Phantom Hollow Out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire

Dusk.  The recent weather made the Hollow's fog seem thicker than usual, and the dying light only emphasized the gloom.  Mal was on the prowl, obviously, searching for... Whatever.  Food, other wolves, he didn't care.  He did need to find both eventually but it wasn't like he personally saw himself hurting for either.  He felt as though his life in Neverwinter was pretty ok.  It could be better, sure, but he didn't mind the way things were.

Mal wasn't really sure he was going to find anything here in the first place.  It seemed quiet and empty.  He'd walked through it before and had just assumed it was that particular day but now that he was here a second time, it seemed much the same.  On the other hand, he matched pretty well with his surroundings, his dappled grey fur providing ample camouflage as he wandered, eyes sweeping for signs of motion, ears seeking the slightest noise not caused by his own paws.

He didn't usually wander so far outside of Kaistleoki's territory, not since giving up the search for Drago's kidnappers, but whatever and Miryam is a little tipsy so we're going here now. Besides, he should probably help contribute to the general well-being of his new pack. . .hunting and the like. He sniffed out game as he went, not finding much as he headed into the spooky hollow, wondering if there was anything worth searching for here.

Turns out, there was. Just not necessarily edible (under the circumstances, anyway).

Well, shiyit, Verx remarked, seeing the spotted boy that had sparked (indirectly) that shitshow with Caiaphas by the coast. Didn't think I'd see you again. He spoke aloud but to no one in particular, more voicing his thoughts than anything else. Still, there was no doubt the young man would pick up on his musings and find him standing there, a few paces away, wryly grinning like the fiend he was.

Shit had gone down last time he'd seen this kid. What would happen now?

He squinted as a shadow started to form.  To speak.  Running through a list of wolves Mal had met, the only ones that shared similar color and possibly stature were those with accents.  Though at this point the voices from the coast were hazy from time and morphed by memory, he was left with only one choice as long as the wolf wasn't lying.  He could remember the blood without too much difficulty, the sounds of the fight.  But why had it come to haunt him here where he had previously been safe?  Maybe these woods were tricking him, but he wasn't going to take that chance.

The dead walk, and they walked far from their seaside home for whatever bizarre reason.  But what do you do when faced by ghosts or other undead?  Especially ones that in life proved to be violent.  Not let them haunt you, obviously.  His fur bristled and his lips parted in a toothy snarl -- but he took a couple of steps backwards.  The rest of his body language was a confused mess, mixed messages of both threat and defense, defiant and strong but not wanting to stay.  But if Mal left then that might bring him after him.  No words.

Verx tilted his head in confusion as the boy reacted, well, not so well to his greeting. Um, okay, he responded, chuckling. Still, he understood too well the signs of an animal backed into a corner, and so he kept his distance, eyes trained casually on the other wolf. Didn't mean to frighten you or anything. Sorry.

He snorted, tail swishing behind him. No hard feelings about the last time I saw you, he added, clearly jesting. Obviously that bitch was crazy. Is crazy. God, I hope she's not still fucking walking around. Had she gone back to Rusalka? There was no way in hell those Easthollow wolves would hesitate to rip her apart after what she'd done.

But if she had gotten away. . .

On the bright side, he didn't get closer.  But he wasn't just disappearing into a puff of smoke so that was bad.  The nonchalance of it all only matched Mal's expectations of what conversations with the undead must be like. They pretend nothing is wrong and convince you to let them close, then that's when they probably try to kill you.  Think about it -- all the weirdos at the sea totally acted like everything was ok, then as Mal didn't cooperate they converged on each other.  It was basically what he was thinking.  It's not like the situation made any sense to him otherwise.  Like why would anyone alive and reasonable be joking like it was nothing?!

Though he was still growling quietly, Mal did speak, his words sharp but sort of striking wildly, I'm not falling for it.  Didn't before.  Not gonna now.  You should just -- go back over the mountains.  Or something.  You could practically hear the frustrated, not really knowing what to say aspect of it.  The fact he was making the assumption that this dude knew exactly what he was talking about (and that it wouldn't be misinterpreted as something more mundane).  But if it wasn't obvious by now that Mal's perspective of the whole thing was based on some questionable logical leaps, it probably would be soon enough.

Falling for what, bro? Verx asked, a bemused laugh escaping his muzzle. I'm not going back over the mountains. I don't live there anymore, and don't plan to anytime soon. Fuck that noise.

Vercingetorix cocked his head, giving the boy a stare with all the bewilderment in the world. What's wrong, anyway? he asked. Look, I'm sorry about the last time we met. Obviously it wasn't my fault. I just wanted to chat, but noooo. . .

He snorted, rolling his eyes. Bitches be cray. Do you live here? he asked, hoping to change the conversation.

Seriously, this dude was a freak -- undead and just seeming to continue on like nothing had happened.  Like it was totally an every-day thing and nothing was wrong!  

Any of it! he snapped.  You're dead, you're not taking me with you, you're not following me home--! It didn't seem to have a proper conclusion, like he would have kept listing things if he thought of anything.  He did take a couple of steps back as he did so, though.  Mostly because talking back to monsters sounded like a good way to make them drop their facade and make them attack.  He didn't want a damn thing to do with those monsters.  He didn't want to investigate, he didn't want to sit around and talk his way out, it was just better to make sure he wasn't gonna die and then get the hell out.

You're dead! -- Some days, that sounded ideal -- You're not taking me with you! -- Wasn't planning on it, broseph -- You're not following me home! -- Dude, like he didn't already have enough problems with abandonment? For fuck's sake, what was this kid going on about?

Okay, first off, I'm not dead, Vercingetorix responded dryly. The fuck. . .you think you can talk to dead wolves? I mean. . .can you? he added, squinting dubiously at the young man. Because that's pretty cool; you'll have to say hello to some folks for me.

Shrugging, he continued. I dunno what you mean about the other stuff. I'm just out here hunting for my family. You don't live here, do you? He supposed that if he were trespassing, the fear would make more sense. But even then. . .

His thinking was very Sixth Sense -- look, nobody would survive what he saw (even if it was amplified by memory), and certainly nobody would be so chipper about it all.  The guy obviously hadn't come to terms with the fact he was dead, and the whole thing seemed almost as bizarre and otherworldly as his meeting with his mother, who he'd slowly become convinced was also dead. 

All he could think was this was all far too much of a trap.  Dead or alive, Mal felt too much like this dude was trying to befriend him for nefarious reasons and that just wasn't gonna fly.  Or at least so he thought.  He backed up a few more paces, renewed snarl on his lips.  Of course you are!  Again, nobody lived from what he'd seen.  That'd just not be possible.  Well, obviously it was but Mal couldn't imagine it.  Another few steps backwards.  You stay away-- go haunt someone else!  Another couple steps back, but he was wary to turn his back because, well, there was the whole thing that happened near the beach...

He was so great at answering questions, too.

Okay, the kid was nuts. He didn't really have time to deal with this and thus, he gave up the game quite easily. Fucking hell, dude, fine, Verx huffed, rolling his eyes, though he couldn't resist cheekily adding, Nicer wolves around to haunt, anyway.

Nostrils flaring with a sigh, he turned and began to pad off. He'd just hunt somewhere else, jeezy creezy. His kids needed food; that was more important than fucking with this guy. Yes. . .time to go hunting.

Hunting. Not haunting.

Because he wasn't fucking dead! Yet.

Good.  Get the hell away.  Mal would stay safe from whatever trickery was afoot for yet another day.  Whatever twisted undead beast this guy was, he could go ruin someone else's life.  He'd already caused Mal enough nights of bad sleep.

A final snarl at the inky specter before Mal retreated a few more steps, waiting until the guy was well on his way before he dared to slink  away.  He checked a few times to make sure he wasn't being followed before continuing back to his own forest.