The Tangle I Am Machine

Here you are @Tyrr :D

 
It hadn't taken the beast too long to cross the terrain, finding her way up North and a little off to the West from where she'd met that pup on the borders. So far, she'd been able to avoid any others and was quite intent on keeping it that way. By the smell of the air, the hint of salt touching her olfactory nerves, the coast wasn't terribly far. Maybe a couple hours' leisurely walk, at most. But Kroc wasn't headed there. No, she was actually lingering (as that pup had put it) in this twisted, rather barren place, drawn by the intrigue of its appearance.

In its own way, this land was actually quite... attractive, in an abstract way. And, as an added bonus, there was a very low chance of any pup being here, if only because of how inelegant it probably seemed to most. That was okay though. The silver wolf was perfectly fine with being on her own. She had to have been to be traveling alone for this long. That or she was batshit insane. Either or. If others thought she was crazy, that just meant they'd leave her be more often than not. Win-win for her.

Ears flickered as her gaze evaluated the area surrounding her, selecting a tree whose wide base provided a decent amount of shade. Perfect. Flopping down on to her side in a manner that was not the most graceful, Kroc settled almost instantly. Her breath sent up small, swirling clouds of dust as she allowed her body to adjust to this new state of halted motion, her heart slowing gradually as she rested there. As long as no one found her here, she'd be able to rest in peace. Triple win. She was on a damn roll.

Týrr had been preparing. Not just Frostfire Ridge for the eventual residence of what would be his pack, but also for his journey South. The wounds upon his neck from the battle of the Glacier were all but healed, little more than pink, scar tissue where the Siren's teeth had raked down the side of his neck, his strength returned to full. His intentions had not been set upon fulfilling what he had sworn to whatever deity had been listening, to extract vengeance and seek justice for the loss of his memory, for his imprisonment and the lies weaved to him; this desire had been pushed back in favor of focusing his attention and time upon preparing the territory for a pack, and in recruiting. It was a dream that had came to him that lit the metaphorical fire, that filled him with nothing short of urgency. He needed to seek it soon or it would forever be lost to him; because if Ragnar did not die then Týrr himself would die in the older male's place. It had been more than strange to see his life less body, even if it was just in a dream.

He would not die for Ragnar, not as long as he still drew breath. Whatever loyalty he'd held towards the man, whatever love had burned up like fire in his veins when Manauia had told him the truth. Tezcacoatl's memories were coming back, albeit slowly and in thin wisps that left him feeling greatly unsatisfied. But Týrr would not pry for the headaches were all the warning that he needed. He'd been following the scent trail of a sickly doe, thinking that venison would be a good, hearty meal to have before he went upon his journey, unsure how long it would take him when it actually came down to the death match. He had left a vague message about heading south to recruit for a bit, though it was not fully a lie, it was not the full truth, either. He didn't want anyone to know the core reason for his venture, especially Manauia, whom he was never on the best of terms with to begin with, likely for their equal stubbornness and inability to see eye to eye on ...well anything.

Týrr drew in a deep breath, pausing in his steps to sniff at the trodden earth to make sure that his course was still true when the scent of a loner intercepted the scent of the sickly doe — which had been a few days old to begin with. For a moment, he deliberated. One on side of the coin, the doe was either very close to death or had already perished; but on the other perhaps this loner might be open to recruitment — which was not something he ever discounted. Ears slicked back to his skull before with a soft sigh the Rekkr abandoned the doe's trail in favor of the loner's, course changing as he followed it. He did not have to go far to find her though, her silhouette cast in the distance. The Rekkr offered her a soft chuff of greeting, and to alert her to his presence if she hadn't noticed it already.

Did anyone know the definition of peace? Obviously not. One moment, she was down on her side, the next had her rolling to her feet, teeth bared and hackles raised. Her hulking form crouched slightly, gold eyes finding the one that had disturbed her. There was no aggression in his gaze, no malice or ill-will, just a sort of expectancy. Well, she was already up. Damnit. The scarred wolf huffed and shook out her fur, her hackles settling back down quite promptly as she stood from her crouch. 

"Yeah?" Formality was lost on Kroc. She didn't bother. One, she wasn't sticking around long (or so she planned) and two, why be formal when that just made everyone act like they had a stick up their ass? No way, José. He wanted to rouse her, he could deal with her attitude. Her tail twitched behind her, watching the wolf. "Need something or is it a hobby of yours to go around and make sure no one died in their sleep?" Obviously, if he woke her up, he wanted something. At least, he better want something. If he woke her up for no reason... Teaching lessons was one of her favorite reasons to bring out her teeth. 

Sorry for the short, dear! It's been a while :(

It was perfectly fine! <3 :-)

 
Given the distance between them, Týrr had not been aware that the other had been resting, this observation would have been made at a closer proximity then the Rekkr was willing to get to a stranger without expressed and direct permission, though the consequences, either way, were his. The woman's reaction to his announcing chuff were not what Týrr would readily consider overly friendly. Her lack of formality hardly perturbed him though. Once upon a time it might have, and he might have been ruffled by it; but he wasn't that boy anymore. He was a man, made a man by the things he had endured in the last few months alone. The Amazon Prince and Heathen Rekkr did not live in the assumption that everyone would return courtesy and hardly bothered to afford it these days, himself. There was little sense, he found, in giving what would not be returned. 

An amused smirk began to tug at the edges of Týrr's lips at her question, chocolate covered ears cupping forth atop his skull. Before, at this point in the conversation he would have been making it an absolute point to reassure her that he'd meant nothing by it, that he'd only meant to announce his presence. The explanation in and of itself, even now, wouldn't be a lie but he wouldn't babble. And he wasn't about to apologize. It was true he could have skirted around her, maybe without her knowing. It would have been easier, and he might not have given up his meal but he was actively trying to recruit and to prove that he was a worthy leader for wolves to follow then he needed to show that he was willing to make personal sacrifices for the good of his pack.

Týrr had no intentions of being a selfish leader. “I had to make sure,” The Amazon-Viking told her cheekily.  “I have to admit you did almost look dead,” Crystalline eyes focused upon her as he brazenly ghosted forward, closing a little more distance. “I wasn't going to pass up a free meal.” He gave her a frown of mock disappointment then, wondering if she would pick up on the cynical humor he implored. He'd never considered turning cannibal and he had no intentions of doing so anytime soon. Still, the itch to tease her while she seemed irritable (despite that this might not have been the best idea) was too good, apparently, for the Rekkr to pass up. Maybe not the best first impression a soon-to-be leader could leave, but it was better than no impression at all.

His expression didn't bother her, nor was she apologetic for her reaction to his presence. Loners had it tough and you couldn't be too careful, especially with an attitude like hers. She had dealt with worse though, his response was actually... Not stupid. And that was pleasing, at the very least. An eyebrow lifted at his words, bright eyes considering him as she held up the facade that she was unimpressed, which wasn't wholly untrue. The wolf named for the crocodilian reptile was a hard one to impress, and it was harder still to win her trust. At least he didn't come off as an idiot, though.

"You eat me and I'll come back to haunt your ass." It was a threat and yet, in a way, it was playful, a grin curling her lips to reveal those teeth of hers. An eye for an eye, right? If he wanted to be a sarcastic bastard, she could match it, and spectacularly at that. Besides, if she went down, it was so not going to be by passing in her sleep. Hell no. She was going to go down fighting, with her honor and pride intact. 

Snorting, she shook herself again, rousing the dust of the earth from her pelt, mouth opening to release her returning, cynical words. "So what do you want, Hannibal? A happy chat? A bite to eat? If you want either, you can turn around and go find someone else. Go talk to a squirrel. Two birds with one stone." He was a loner, just the same as her, even if he did smell like others. A forming pack or a recently disbanded one? Mm. She wanted nothing to do with a pack and so, her abrasive sarcasm would not be abated or softened. Not for this one. Not for anyone. She was a loner for a reason.

Her threat brought with a soft smirk that played at the edges of the Amazon Prince's lips, taking it for what he interpreted it to be as opposed to an actual threat. After all, Týrr had no intentions of eating her, and thus she could not possibly come back and haunt him. “You'd get very bored, very quick,” Týrr teased in a humble manner, offering a soft chuckle. The Amazon Rekkr rolled his eyes in a playful manner when she called him “Hannibal”, a soft snort leaving his black, leathery nostrils. “That's not my name,” He informed her though he understood that she was more than likely aware of that fact. It was a off handed jibe at his joke of being a cannibal, which perhaps if Týrr had known any he might not have made the jest so lightly. “No,” He replied, his tone light, casual. He had been hunting but he wasn't overly hungry, and he was interested in garnering interest for Frostfire Ridge but if she seemed unwelcome to the idea, unwilling to hear it then he had no intentions of pushing it or his company upon her. 

He needed loners to join up, not to piss them off so they run off and tell all their friends to avoid him and his Ridge. “It seemed rude to stroll past you and not at least introduce myself,”  Týrr murmured in a fashion that was akin to that of a gentleman. Whether he was that gentleman these days he could not readily say. “Besides,” He breathed, “I doubt a squirrel will be much of a conversationalist.” Whether they could communicate with wolves on a verbal level that they could communicate with one another or not was up for debate. Týrr didn't know. After all, he didn't exactly make it a point to hold conversations with his prey.

A sound generated in her throat, one that neither confirmed his statement or denied it. To be honest, the idea of haunting anyone, for any length of time, was not the least bit appealing to her. It did sound terribly boring but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of agreement. "Does it look like I care what your fucking name is?" Her words were growled, ears flicking back for a brief moment. She wasn't an idiot; of course his name wasn't Hannibal, but it wasn't like her could do much about it either. She'd take him down in a hot goddamn second.

"I couldn't give a shit if you were being rude or not. Generally, when someone's sleeping, you leave them alone." Her temper, starting to flare, reared it's ugly head as she spoke to him, her sharp teeth clicking pointedly at the end of her statement. If he thought Kroc was more of a conversationalist than a squirrel, he likely had another thing coming. At least the squirrel couldn't eat his face off. Not that quickly, anyway.

Her patience had run thin, abruptly. "You introduced yourself Hannibal. Now move on." Even if he did move on, she wouldn't stay here, knowing he was lurking around these parts. The intention had been to get away from others. Not find a damned buddy.

The playfulness of the meeting was abated with an abruptness that instinctively made the Amazon Prince weary of his companion. He recognized the change in atmosphere and prepared himself for hostility. Týrr, however, was not so readily shaken, not nearly as fearful as he perhaps should have been. Cautious, yes, but scared? No. Neither the Amazon nor the Viking within him would so easily bow to fear, nothing more than a deception and ploy of one's own mind. The young King did not even offer a flinch when she growled at him, swearing at him. “No,” No,she did not look like she cared. “But that doesn't mean you shouldn't care what it is. It's an important name.” And he would have it spoken upon the tongues of every wolf in these Wilds, some day. It was only a matter of which name he desired to hear spoken. Tezcacoatl or Týrr. His success would exceed Ragnar's own, though the Rekkr did not understand that he'd likely only made a martyr out of the Northerner within the ranks of Stavanger Bay. Not that he cared about the Bay, of course they all loved Ragnar. He had a way of worming himself into one's heart, but that love that Týrr had once felt had became nothing short of hatred at learning of the lies Ragnar had told him over the year.

“How was I to know you were actually sleeping? I didn't get close enough to discern that.” He gave pause here, licking his lips once. “Besides I had no idea if you'd wake up hostile if I was in your personal space and eat my face off,” The Rekkr did not fear death, but that did not mean he wanted to see himself to an early grave. He had not come so far to see it brought to an untimely end. “My name is Týrr, not Hannibal.” The Prince told her calmly, though at this point he had more or less written her off in regards to being a potential recruit. Her rapid mood change screamed instability to him, and though he was still young yet, he liked to believe he was sensible. Which was a shame because the Rekkr had enjoyed their initial banter.

There was a bark of laughter from her, malicious and amused all at once. "An important name, my ass." In truth, she would will herself to forget his name, if only to piss him off. Now, he was Hannibal to her and would forever be. It wasn't a bad name by the go of it; she'd given out worse before. Nicknames were sort of a thing in her family line, for whatever reason. His was not up for debate and even having one didn't me she liked him any more than when he'd first woken her up.

In Kroc's mind, she had every right to be aggravated. Surely, his mother had taught him manners, things the female herself had been taught long ago. One of those manners was supposed to be "let sleeping dogs lie", wasn't it? He had seen her lying down, and whether or not he'd been able to tell that her eyes were closed, he should have just left her the hell alone. That wasn't exactly difficult, was it? Maybe he was mentally deficient.

Her hackles rose, her tail stiffening as she bore her teeth at him. "Keep walking, Hannibal, or I'll do worse than eat your face off." The threat was not idle this time, a very intentional step taken in his direction. The female Saurturi would not be the first one to leave this place, her stubbornness knowing no bounds. And she would not back down, either. 

Sorry about the wait on this! And it seemed like a good place for Tyrr to take his leave so, last post for Tyrr and me. <3

Defiance was not something to put his life in harm's way for, Týrr understood, and stubbornness was not worth injuries, he knew. Would the woman not have begun to make advances towards him, it was no contest that the Rekkr would not have taken her seriously. The jesting mood they had taken at first was gone, her body language threatening him, as he warred with himself. It felt weak to back down, to give her the satisfaction of allowing her to win. He was plenty skilled as a warrior and Beserker, he could take her. Hell, if the Siren Consort he'd fought hadn't retreated when he did Týrr would have tore his leg from his body; but there was no practicality in taking someone on just to prove that he could fight. Such a thing would be little more than stupid and foolish, and how did he intend to lead a pack if he could not make decisions that, though they might cause him to take a blow to his pride, would in the end be the best choice for the pack? He would be a shit leader, that's what. If he could not learn to draw the line and swallow his pride he would have no place leading anybody. 

Though the blow his pride took was near crippling, being bossed around by a woman who wasn't even an Amazon — especially when he was so used to the Amazon women bending to his will, women who he thought were nothing short of the elite of their gender, he succumbed to the smart decision. “Fine,”  Týrr gritted out, though what he yearned to say was I'd like to see you try. The struggle within him was a very tangible thing as he backed away to her advances. “I can see you're not willing to talk anymore so I'll let you get back to your nap.” With those words he continued to back up, not trusting her nearly enough to turn his back on her until there was more than adequate distance between them, and headed back towards Frostfire Ridge nursing his wounded pride from standing down to her, and trying to encourage himself that this was the first of many times his pride would take a hit, but that if it meant taking blows to it, but that it kept the pack safe, or benefited them (the future them, that is) then it was more than worth it.

Thanks for the thread! I'll get it archived! <3

The tank-like wolf was ready to attack if he pushed this any further than it had already gone. She had no scruples getting into a fight over something so small, her life as a lone wolf leaving her terribly irritable and volatile. Kroc enjoyed fighting and while it was over something petty, she would welcome the chance to burn the violent energy that rose within her so suddenly. 

But he conceded, accepting her nickname (in her eyes) and taking his leave. Gold eyes watched the earthen male suspiciously as he backed away, making no move to go for him either. In that moment, Kroc ceased her growls, watching him go. He improved the impression he left then, leaving Kroc to do her own thing instead of proving himself stupid. It at least meant that if they met again, Kroc would not be instantly infuriated with his presence.

Turning away herself once she was pleased with the distance between them, Kroc turned away agin, this time to head Southwest to find a place to lie down and nap. In peace, finally. 

Thread end!