Wolf RPG

Viggo had, for the most part, kept to himself. He still lingered around Ptarmigan whenever possible, for she was his leader and the closest thing he had to a friend. Whenever he could, he would bring her gifts of meat, pretty feathers he found, and slept by her side. He ensured that she was well-protected. But even he could not be there around the clock. The borders still needed protecting, and anytime he was away from her, it was to serve her in one way or another.

In the morning light, the dew making the grass sparkle around him, Viggo strode toward the places he knew Ptarmigan to linger often. He held a fat rabbit in his jaws, a gift meant for the Endore queen.

For what felt like the first time again in probable days, if not weeks, Mordecai had turned inward towards the pack. He had lingered like an outlier at their doorstep, a reclusive sentinel that had given their hierarchy time to begin to sort itself out. Other than venturing out to retrieve Cara, he hadn't really left Ouroboros. But he hadn't really been apart of it either, and did not know what to gauge of its inhabitants now. There had been changes, this he could sense. But there was not an expectant calm of air that he had hoped for, or a sign that things were better. Maybe they were, maybe they weren't. He couldn't suggest it one way or another.

It had been easier to hole up in his own thoughts, anyway. He worked at decisions, considered the impacts. Even considered the ramifications that came with those impacts, decisions, or lack thereof. It had been a drawn out process that ultimately had left him at square one. Cara's words to the void of Greatwater Lake echoed roughly back in his mind. Stay, or go. He had never been one to outright abandon a pack. He had left them, some on good terms, some on not so good. For a change indecision held him tightly, and he could not determine whether or not it was better to stay and accept change, or go and embrace a change of a different sort.

Eyes half-lidded in the warmth of morning, he almost dismissed the body that made its way through the forestry growth. But it was unfamiliar, and without truly thinking about it, Mordecai set after him swiftly and smoothly. Without malice that he would have harbored days ago. This one smelled strongly of the usurper, but even that was a scent he was picking up as familiar. Any traces of Jinx, or Lecter, were long gone. Trailing behind in what was probably the most sleazy, not-really-hiding way, Mordecai let his senses sharpen and focus in on the earthy coat. The familiarity of such did not register, just as the surroundings he was in failed to strike him as even remotely familiar. He embraced the thoughtless daze, yet to be jarred from it.

The soft padding of feet behind him were enough to give away his stalker, and Viggo soon slowed, turning to face his follower. At first, he was at a loss for words. There was something oddly familiar about the wolf who stood before him, and yet Viggo could not place it. He felt as though they had met before, but he could not recall a name, and he had not met him here, in the spine. Golden eyes blinked at the other, and he pushed away any notion that he might know who this was.

Viggo dropped the rabbit in front of him, and then pushed it toward the nameless, golden-eyed male. “It was meant for Ptarmigan, but I think it would do better as a peace offering.” His words were said with the utmost sincerity. The Ostrega stepped back from the gift, letting his pack-mate know that he was playing no tricks here. “I am Viggo Ostrega,” he added, figuring that introductions were in order, and not realizing that the name would bring back memories for both of them.

Just as expected, Mordecai was caught onto rather quickly. His pace slowed as the others did, and when it stopped he gave them ample clearance to assess the situation. It seemed to be a good deterrent for any hostility, though he made careful note of the hare that hung limp, and the way it was offered to him. Curiosity gained the upper hand then, and Mordecai stepped to close their gap slightly, testing the air out ahead of him for anything off. The sincerity he heard meant nothing to him then; he chose to pay the other little mind as though he were a tyrant of a playground, picking over which ball had the better bounce.

But something jarred him loose of the action. Something he heard in the voice that wavered in and out. A firm hand grasping for a golden thread that pulled his rooted attentiveness to the forefront alarmingly. Mordecai's eyes left the hare with urgency, raising to draw in the finer features that he had paid no attention to. A certain scrutiny enveloped him, pressing his features into uncertainty. “Who did you say you were?” he queried. He wasn't sure he hadn't misheard, but Ostrega wasn't necessarily a common name. Common once to lands gone to waste, common now to lands that bordered the deserts and mountains of the far southwest, but here? No, he was sure he had misheard.

Verrine had been the only exception to the rule and Mordecai did not know what had come of him in their chance meeting.

A certain sense of recognition washed across the other wolf's features, and Viggo was once more curious as to why he had thought this one was familiar. “Viggo,” he replied more slowly, “Viggo Ostrega.” He squinted at the other, as if that would somehow make him realize how or why he thought he knew this wolf. Perhaps it was somebody he had come across in his travels. Or maybe... maybe this was his father? Viggo's heart began to beat strongly in his chest, wondering if perhaps his father had stuck around long enough to know his son's name. Could it be?

Such a thing seemed unworldly, and Viggo thought of how amusing it would be if this wolf truly was his father. After giving up on finding him, could this be him, standing here wanting him to recite his name again? Viggo's head was swimming with possibility as he tried to figure out if that was the case, but he would have to wait for the other to answer before he jumped to any further conclusions.

No, he had heard him clearly. It was disorienting. The odds were astronomical, or at least he wanted to believe. That name was very familiar, even if time had warped the memory beyond his firmest recognition. Mordecai had a few fond memories of their time together in Sedona, but like many things, he did not recall the bulk of them. There was too much in the way of it, too many other memories and past decisions that had long drowned the tales of his youth.

He scoffed, but more to clear his throat. There was a tinge of disbelief to it, as though he still wasn't sure of it all. Perhaps he wasn't. “Do you remember me? It's been a long time,” and Mordecai wouldn't fault him for not remembering. “I can't say I know the odds of meeting another Ostrega here.” For as far north as they had come from Sedona, whenever they had come, it seemed that in some minute way they had all been drawn in by the same unknown, guiding force.

The slim, swarthy DeMonte spent her days lounging around Ouroboros Spine. What little she had contributed to the pack had gone directly to her immediate companions. For the most part, she perpetuated an impression of laziness that wasn't all too far from the truth. Ptarmigan could be a driven individual, but only if there was recognition to be had... And so far, only those who had come into the Spine with her had thought to show her an ounce of recognition as a leader.

Her wounds were all but healed now, leaving the dark-haired Outrider to wander the Spine unhindered. She was keeping to herself, but her subconscious tugged her in her fellow's direction when she came across Viggo's scent. At some point, winding through the pine trees, the scent of the large male that had spoken down to her not long ago crossed the Ostrega's own, and she picked up the trail with renewed vigour.

When she arrived, Viggo and Mordecai were already speaking. The female lingered at the edge of their encounter, visible but not wishing to interrupt. Her eyes remained mistrustful on Mordecai, and she prepared herself to intervene should any ill come of their discussion.

It wasn't until he said the word Ostrega that Viggo truly understood. “Mordecai?!” he gaped, now suddenly aware of whom he was speaking to. From birth to adulthood, the two had grown up together. They had spent the next three years apart, but their year together in Sedona suddenly came rushing back to Viggo. Mordecai was his grandfather's brother, if he remembered correctly, one of the many sons of Leviathan and Chena. And while Viggo could not pinpoint what relation they had to one another, they were most certainly relatives, and they had more or less grown up as siblings.

Without further adieu, Viggo leapt forward and brushed his shoulder against his childhood friend, wagging his tail and prancing about him to get a better look. “Well, look at us now!” What a surprise reunion this was! It wasn't until Viggo took a step back that he noticed Ptarmigan, and he barked in her direction. “Ptarmigan, my dear, this is none other than Mordecai Ostrega. We grew up with one another.” He wondered if she had even made the connection... or if she had known Mordecai's name at all. In any case, Viggo had no doubt that he could convince his long-lost relative to support the Endore queen. That is, if his loyalty was currently in question.

Recognition clicked; Mordecai did not need to introduce himself to Viggo. He stood still as his former playmate circled him joyously, unable to keep his own smile under lock and key. It spread warmly across his muzzle, and he too drew in the sight of the creature Viggo had grown into. They were no longer children, but Mordecai still believed he could find the traces of adolescence lingering. If not in the way they carried themselves now, it was certainly in the mirth that shone deep in their eyes.

But his smile faded relatively swift upon the spotting of Ptarmigan. The dark mistress lingered at the fringes of their gathering, and he withheld the urge to growl. Partly because he wished no trouble at this point, but mostly in part because he did not want to upset what had been the beginning of a happy reunion. Still, his eyes met hers with a scant trace of contempt, and he wondered what her reaction would be now, if there was any to be had at all.

She watched as the pair greeted one another like long lost siblings, her ears twitching back as sudden uncertainty crept over her. It was easy for the Endore to forget that others had histories, so intent was she on burying her own most of the time. That Viggo might discover family in this hellish bowl was unexpected.

The cold fist of dread closed over her when Mordecai's grin died away and he stared coldly at her. She stared defiantly back, lifting her tail as though to indicate that he was in the wrong, though the motion stopped halfway when Viggo addressed her. She smiled at her friend, though her tension was slow to melt away. When she looked at Mordecai again, it was with less frigidity, but no lack of dislike.

“I'm Ptarmigan Endore,” she introduced slowly. Had she been more studious of her family history, she might have recalled the name Ostrega from some deep part of herself... The name was familiar, but only because of Viggo.

Instead of his long-lost "brother" and his newfound friend coming together like one, giant, super happy family, they seemed to despise one another. Or, at the very least, they weren't happy with one another. Viggo's brief show of joy was quickly overshadowed by the hard stares shared between Mordecai and Ptarmigan. His smile soon slipped into a frown, and he glanced back and forth between the two of them waiting for some kind of explanation. Mordecai didn't utter a word, and Ptarmigan only offered her name.

“Have you two met, or…?” Not once did Viggo think that perhaps Mordecai had been close with the former Alpha. Nor did he consider the possibility that Mordecai had been vying for the spot himself. Instead, he merely felt at a loss, confused, and a little bit hurt. This was not what he had wanted.

She too, withheld the intensity of their prior meeting. He could feel that tension rise until it almost held an electric current, just as he could sense Viggo's joy melting away. That in itself affected them both, and Mordecai eased in his stance as she did. While their dislike of each other was evident, it seemed that Ptarmigan had her own surprises about her as well. A key component that had been missing in their first chance meeting, yet another name that caused him to bring his gaze to her once more. But this time, it held curiosity.

“We haven't been properly introduced,” he said offhandedly to Viggo as he studied her. “But it would seem that we all have something in common. My father's mother was an Endore.” In some sort of convoluted way, Mordecai supposed that made them all related to one another. Just how, he had no idea. He had never met his grandmother, nor had Leviathan ever really divulged the details of his youth at any length. Of course, the same could have been said of his relations with Viggo, too. His brother's grandson, yet they had been more like brothers than anything else because of their age.

She could sense Viggo sobering, and in some way, felt guilty for it. She didn't outwardly reply to his question, so Mordecai beat her to the punch, and suddenly, a cat none of them had known about was out of the bag.

If what Mordecai said was true (she could never be too cautious with unknowns), he was an Endore. Half an Endore, or a quarter, but an Endore nonetheless. If Ptarmigan had taken anything from her youth, it was respect for her own bloodline. At least, for the Endore part of it. Her mother had been a Takanami first, but Quail had disowned Rorschach long before she even reached sexual maturity. If either of them remembered the other half of themselves, they certainly didn't make it known.

“Which branch?” she asked, devoid now of her former animosity. She took a step toward Viggo, as though to brace herself against him somehow. Now that Mordecai knew who she was, it was possible he would think of her less as a monster and more as a wolf... But it was also possible he would find disappointment in her, and call her a shame to her family.

Some sort of recognition seeped in, and Mordecai took note of that. This time, at least the interest came without any visible scrunity. To say that Ptarmigan sounded better when there was an absence of terseness was true, though he had nothing of the lightness in her voice to compare it to. Still, the insight was valuable, and he wondered when the last time was that she took natural curiosity ahead of domination.

“Sphinx,” he told her, “or Chakra, depending on what branch you're from.” He knew that she had gone by two different names, but hadn't the faintest clue why. Truth be told, his father had never given him an explanation for that either, which now led Mordecai to believe that he didn't know. He had never been one to understand the shedding of names, but all had their reasons. Perhaps for the same reasons they claimed to not come from any family at all.

Viggo squinted at Mordecai, trying to recall this information for himself. It would explain why he had felt the Endore name was familiar. Somewhere, far back in his family's history... they were related. He could only hope that the relation was distant enough that his casual flirting with the Endore wouldn't someday result in children with deformed bodies and stunted minds. Granted, nothing had really happened between the two of them, but Viggo would be a liar if he said he hadn't thought about it.

“Quite the reunion,” Viggo murmured, looking rather dazed as he did so. He wondered if he was in some sort of weird dream. If that was the case, he wondered when he would snap out of it. Just to be sure, Viggo blinked repeatedly, but the two wolves in front of him did not vanish.

Sphinx, he confirmed, pulling the rest of the Endore family out of Ptarmigan's memory. Sphinx had been the first Endore in the Salvaje region, if her family history was correct, and though she'd paid little attention to what Quail had told her about their family, she did remember names. Sphinx had had two daughters, Sajni and Salene, and two sons, Julis and Renatus. Those were only the trueborn, however. She could remember nothing of an Ostrega, although it had never actually been told to her anyway.

“My mother was Quail Endore, daughter of Nightingale Endore, daughter of Green Endore,” she said, tracing back what she could remember of her grandmother and great grandfather. She had never met either of them, both having died long before her birth. Quail had never met Green, either, but Nightingale had been sure to tell her children the legacy of Winterheart Forest and the Endore family, and so she knew them by name only. Even tales of their accomplishments had faded to time.

“My mother is an Alpha, her mother before her an Alpha, and her mother before her a leader as well,” Ptarmigan said, and though she fell silent here rather than making any grand speeches about how she was a born leader (she wasn't), it was implied in her words alone.

Viggo's statement was met with a sideways glance that affirmed that. It was quite a reunion, though not any that Mordecai would have expected. In all his travels, he had never encountered such an influx of likely family. Verrine had been one for starters, but he had never anticipated Viggo. It made as little surprise to him though, as they had all been prone to wandering off in their own time and right. Try as much as he could have, Leviathan had never quite mastered at keeping the fraying ends of his family close.

But the names that Ptarmigan gave rang familiar. Green most of all of them, but just as she had, he also had never met them. The details had been lost to him as well, and also to those who held them. All that remained now were names and the sordid history behind them that were best told as stories. He did however note her implication and smiled softly. “As were my own,” he said, with his own implication that it hardly mattered. The trio all came from good pedigree, at least in his eyes.

“Viggo is my brother's son, though we were raised together. Where did your family settle after they left their home?” Her statements aside, he was still very curious of what had become of the Endores. They had obviously prospered, but he knew of what had happened to the Salvajes. In his travels he had hoped to find it, but had never found the direct route there. He had missed it, knowingly by many miles and unroutable terrain. But word had reached them all one way or another, if not from the mouth of Verrine or Syntax, then others that had come following in the stead of Leviathan.

But he hoped Ptarmigan would recognize the vague reference he made, all the same.

“Good to know,” Ptarmigan mused. Already, the mousey female was rethinking her decision to elevate Cara and to keep Kaname in his place. She had expected the pack to more readily accept her if she didn't oust their known leaders, but so far, it hadn't been the case. The only wolf who seemed inclined to approach, aside from Viggo, was this Mordecai, and he wasn't necessarily going to become her favourite companion.

She glanced between uncle and nephew, her brow creasing with the quiet question of how that had happened, but kept it to herself. She smiled warmly at Viggo as though to indicate he could carry on being excited about it, but it was Mordecai who for the time being held her attention. “I dunno,” she said, somewhat nonchalantly. “My mum didn't stay with them. I think her mom died in the eruption, and she got out but didn't go looking for the others.” Green and Shingle were both long in the ground, and Ptarmigan knew nothing of her aunts but names, so giving even that was difficult.

As she spoke, he noted that they had a collective history through their ancestry. That did tie them together in a way, even if blood had nothing to do with it. But as far as he was concerned, they shared blood somewhere, even if it was rather distant. He hadn't been aware of it, but the tension he was feeling had begun to subside little by little. Yet there was still a ways to go before he felt he would ever fully come around.

“That's unfortunate to hear. My mother and father left not that long before the eruption occurred. They didn't know it had happened until others from our family who stayed came and told them.” And for a moment, he wondered if they would have known Ptarmigan's family. He knew at the end, the Endores had spread out considerably, like frayed ends. In a sense, his own family had begun to do the same, but not because of lack of trying to keep them together. It was simply just the way it went.

It would have also seemed it was what had brought them together over considerable distances. “Despite our differences, it is nice to meet family.” At that point he offered Viggo a thin smile, also glad that he was there.

@Viggo

“Sure is,” said Ptarmigan, who didn't really feel much less like an alien than she had before. Some sensible part of her conceded that invading wasn't the best way to make a forst impression, but the primal part of her was much too weighty to let her admit it aloud.

Knowing Mordecai's family had a connection to her own was bittersweet. On one hand, it meant that Viggo and Ptarmigan were somewhat fated to connect. On the other, it meant an influential figure in Viggo's life could potentially turn him against her, especially because Mordecai had very few reasons to like Ptarmigan. Her stomach flopped uncomfortably at the thought.

“I'll leave you two to catch up,” she decided, having next to no desire to remain while her mind screamed negative potentials at her. She smiled broadly at Viggo, then turned guarded eyes back to Mordecai. “It is good to have family.” Bad for her, she mentally added, before turning and wandering back into the forest.

Viggo listened as they chatted with each other. Although perhaps "chat" wasn't the right verb to use, considering how uncomfortable each of them seemed in each other's presence. It hurt to know that they were at odds, considering both of them were important to the Ostrega. Despite all the tension (that could have been cut with a knife, it was so thick), neither of them lashed out in any physical or verbal way. After a few back-and-forths about family, Ptarmigan excused herself, and Viggo returned her broad smile with one of his own. That, at least, was promising. Even if she and Mordecai were on rocky terms, she did not seem to hold it against Viggo.

Once she had departed, he turned back to Mordecai. "So, tell me everything," he said, settling down on his haunches, "Then I'll tell you everything." They certainly had a lot of catching up to do, and Viggo was more than ready to listen to either the short or the long version of Mordecai's tale.

He watched as Ptarmigan retreated to the cover of the forest, not sure of his own feelings regarding her. The bittery taste in his mouth was lessened, but he had his reasons of being leery of her. A small part of him wondered if he needed to be leery of Viggo too, but it was nothing more than a passing thought. They had been raised together, too closely to have that genetic imbalance that he thought would pit them against each other. Just as so, Viggo didn't seem all that interested in the tension between him and Ptarmigan beyond discomfort, and his questions soon detracted Mordecai from his pondering.

Reclining to his haunches, he began to recant the stories from when he had left Sedona. He glossed over some parts, like where he had stayed and what had gone on. Unless of course, they required some explanation. He spoke of how he had met Jinx and ultimately found himself where he was today. And he spoke of Verrine living in the Bay to their north, of how his brother had taken a mate and how their chance meeting came about. When both sides of that their stories had been spoken of, they departed, and Mordecai took the gifted hare with him.