Fox's Glade saying fuck your name

for @Taylor

After Evie had gotten him all fixed up and they'd departed, Toad had head north. The stench of foxes was thick in the wood, making him scrunch up his nose with some disgust. He paced the place impatiently, hungrily, eventually finding a trail to track to its source- there he would find three foxes, devouring their own little meals of mouse and squirrel. 

Within a few minutes, two foxes had been chased off, the other slaughtered in a rather gruesome mess. Toad leaned down over the corpse with eyes that darted back and forth, as if expecting more of the little devils to emerge from shadow. But nothing came. So he set into the work of consumption, bloodying pale muzzle as he ripped into the stomach of the vermin.

Two things bring him back to the Glade.
Foolishly, secretly, the memory of Evien stirs in his muddled head. The second thing is the sound of a fox dying loudly. (He wasn't sure it was possible for a fox to die quietly.)
The Glade might be a drop-off for young men with questionable families. Fox was for lunch today. He approaches, cagey and seemingly nervous. The sound of ripping flesh is thick and wet and almost funny, because it was such a beautiful day.
Smells terrible but tastes decent, yeah? Dermis, epidermis, hypodermis, muscle, fat, bone. The sight of it in one viscous red smear against the grass— he tilts his head, as if asking another question.

A new voice interrupts his mealtime and he glances up with dark eyes, continuing to eat all the while. Here was a tall and caramel man with a brilliant blue gaze that interested and unnerved him. He pauses, lifts his head, licks the blood and entrails off his lips. Yeah. They smell like shit and piss but I don't really mind anymore once I'm eating. He chuckles coolly. 

He looks Fields up and down once more. You want a taste? You can come closer, I don't bite. I mean... unless you're a fox, He laughs again, casually shoving the torn up corpse towards Taylor with a pale forepaw, creating a crimson smear on the patchy half-melted snow. Always nice to get to know a pretty guy over lunch, right?

A small muscle twitches under the crepe of his eyelid. He feels his eyes on him. He might as well have smudged fox blood all over Taylor. Eye contact was an aircraft that refused to be identified.
The combination of his red mouth, his laughter, his dark eyes, strike Taylor as appealing. If you don't mind, he says, uncertain, before placing his nose on what remained of the fox. He had eaten it indiscriminately. A bite from there, a bite from here.
This boy was clearly the most wolf out of anyone he had met so far.
Thanks for the lunch. Half-joking, he smiles halfway at him before tearing at a vague space between the pelvis and the ribcage. His teeth clink and grate on the bone. Have you lived here long?

The stranger accepts his offer, and so Toad takes a step back, watching him closely and silently as he eats. I'm so generous, he thinks to himself with a tiny half-smile. The man's mouth is painted with blood now too. It seems fitting on him.

Once the stranger has eaten a bit, he gives Toad a friendly smile, making small talk with a question of his origins. Toad shakes his head slowly from side to side. Nah. I just got here the other day- just deciding whether to stick around. Might keep moving, dunno. He glances around their surroundings as if he had vision of the world beyond the trees that enclosed them. What about you, man? Where you from?

The boy seems so comfortable in his own skin. Taylor envies him. This sort of jealousy was reflexive and he had stopped trying to repress it for a long time. It was like trying to keep a politician from lying. A waste of time.
In between bites of fox, he studies how the boy shakes his head, how he pronounces words like nah and dunno. These nuances are endearing, but they captivate Taylor mainly because he knows he will never be able to pull this act off. This was perhaps the only masterclass he had to fail.
Before he opens his mouth, he lingers on the fault line separating lie and truth. I'm not from around here, but I'm in a pack just across the meadow in a valley. Truth. I like it there, but I miss my family sometimes. Truth, lie. 
I'm Fields, he says warmly enough. His smile, while bloodstained, is surprisingly genuine.

Not from around here, just like Toad. In a pack, unlike Toad. He does recall that he's been wandering, hoping for a place to settle. Though some small part of him had hoped he'd reunite with Evie and join whatever pack the chocolate boy would find himself in- but oh well. This guy seemed pretty too, and perhaps less nit-pickey than Evie, although much less endearing. 

Missed his family? Not so relatable for Toad. He doesn't bother to assess if it was a lie, because why would he? but instead was comparing it to his own experiences. Nothing tragic or anything- just a family of drug addicts that he never truly connected with. He'd be better off out here with the pretty blue-eyed boys of the west. 

Fields introduces himself with a crimson grin, and Toad flashes one back at him, I'm Toad. Nice to meet you, man. What's your pack called?

Toad. He figures that his parents were some sort of New Age evangelists who named their kids after animals and flowers so that they would be welcomed back into the breadth of Mother Nature's hug when their time ran out. Or something like that. 
Called Ursus, he says, polishing off the last of the fox. He salvages what skin hasn't been torn apart (not very much) and cleans it with long strokes of his teeth. Interesting people, he grins inwardly. That was how dear Ico had put it. Believe it or not, we live with bears. The fox pelt was relatively neat. Its fur was matted with blood; he would have to wash it later. Might have a medic joining us soon.
Evien was another matter. Taylor didn't know that Toad had met him previously, but if he had, perhaps he would have felt the throes of a fitful teenage jealousy.

Ursus?
He didn't really know what the hell that meant, but he wasn't interested in a lesson and opted not to ask. Interesting people who lived with bears- sounded like a group of lunatics to Toad. This guy was certainly a loony if he thought the pale kid would ever believe in the existence of wolves who lived among beasts. He snorts a little laugh at Taylor's words, but doesn't say anything more.

And then Fields mentions a medic, and Toad's ears perk up with interest. Of course he's thinking about that fucking cute little chocolate doctor, Evien. That's good. You'll probably need a medic if you're gonna be living around bears. He chuckles. How many people you got? He inquiries. He wants to secure a spot. He doesn't care if it's a spot in the mental institution, if Evien might be there, he wants in.

Despite his complete and total incompetency with social cues, Taylor doesn't miss how Toad's eyes light up at the mention of a medic. How his ears shove towards him. The base of his stomach tightens. He is sure that this sudden interest isn't due to the actual academics of healing.
Calculating, testing the ice, he forgets about his fox pelt. He fails to laugh at the appropriate time—goddamit!—and frustration tightens his hands.
Not much. He can't bring himself to lie. Not about this. Do you have a friend that's a healer? He braces himself for the answer, feeling teenaged and turbulent and tragic.

Not many people. Toad couldn't really decide whether he thought this was a good or bad thing. Good- room for him to slide right in. Bad- a weak foundation, and... were they scaring people off? But he didn't bother to think on that right now, he'd wait and see. Later. 

Fields asks about a friend, and Toad's brow furrows slightly. Not a friend, no. An acquaintance. Maybe. He looks at Taylor, the way he seemed interested in that answer, the way he asked such a strange and oddly specific question. Going out on a limb, he guesses, You know Evien.

Would he consider Evien a friend? Could someone like himself even have friends at all?
He was, decidedly, unknowable. He lets the truth pass like a too-big pill through a dry swallow and shutters his eyes. Yeah, I do. And it seems you do too.
Evien hadn't mentioned meeting another boy nearby the Valley. He weighs two things in his mind: jealousy and the much more pragmatic notion of recruitment. Combine the neurotic and the practical and you more or less got Taylor Fields, wretched survivalist.
If you're gonna join just for him, Taylor rolls his sleeves up, at least prove you can fight. He's detached himself from the situation long ago. His actual self is hiding under a nuclear bunker, contemplating. 
He isn't surprised. Evien, he was pretty but substantial and most of all practical. He often feels he doesn't deserve to stand next to the smaller boy. He shakes his head, forces himself to believe that this was recruitment— nothing more.

Yeah, I do. Gulp. He could feel envy brew in his gut at those little words. How well did Taylor know him? What had they done together? His fur prickles at the thought of it, and already he's pulling himself up off the ground, before Taylor can even suggest a fight. He's ready when Fields propose it, though one part of it does make him scoff. Who said I was interested in joining your rag-tag band of crazies? And I honestly don't give a shit about Evien, He laughs, though it was clear that the truth was otherwise. 

But alright, man. I offer you lunch and you wanna fight me now? Okay, He chuckles, tail lashing side to side with some annoyance. Toad doesn't hesitate any longer- he bends like a cougar ready to pounce, and lunges for Taylor, jaws aiming for the man's throat.

Who said I was interested in joining your rag-tag band of crazies?
You did, Taylor wants to say. Your eyes, your ears, your mouth, they all did. Coolly, he says, I don't give a shit about the lunch. 
Toad jumps at him; Taylor rears back, but there isn't much room for error and he grunts as he's pushed back, teeth poking and then tearing at his neck. Pain strikes through him. For a moment he's back with his brother. Let's try this.
He snaps to the present, a low scream trapped in his throat. He's hyperaware of the hot blood welling up in the scratches on his neck. He writhes away from the bite as best he can, lowers his stance, and aims to grab Toad's right elbow with gnashing teeth, his eyes narrowed and hackles raised.

The moment his fangs pierce Fields' neck, he can feel satisfaction course through his blood like heroin. He's immediately high off the adrenaline, off the taste of Taylor's blood on his tongue. But the source of that nectar is ripped away from him as the tall boy writhes and wriggles, freeing himself from Toad's jaws. Goddamn.

Now Fields is snapping at Toad's forearm. Totally rusty and not even especially experienced, his reflexes are too slow to dodge, and the sting of pain runs through him like white-hot fire. A feral growl bubbles up in his throat, then a snarl, that sends bloodied spittle flying through the air.

He tears his arm away, too careless to worry about the tender flesh there that might get ripped. More pain- but it's overshadowed by his excitement. He pulls himself up onto his two hindlegs, lunging again for Taylor, only this time intending to entirely tackle him to the ground- hopefully with the pale boy on top. Taylor was tall- but Toad was fairly well-built, nothing scrawny about him- and so he figured perhaps he could overcome the blonde.

Blood and hair fills his mouth. Taylor bites down, hard, while he still has the chance, but Toad is already tearing away, and he's left with nothing but a scrap of skin. Breathing hard, he turns and spits to the side. A smear of red saliva on the grass.
There's no time to assess his surroundings— Toad is rearing up, so close and so big he's obscuring his vision, casting an unnaturally large shadow over him. His weight crashes against him, supported by gravity, and he crumples against the mass of the heavier boy. Physics. What a bitch.
Where bruises would appear in a day or two, the skin is pulsing with a deep ache. Like he had so many little heartbeats. Taylor tries to slip out from under once, twice, bucking and writhing, like a bull in pain in the middle of a spectator ring, taunted by the matador.
Hatred, for himself and Toad, curls itself around his heart in a cold grip. He's shaking with anger, frustration, adrenaline, but he doesn't speak.
Defeat tasted a hundred, no, a thousand times worse than fox meat.

Lucky Toad, it seems that Taylor isn't much for dodging either. He comes down onto Taylor with his full weight, and the leggy man falls beneath him pathetically to the floor. And suddenly Fields is writhing again, shaking, bucking, wiggling as he could. Toad gets annoyed with him. He was like prey, unaccepting of his failure, still trying pitifully to escape when it was already over.

So Toad leans down over him, placing a calculated little bite on the side of his neck, before lapping a few times at the tiny droplets of blood that formed there. All the while, he's using all his muscle effort to keep Taylor from wriggling out of his grasp. Calm down, little bitch. You wanna give up yet? He laughs, trying to keep his voice cool and level as he could.

When Toad's teeth pierce his neck again, he doesn't scream, but his lungs betray him and he gasps. Searing pain shoots through him. Where he's bleeding from, it feels impossibly hot.
He swallows blood and blinks through the sweat. Get off of me, please. His voice is smooth and polite, if not, a bit breathless— he could be talking through the phone to you and you wouldn't know how much pain he's in. How much hair-trigger rage is souring his organs. Burning him up from the inside.
Toad's breath is heavy and damp in his face. Shimmering in heat. We see Taylor, cinematic, disconnected and feral. Music playing in his head. Pure primal id.

very short sorry;;_;

Get off me, please.
Toad was a winner at last, and it had only taken the price of a moment of fight and the pain in his forearm. He chuckles into Fields' ear, breathy, before climbing off him and pacing a few feet off, facing him. He grins smugly as he gazes at the blonde. 

So? You gonna let me into the crazy house now? Or... is there a bigger man I gotta meet first? He asks, before leaning his head down to lap at his bloody new wound. Evien wouldn't be happy with him.

its fine dw— also we can fade here and ill start us a evien/toad/taylor thread in the valley if that sounds good? 

Dragging himself up, first by one arm and then by the other, it strikes him how much he hates the person in front of him. How much he wants to violently conjoin his skull with the ground several times in quick succession. 
His hands shudder. The scene replays over and over again in his head like a corrupted disc, stuttering. In his head, he's already digging up the dirt. I'd like you to follow me, he says, still smooth, still polite. As if the fight had been a brief but vivid hallucination, springing in and out, cat burglar style. 
Blood is dripping slowly from the cut in his throat. It stains him like some depraved and perverted bib. On their way to the valley, the leave a trail of careless red.

sounds epic! :>

Taylor struggles upwards; Toad admires the ratty work he's made of this man- just a minute or two of fighting and already a little bloodied around the neck. At his companion's tone, he laughs. And I'd like to follow you, man. Lead the way. He chuckles, pulling up beside the blonde and following as they departed.