Bearclaw Valley everything is never as it seems

backdated a few days til before storm. hoping to meet some pack mates! :)

Laurel was starting to get bored with this place already. Xan was obviously not interested so it would be rather hard to actually break his heart into a million pieces. She hadn't met any other dudes yet, none that were actually a part of this pack, anyway. Laurel was feeling antsy and bored here, and what made it worse was that Indra seemed to be settling really well. Soon her sister wouldn't want to leave anymore. The only upside to Bear-townofstupidwolveswhodon'tcareaboutLaurel-claw fuckin' Valley was that Indra had a safe place to heal here.

But at the end of the day, she couldn't ignore the middle part of her pack's name. Just another faceless place to live, just another place where nobody gave a shit about her while everyone adored Indra. She was sick of it. She was sick of how everything was always the same everywhere she went. Sick of everyone loving Indra and sick of being so damn unloveable. "Congratulations world, you proved that it's all me while everyone else is off having their happy-go-lucky darting-around-like-an-idiot lives," she growled to herself as she sulked through Bearclaw Valley, wishing that she had some way of forgetting that her parents never loved her and neither would the rest of the world ever.

*steals* B)

Poet is striving to open up more to her packmates following her conversation with Wardruna. It is... admittedly not as simple as it seems. For all her grace, mindless socialization has never been her forté. People used to come to her seeking companionship, conversation, but never absently. She served a purpose for others. In Bearclaw Valley, she doesn't serve a purpose for anyone; not even for Wardruna, although she is a wife of his. She can't decide if she enjoys being a miscellanea or not.

A low growl catches her attention. Words of some sort, though she can't quite make them out. With nothing better to do the ex-priestess follows the grumble, recognizing the voice's owner as the girl who'd been with Indra when Xan called for her. Based on her expression, Poet suspects she's in a mood. All the better to fraternize. 

"Mind if I join you?" She calls out softly, her expression almost amused.

yay! :D

As another approached Laurel could see on her face that she was mocking her. She didn't even know this wolf but already she felt scrutinised and her eyes squinted in suspicion as she stared the girl down in warning. At least she asked if she could join Laurel, whatever the fuck that meant, considering Laurel was doing nothing but skulk through the snow being grumpy. It was too late to put on a mask but also Laurel didn't even really care what this girl thought of her. Boys were the ones, in her experience, that were easy to manipulate, whereas girls were just... dumb, jealous and stupid, usually.

"Does it look like I'm doing anything that's joinable?" Laurel asked with an increase of the dark frown on her face as she paused her step and stood still to regard the pack mate.

Ah, a worse mood than Poet expected. The stare does not phase her, though she re-arranges her features from her smirk into a heavy-lidded bored look. "Surely," the ex-priestess says, "unless you do not exist at all. Though I suppose we could just continue to stand and glower at each other, if you prefer." 

She could leave it at that, but she doubts the other remembers her, and so she clarifies: "I believe I've met you. You were with Indra, when she first arrived back injured?" Poet doesn't know the relationship between the two but she recalls the girls' apparent closeness. Siblings, lovers, it was hard to tell at a glance, especially in the midst of crisis.

The last thing Laurel wanted was a smart-ass answer, but there it was, of course. She squinted her eyes into a glare as she looked at the other wolf, silently asking are you for real? Then she went on to say that they could stand here and glower at each other. What the fuck was wrong with this wolf? Something had to be wrong in the head there, no other option as far as Laurel was concerned.

Laurel was well prepared to just walk off and leave this stupid-ass pack mate far behind her, as she obviously wasn't worth the time, but then Indra was mentioned. "In?" she said reflectively, her frown lifting for just a second before it came back on. "Yes. You were there?" Laurel had paid zero attention to anyone there that day, except for Indra. She remembered demanding of Xan to call a medic, but she didn't remember anything about said medic. Was this the medic, or what?

Glower it is. Poet does not glare back, but maintains her unaffected gaze. Here is a weakness: she does not know much about proper socializing. So far she has lucked out in her interactions, being that she was immediately drafted as a sister-wife. Conversations that have followed have largely dealt with her skill, duties, things that can be easily conversed. Just getting to know someone? Largely, she has no idea.

But this woman hasn't run her off yet, so it's probably going all right. As she suspected, she does not recall Poet's presence with her injured... Indra. "Yes," she says, "I was the one for whom Xan called." The sinner does not call herself a medic, for she still hesitates at the title; she knows basics but does not consider herself a skilled healer by any means. "I'm glad she seems to be recovering well," Poet adds quietly, her expression easing into something gentler.

Laurel had totally forgotten who it was that was with Indra that day. She just remembered telling Xan to call someone who knew what they were doing. Apparently it was this wolf. Still she didn't introduce herself, just naming herself 'the one Xan called' and Laurel shrugged as if saving her sister was nothing. What'd she want, a medal? "Oh." That was all she was getting for now, for even though Laurel was grateful she didn't like showing it to others. Especially not right now.

The other wolf said that she was glad to see Indra recover well, though Laurel felt like calling bullshit, considering she didn't even know Indra at fucking all. "I'm sure you are," said Laurel with a grumpy tone to her voice still. "So how did you meet Xan?" She suddenly felt curious. The amount of girls in this pack hadn't gone unnoticed to her and Laurel could not help but wonder what, exactly, Xan was doing to collect them all.

"Alright, you've caught me," Poet says, a bit of the amusement from earlier creeping back into her inflection, "it's a pleasantry. But of course I am, and so it gets said, even if it's obvious." But at least she's gotten the other girl a little bit invested in the conversation. She hums, tilting her head a little bit. What are the odds that she's met her portent husband? "I was brought along by Wardruna, with his other wives," she says casually, as if her odd polyamorous arrangement were perfectly normal. "I do not know Xan himself very well," she adds, "how about yourself?" She has not made much effort to acquaint herself with her alpha; a failure on her part, of course, but she is curious as to the nature of her other pack mates with their leader.

The earlier amusement was quickly forgotten when she mentioned something about a guy named Wardruna and being one of his wives. Laurel didn't entertain thoughts of getting one mate at all, let alone multiple, and let very far alone being one of multiple. What sort of idiot would do such a thing? This wolf, apparently.

Laurel quirked an eyebrow as she stopped in her tracks and eyed the girl up, almost looking as if she was checking if nothing was wrong with her. Finding nothing, she deduced it had to be a mental sort of deficit. "You were 'brought' as one of a dude's multiple mates? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you want to share a dude — scratch that, why would you even want to be with a dude who wants to share you? And you don't even know anyone in this pack, you just 'let him bring you'?" Laurel rolled her eyes (as if it was still necessary to further show her derision at this woman's story) and went on to wonder if this was why there were relatively many girls in Bearclaw Valley.

The reaction to the idea itself is not entirely unexpected, though the force of that reaction surprises her a little. It is entirely unorthodox, but it's never occurred to Poet exactly how strange it is. After all, it's not that much different from her past arrangement at the temple. 

She shrugs elegantly, tilts her head. "He found me when I  had nothing left to live for, so I latched on to him. I wouldn't call us mates, precisely." It's a subtle distinction, but it's one she makes. Wardruna is handsome; Poet will bed him, does not mind being loyal to him, but love is the farthest thing from her mind in the whole arrangement. She suspects this must be fairly strange to the other woman, and shrugs again. "I don't know anyone elsewhere, either." Maybe she (Poet needs to ask her name, doesn't she) has more history in these lands and so the idea of joining somewhere so unknowingly seems odd. Or maybe Poet is stranger than she realises. Who knows? The other seems like she will certainly tell her.

A few things were surprising about her response to Laurel: Firstly that she didn't get mad at all, almost like she had no reasonable emotion in her or something, and secondly that she said they weren't mates, even though she had also just said that she was one of his 'wives'. Laurel was pretty sure those things were the same, but just for good measure, she decided to ask: "The fuck is a 'wife', then, if not the same as a mate?"

Not knowing anyone elsewhere seems like the worst reason to stay someplace. Laurel had stayed with Reek and Jhala for far too long for that very reason; fear to leave. She shook her head and said: "Don't let your life depend on some stupid guy. Guys leave and if they don't they'll disappoint you. You should just go if you want to, you'll meet new wolves!" Not that Laurel had had all that many friendly encounters with other wolves after leaving home but at least she had found back Indra out there. That was all she needed.

Their conversation is sliding dangerously close to territory that makes Poet uncomfortable. A foreign sensation but one she is eager to avoid nonetheless, she can't help the slight grimace that crosses her mouth as the girl goes on to give her advice. "I like being here," she explains plainly, "but, er, I appreciate your counsel." It is... counsel, right? She supposes it means the other must... care about her in some small capacity, even if just as an acquantice. Hell. She'll take it.

"I'm Poet," the sinner says suddenly, realising she's failed to properly introduce herself yet. "And to answer your earlier question ... well, truthfully, I'm not sure, but I agreed to it anyway." Perhaps it is a mateship of sorts, although Wardruna has not made much effort to court her (or vice versa, truthfully). Perhaps she has failed in her wifely duties. Perhaps she doesn't really care much either way... it is possible the other woman has a point. Poet is ... a bit passive.

Laurel could not help but wanting to grab Poet and shake her until she understood what she was saying 'yes' to (and that she should stop saying yes). Honestly, did everyone really need to have their own bad experiences with guys before they realised? Why were so many females so blind?! Laurel hissed through her teeth while she mulled over these thoughts but she quickly saw that this girl wouldn't be convinced so easily.

"Fine, but don't come crying on my shoulder when it turns out I was right and this guy leaves you," she said, the earlier frown of grump returning to her face as she felt she might as well be talking to a wall.

i love laurel omfg

In a strange way Poet thinks this must be her way of showing concern. It brings a slow smile to her face, genuine and warm, as if mirroring the woman's frown in reverse. "I'll keep that in mind," she agrees, "thank you for the warning... what is your name?" Since the other has failed to provide one, she figures she might as well be direct with her new friend.

Poet is such a sweetie. <3

It was tempting to ask her why she was smiling so dumbly when there was nothing to be happy about. The unbridled optimism and naivety that this woman possessed was frustrating to Laurel, who was already in a foul mood anyway. She rolled her eyes when the woman said she'd keep it in mind but doubted that she would, really.

When asked for her name Laurel felt a bit annoyed that she didn't offer her own name right away. "I'm Laurel," she said with the same snippy tone still to her voice, though it might be hard to tell if something additional was amiss or if she had simply carried her mood over from the rest of their conversation.

Laurel's attitude shouldn't amuse her as much as it does. It's probably unkindly, but she can't help it; the tension between her obvious concern and her outwardly cranky disposition are incredibly charming to Poet. When given her name, she repeats it slowly, "Laurel," and pauses.

She's already given her name, but... whether a passing vulnerability or something else, she suddenly feels the urge to offer the woman something more. "To the poet we delivered lacquered bone and gilded laurels," Poet tells her, feeling the rhythm of the name as it passes her tongue and the way it still stings. "That is my full calling, although I do not use it anymore. In a way, I suppose I'm also a "laurel"," she adds, smiling a tiny smile at her little joke. 

"Are you well aquainted with the others of the valley?" Poet asks, feeling it's only fair she return the favor now that Laurel has thoroughly investigated her.

Of course, as anyone should expect from a wolf called 'Poet' a poem followed. Laurel at first thought it was just a poem, but when Poet went on to explain realised this was, what... Her name?! Laurel paused and quirked an eyebrow as she looked at Poet. "What kind of shit-balls parents do you have, that they'd give you such a long and impossible-to-forget name?" Maybe if Laurel'd been in a better mood she would've thought it funny that Poet's name ended in 'laurel', but right now she was just thinking that no wonder there was also the word 'laurel' in the name, because there were a hundred friggin' words in the name.

As Poet went on to ask her about the rest of the wolves in the valley, Laurel shook her head dismissively. "I gotta go find my sister." She glanced at Poet again and then turned, intending fully to wander away from her pack mate and get some much needed alone-time so that she could sulk some more.

For Poet, a name is more than a name. Her birth name had been stripped away from her, long since forgotten, and replaced by this fragment of scripture. It carries weight, gravity, a marking of respect. The full length of it is not a trifle... it does not carry mystical power, of course, but it is still something to be valued. 

But confronted by Laurel's reaction, she can't help but burst into laughter. Wardruna and Sif had not understood either, but their reaction had been so much more measured. She laughs until it turns into a wheeze, uncharacteristically undignified, and shakes her head. How refreshing! "It is, ah, a religious thing," Poet explains, her mouth still twitching, "but yes, 'shit-balls' is a fair description."

Laurel rebuffs her attempt at further conversation. Well, fair enough, she doesn't mind. The ex-priestess dips her head in a nod, fighting the remainder of her urge to snicker. "Of course," she says, gaining control of her voice again, "wish her well from me." What an odd, grouchy girl. Poet likes her.

Laurel squinted her eyes as she was laughed at, finding that if anyone had a reason to laugh, it was her, in the sight of the ridiculous name. She rolled her eyes for good measure as Poet said it was a religious kind of thing. Laurel wondered if it was anything like the god that her father had once worshipped. She hated religion of any kind for it, for it had made him put others before her. Well... It was one of the things that had, anyway.

It was a good thing she was already leaving, anyway. With the grumpy attitude still full-blown Laurel said, "See ya," and turned away from Poet to go and find Indra, who'd surely put her in a better mood, at least somewhat.