Wolf RPG

There really was no explaining how Penn Blackthorn survived the jump. He definitely shouldn't have. It made no logical sense. The drop had been huge, the rocks at the base of the cliff were many and sharp, the ocean waves were violent and dangerously frigid. It also didn't make any sense how he ended up miles down the coast, washed up on smooth, sandy shores that were fairly idyllic in spite of the season. Maybe if he had jumped into a river in mid-Spring, the outcome would've made some sense. But he didn't--it was the ocean. In December. He definitely should've died a horrible, horrible death.

But he didn't. Penn Blackthorn, apparently, is indestructible.

#semi-realism

That wasn't to say he'd come off the whole ordeal completely unscathed. He'd washed up as a drowned rat--beaten, freezing, choking salt water through raw, weak lungs. He probably would've died then, were it not for the intervention of some random stranger who Penn was pretty sure he'd imagined because she'd looked just like him. He'd spent weeks in and out of consciousness with only his fever dream to care for him. In the end, he'd managed to piss her off enough that she'd declared him "Well enough to be getting on with" and abandoned him. He didn't blame his imaginary friend for it, either. He did keep referring to her as "the lesser Penn", so it stands to reason that she would eventually declare herself over his shit and bail.

Penn paced along the shores with the dead seagull dangling from his jaws. His limp was still pronounced, making him move slower than he used to. It irked him, but the persistent cough that he choked out around the bird's feathers was the more annoying bit. Kind of hard to sneak up on prey when you couldn't stop yourself from hacking up a lung at any given moment. Catching his current meal had been a fluke more than anything else, but Penn wasn't about to complain. He was really thinking at this point that some greater power in the universe was going out of its way to keep him alive. Birds didn't usually fly into each other and knock each other to the ground like morons that just learned they had wings, after all. But again, not complaining.

The Blackthorn slowed as he reached his hideout--a little alcove he had dug into the sand under a palm tree that was gnarled and twisted closer to the ground and littered with debris that had seemed to almost fossilize from an age when the tide swept much further up the beach. Rather than bury himself into it, Penn stretched out in front of his shelter to soak up whatever warmth he could from the sun that shone on this surprisingly blue-skied day. His body ached from lingering bruises in a way that suggested he might not ever be the same, but he shoved his discomfort to the back of his mind to focus on enjoying his meal.

Ingvar was having a pretty good day. The sun was shining, his fur was looking bright white, and he was in an excellent mood for reasons even he couldn't explain. Not that he'd ever had particularly bad moods. Ingvar was a fairly happy-go-lucky dude, and he wasn't about to let anything come between him and a good time. Not even the sulking wolf devouring his meal that the white wolf was approaching.

Good afternoon! greeted the not-quite-two-year-old. Enjoying an afternoon snack?

One was certainly the loneliest number. Diaval was quite sure of that if he ever had doubts before. When it had been just him and his mother, well...bad company was better than no company. Now, he didn't even have her irritation at his leeching to distract him from the dead quiet. The birds sang, the trees swayed and the ocean...he had never seen the ocean before but it made plenty of noise. That wasn't the sound he was missing. The quiet was in his mind and his soul. He couldn't explain, he only felt it. 

So he jumped at the opportunity when he was presented with two wolves further up the coast. He picked up the pace, catching up shortly after the white wolf had reached the one with the bird. Diaval's stomach rumbled but the idea of taking the other wolf's catch, even through charity, was completely unthinkable. 

"Hi! Hey..." he said, eyes flicking between the two males, tail a soft sway behind him. He was much too pleased with the mere presence of these wolves to be too nervous right now.

Penn didn't hear either of them approach, so their "sudden" appearance made him jump, nearly bashing his head against the palm behind him. He spat out the feathers that were stuck to his mouth with a hard round of coughing and stood, shaking his coat before giving them both a disgruntled frown.

"I was," Penn grumbled at the first, glancing then at the second. Both seemed irritatingly happy. Friendly. He breathed in deep to catch both of their scents, only to grow even more annoyed. "So. Thanks for stopping by," he said as he spun back around, picking up his gull and settling back into the sand to continue his meal.

I—oh, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt. I just—Ingvar realized there was another wolf now—Hello! The white male paused a moment, glancing between the two of them and internally sweating out what he should do here. It seemed the one who was eating wasn't particularly friendly, which was a shame, because Ingvar was.

Maybe we should leave him alone, he suggested gently to the other who seemed quite a bit more easy going. Ingvar gestured toward the shore, then began to amble that way. Name's Ingvar.

Diaval blinked with open confusion and then recoiled in vivid sympathy as the monochrome male nearly hit his head and began to hack feathers into the air. His own ears flattened immediately, his head falling low as he realized that he was the cause of this discomfort. Not him alone - his eyes glanced briefly at the white stranger - but it was still him. If he wasn't frozen with anxiety, he might have crawled on his belly. Unlike the white wolf, Diaval did not speak at all, not even to return his greeting.

When the snow-coated male - Ignvar he would soon learn - suggested they leave the grey alone, Diaval saw complete reason in the suggestion. He nodded, and turned to follow, pausing after a teetering moment of indecision and turning back quickly. "I'm sorry - uh - about...yeah. Sorry. Uh, if-if you want, we'll be - " he gestured the way they were headed. "So. Yeah." a pause and, finally, "Sorry."

He turned on his heel and followed the white male onto the beach, head still low.

"I really didn't mean to scare that guy." he murmured. "Oh - my name's Diaval."

Penn stared deadpan at the both of them as they responded to his reaction to their presence. Apologies were given, but he gave them no reply, simply watching as they turned to each other and excused themselves.

Penn had wanted them to leave, but somehow, their departure annoyed him even more. He turned his head to listen to their conversation as they went, catching only snippets. He felt sickness stirring in the pit of his stomach and though hunger gnawed at him, he turned away from his kill and dropped his chin onto the sand with a miserable huff. Maybe he would sleep, or maybe the tide would roll in and he'd go ahead and drown in it. He was down for either at this point.

Me either! Ingvar replied, happy to have the company of somebody who was in cheerier spirits. And yet, he felt a nagging sensation that he should probably try and cheer up the grumpy wolf anyway. Well, Diaval, what do you say we do something to make it up to him? Maybe we could catch him a better meal?

The grey wolf weighed heavily on his mind, a swirl of guilt rolled in his gut with a dash of self-loathing for flavor. His frown was deep, although Ingvar's optimism was slowly pulling him out of it, bringing him back to the present. Diaval was surprised when his companion suggested catching the grey man something. He glanced back, amber eyes looking on as the grey male seemed to forgo his meal.

Diaval really had messed him up.

"I don't - uh..." it seemed like they should leave him alone. Diaval didn't want to make the whole thing worse. Besides... "Well, I'm not really - ah...a good hunter."

Penn watched them disappear down the beach sullenly. He hadn't wanted them around, but now that they were gone, he resented them for just leaving. But it wasn't their departure that irked him--it was that they got to leave. They got to just walk away and move on with their lives while he was stuck here, wasting away on the beach, with no end in sight.

He turned his gaze back out to see, then shut his eyes, hoping sleep might take him away from here.