grotto gargoyle. He looked, but did not find, unaware that the brute wouldn't often stray far from his swelling pot of riches. It wasn't too long before his patience had worn thin and the marauder ambled away from the subduing, brine-winds, in an effort to clear his head.
It was fate that he would catch the scent of the pack he pined for far and away from its fortress, nearing the pit of a ravine. He was familiar with such trenches, having been born in one himself, but he paid little mind to the territory ahead, and focused instead on the wolf that had drawn him this way.
It was a male, not the first, but just as impressive. This one was young and soot-furred, with pale cinders ruffling his nape and an ease to his gait that belied confidence. Vigilante, who preferred the ungentle company of other ungentle males, made to find out if he approached a wolf he could interact with or with a wolf who'd be too intimidated to play. He chuffed to give away his position, and then held back—with an evenhanded posture and a nose quivering interestedly—to first see how the wolf would react to his presence.
Though met with caution, as to be expected, Vigilante found the male more receptive to his presence than the grotto-wolves from before. He attributed this softening to a distance from the coast— from the wolf's support system— but the lone bandit knew immediately that he would not lose this opening to his own bravado; an idea that begot the scheme of gentler courtship.
For the barest of seconds their eyes meet: champagne and lavender. Upon finding no hostility neither on his face or in his body language, Vigilante ducked his head and padded forward. Seeking physical contact and encouraging a sense of friendliness— without the thought of exposing his own throat or underside— he intended to meet the male with a well-meaning headbutt on his broad, pewter-black shoulder.
*fawns over* You're amazing <3 Thank you!
Vigilante, glad for the absence of teeth digging into his nape, grated his skull smooth and cat-like across the splay of the virtuoso's shoulder. Their bodies parted, noses twitching eagerly as they lingered near to absorb what they could of the other. Vigilante relaxed further, satisfied now that he wouldn't be physically reprimanded for his audacity. Unlike his strapping counterpart, the black dragoon heard no music. He heard only his own heart and the excited thrumming therewith. He saw only potential; devouring his company like a starved reader. And he fe felt only his hot blood, coursing as he faced a potential challenge— a potential.. other.
There was no room in his head to account for the music of birds.
He flashed his tongue at Mahler's introduction, grazing the foreigner's chin appreciatively. "Vigilante," he returned languorously, tail arching into a light wag. He wanted nothing more than to spar with Mahler— to dominate him if he could— but the vandal knew better than to think he'd be trusted in that way already. First, he must appeal to a baser desire.
"Hunt with me?"