Blackbeak Bluff bon temps

@Kaori

Snow had gathered over what would have been rolling green fields and settled there like a blanket. It seemed as though it had housed the earth underneath in a chilling grasp, leaving nothing to the imagination of what could have been. He had left the sound to scout the nearby territory, hoping that he might find something of interest. There was very little aside from the neighboring pack, and he did not dare to venture too close to their borders for fear that he might start a war between the two. So instead he had wandered in the opposite direction and climbed high until he stood on the edge of the bluff and overlooked the sea. To drop would be certain death, but the ghost did not mind the dangers of such a precarious perch.

Moving slowly along the mouth of the bluff, his molten gaze trailed the rocks that were scattered below and the slow lap of the water against the edges of the earth. Birds cried overhead as they fluttered past; their wings beat against the air like soft drums. Kierkegaard listened with swiveling ears as he continued his slow plod. In a short time, he would feel obligated to return to the pack. For now, he enjoyed the breath of freedom.

Though the chill in the air seemed greater along the coast than it would elsewhere, she’d stuck close to the area since arriving there. It was nothing like home—in fact, it was the opposite—but perhaps that was what kept her there, needing to get as far from what she knew as she could in order to rebuild herself. Besides, the land there was so incredibly different that her curiosity remained piqued even weeks after she’d arrived there; she wanted to explore and learn, to better her understanding of the world. Her desire for knowledge made her less cautious, too, pushing her past her limits—and nearly over the literal edge of the cliffs. Whilst trampling through the snow she’d been oblivious and her perspective hindered by the white but, thank Draco, she’d caught herself just in time.

With her heart racing a mile a minute the girl stumbled back before falling down onto her stomach, eyes wide and staring blankly. The realisation of what could have happened set in and yet, for a reason she could not place, she found herself drawn forward; this call she did not answer, body frozen where it laid, but that did not make it go away. So caught up was she in her mind that the crunching of snow underfoot fell on deaf ears, the phantom’s nearing presence yet to be noticed.

The pair of molten optics locked on the drifting frame of a dark shadow. He followed at enough of a distance for a short while, keeping an eye on her movements and curiously waiting to see if she would plummet to her death. While it was a morbid waiting game, he did not know this wild young beast and so he cared very little about her safety. When it appeared that she might fall, the inky wolf managed to hold herself and then collapsed in shock. Kierkegaard was amused for a flashing moment. He did not slow his pace, though, and had closed a great deal of distance between them. The stranger did not seem to take notice of the looming specter. He released a quiet growl to announce his presence before crunching through the snow to stand near her.

Heavy breathing fell on his ears. The mercenary regarded her quietly for a moment before he found himself realizing that a lone young wolf might make an ideal gift for Caiaphas. ”You’d best watch your step,” the brute remarked in a deep-throated baritone. He hovered close enough so that if she should attempt an escape, he would have a good chance of latching on. Being so close to the edge, it would not have been wise of her to risk it.

A growl brought her back to her senses, ears laying flat against her skull as she turned her head towards the beast. He was pale in the face and easily towered over her, filling her head with visions of ghosts and ghouls. Instincts told her to run for fear of being pushed from the clifftop, though her legs would not move, still in shock from her near-plummet just moments ago. Besides, nurture countered nature and urged her to remain there, however fearful she was; a small voice called from the recesses of her mind, insisting she was being unfair by assuming the worst of him. But she couldn’t help it, not now, having turned into a bundle of nerves.

“I—” she tried to speak but could not find her voice, tongue struggling to form words. “Why—it’s so sudden.” It took several tries but she’d finally managed to get out a full sentence. Her gaze slowly drifted back towards the ledge, then snapped back to the man’s face immediately after she’d reached it. He was closer now—too close—and she felt uncomfortable under his stare. However jittery she was, she tried to push herself up into a sitting position, her movements slow and cautious, now fully aware of just how close she still was to the edge of the land and he was to her. “Back up... please?” her request was a quiet one, softly spoken as she stopped mid-rise to watch him. Terribly naive, Kaori expected for him to comply—because having manners meant being listened to, according to her family.

The dark young girl seemed to be startled by his presence. The wild-haired ghost watched her with a glint to his gaze and a scowl that lingered too long against his lips. His brows were furrowed into a knot over his eyes, but the pair of amber optics was trained on her features and would not be moved. The length of his ears was drawn forward and stiffened at the sound of her voice. He nearly gritted his teeth against the noise of her stammering and uncertainty. It was not until she managed a full sentence that he released the clench in his jaw and turned his gaze toward the bluff and the dramatic drop that would surely spell death to anyone who might miss it.

“Mmm,” he mused with a soft not – it was a grunt of agreement toward her obvious observation of the bluff. The next remark that fell from her lips seemed to strike him almost as a demand. Intrigued by it, Kierkegaard turned his skull toward her and frowned deeply. Somehow, his brow furrowed further and cast a looming shadow over his sharp eyes. “No,” the ghost grunted with a slightly curled lip. “You can simmer down. Shouldn't matter where I'm standing.”

The expression that followed dared her to challenge him.

o how the dice have forsaken me

If it hadn’t been clear to her before, the fact that she’d gotten herself into a bit of a mess was obvious now. Perhaps she shouldn’t have spoken to him, just carried on her way and sought a safer location, but to not speak went against her as a Draconid; words were sharper than teeth, a mind more daring than actions, or so were the beliefs of the tribe. But Kaori regretted living by those beliefs, the thoughts of being far from the edge with her exploration of the coast continued taunting her—though that was not what made her blood run cold. No, that was done by his response, fear kicked into overdrive by a combination of his words and closeness to her, plus how near to the edge she still was; she didn’t want to fall—or be pushed—she wasn’t ready to die.

And so she did the one thing she’d never done before, not even when encountering Airi—she tried to stand up for herself.

“But… but it does matter,” she argued, a tremor in her voice. “You’re scary and—and the edge…” She stole a glance towards it and gulped uneasily. With a shake of her head, she pushed herself all the way up so that she stood atop wobbly legs, an attempt at getting away made.

It seemed that the young dark girl had grown some sound legs. She argued that his position and his frightening nature had placed her in a precarious spot. This did not settle well with Kierkegaard. His brow furrowed roughly over his burning gaze and he snorted at her in contempt. Still, she seemed to find herself on a set of wobbly limbs that had granted her a better position than he had been in before. The ghostly figure watched her with a scowl, still not moving from his rigid-legged standstill. His head was canted just slightly to the right, and a single ear was swiveled off to the side. The fear that was lingering in her pores had invaded his nostrils. The ghostly figure continued to watch her.

“I haven't done a damn thing to make you scared of me,” he grunted with a cold frown. “You'd best learn the difference between a real threat,” he took another step toward her and lifted his skull upward, gesturing toward the bluff and the severe drop, “and the one that's only in your head.” Of course he was referencing the dangers of the fall in comparison to his presence. So far, only the threat of the fall should have been enough to make her quiver, but the more she tested Kierkegaard's patience, the more she would see the dangers in him.

He made an excellent point—he’d done nothing to make her fear him, and yet, she was frightened. A mix of things factored into her emotions, from being in a new place to having nearly fallen to her death, as well as his presence there and any number of other things. She knew she shouldn’t be scared, she knew she shouldn’t judge him based on how he appeared but—“You look scary,” she argued, as if that was a worthy explanation. But the moment the words left her mouth, her eyes went wide and she shook her head, knowing it wasn’t at all kind. “I’m—I am sorry. I should not have said that,” she added, making a poor attempt at retracting her previous statement. All she could think now was what if her mother had heard her? Kaori was raised to be kind, not cruel, and to use her mind during any given situation—but these were things so easily forgotten that she’d acted against them all, bringing dishonour to not only herself, but her entire living family, ancestors, and even the dragons.

How would Draco react to her soul now? Would she be cast from the stars when her time to join them came? No, no, no—that could not happen, her soul would crumble.

Panicked mixed with fear and she found herself quivering, though it was not because of him; his advancement went unnoticed, the mess of thoughts she’d created proving to be quite the distraction. “I am really sorry,” she repeated, hoping that, by doing so, even the stars would forgive her. “Please, forgive me!” Be it the weight of her mind or the stress she caused herself, the lamb bowed her head to him and waited—to be chastised, forgiven, or something. Anything that would reestablish balance within the world, drive up her good karma, and land her back in the good graces of the dragons.

“You look scary!”

Kierkegaard snorted with a ghostly smirk at this remark. He took one last step forward and lifted his crown upward to look down at her. The fire that lingered in his molten gaze should have been enough, but the fur rising along his neck and shoulders would positively solidify his threat. The mercenary swung his skull toward her in a sharp movement before he stopped, guarding his throat from any desperate attempt at an attack, and bore his glare into her. Though he had not often seen himself, Kierkegaard had – more than once – been told that he was a frightening figure. He did not understand how something could appear daunting without first having shown appropriate action.

It did not take long for the girl to begin spouting pleas of forgiveness. This was something that came as a surprise to the ash-coated sentry. His ears flattened to his head and the brute reared back a bit to frown deeply on the girl. It was evident that she had been raised as a polite and gingerly sort of being. It was a lifestyle that he would never understand. With a slightly curled lip, Kierkegaard straightened himself and looked fixedly at the young girl.

“You're spineless.”

And whilst forgiveness was what she sought after—begged for—it was not given to her. Instead, she was met by an insult, or at least what she perceived as one; was there a way to call someone spineless without having dastardly motives behind the words? Immediately, her head snapped back up and she found herself staring into his gaze, ears pressed flat against her skull. “I’m—I am not spineless,” she tried to argue, to defend herself, but even she did not believe the lies coming out of her mouth. Was that not the very same reason her sister had abandoned not only her, but their entire family? Had Airi not viewed them through the same eyes as this man now saw her? It had hurt to hear her sister speak so lowly of them but she’d wanted to believe that her words had been fueled by sorrow—the life of a vessel was a lonely one to lead, after all. But now, hearing yet another speak the same words, look at her the same way, she couldn’t stop herself from believing them.

“I’m not spineless,” she repeated, more so to herself this time than him. “I—we—are… we are dragons and dragons are not spineless. Mother said so—” Her entire life, she had been raised believing herself to be a dragon—a fierce creature, one not to be trifled with. She was told that she had to be responsible, to never lash out for that would risk upsetting the balance of the world as such a fiery wrath was unleashed. Kaori had believed these things, she’d never questioned them, and she certainly hadn’t challenged her teachings. Though by now, she should have known that the title of a dragon was one not assigned at birth, but earned over time—and she, as weak as she was, had most certainly not earned it.

There was something about the way that she flipped between mentalities that amused the great ash-coated creature. He watched as she switched to an indignant argument, staring at him with bright blue eyes and a puffed chest. Something in her was trying to reclaim what she had been told when she was younger. Before long, the girl was spouting words of dragons and how dragons – of course – had spines. Kierkegaard regarded her with a skeptical scowl that clouded his features and cast an unflattering light on the burning embers of his eyes. He stood as a startling contrast to the youth in her form, but he held his own well and he was not afraid of a child with a dragon-complex.

It was obvious that the ghost was not moved by her words. He furrowed his brow tightly over his gaze and shook his head before his dark lips curled in a cold smirk and he quirked a brow upwards at her. “Where is your mother now, girl?” he inquired in a rumbling baritone. His voice sounded far more sinister than he had intended, but he was not one to take back his word. The ghostly male rarely spoke to such strangers, so he saw no reason to rescind his question.

Deep down, perhaps some part of her expected—wanted—to strike fear into the beast with the mere mention of her roots. It was the one part of her life that made sense, the one thing that she knew she would always believe, and she relied on it to protect her. But words were just that—words. Without any evidence or actions to back them up, what could she expect other than what she was given? There was no fear in the man’s eyes but, undoubtedly, it was lurking within her own.

Kaori took an unconscious step back, gaze never leaving him. His tone of voice sparked something within her, her brain screaming run though her legs refused to listen. “She’s—she is…” Not here. She couldn’t finish her sentence—she couldn’t let her lonely status reach his ears, fearing that it would confirm them; she was alone, she had no one looking out for her, and she had not the skills that she should have acquired before leaving the tribe. But she hadn’t considered this beforehand, she’d only thought about how Airi had left them all behind and survived—surely the middle child could do the same.

The reality of the matter: she could not. And as facts slowly began to dawn on her, the girl made for a slow and cautious getaway.

The dark child stammered over her words and Kierkegaard's lips curled over his fangs with a thunder-like chuckle that felt as though it was rattling his ribs. He could see the wariness in her gaze and he predicted that she would attempt to flee in a short amount of time. There was not much that he wanted to do to prevent her from leaving, because he did not know what he could make of her. Still, there was something inside of him that pricked like a small reminder that he had almost forgotten about. Caiaphas might like this young girl – she might find her easily malleable. He knew that the dark-hooded love of his life would find her a pleasing addition to her small collection.

Watching her limbs as she attempted to move herself away, Kierkegaard placed a single paw in front of her and frowned. “You don't have to be spineless,” he told her with a thoughtful expression. Though he was old and did not favor social interaction, it did not mean that he was incapable. He had been put in a place to negotiate his own value many times.

A paw came down and her entire body froze, not a single step taken in either direction. She felt the beating of her heart increase practically tenfold and she braced for impact, but nothing happened. Nothing more came of the motion, only words—but those words were as equally effective in keeping her still, if not more, as the blockade. For a long second, she stared forward, gazing past him as the comment sunk in. You don’t have to be spineless. But what did that mean for her? Of the various scenarios that ran through her mind, not a single one left her disinterested.

Slowly, she tilted her head to the side and up, focusing back on him as she asked, “How?” If there was a way for her to grow, to not bring shame to her family, then she wanted it—not only for herself but to prove Airi wrong, too.

The dark young girl stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes glazed over, looking out beyond him and where he stood in opposition of her departure. The fear that had gripped her did not go unnoticed, but he had cast it aside. Had he been any more intent on frightening the younger wolf, he surely would have heard her heart beating out of her chest. Kierkegaard could almost feel it thrumming against the longest fur of his limb.

In a single moment, everything shifted in his favor. The girl with the pale blue eyes turned to face him and a single question fell from her lips. Already, she had found enough strength not to flee from him in fear. More than this, she had bought in to his remark and this allowed him to believe that she did not think of herself as much more than spineless, too. It was sad, but if he could lure her back to Grimnismal, perhaps that could change.

“The pack where I am a member is not too far from here. You come to join our ranks, and I will train you,” he offered her.

Training was a foreign concept to her, at least when it came to battle preparation. Learning under her mother, she’d found the names of plants and their uses to come easy to her, but suspected that anything beyond that would not be a skill so easily acquired. But, at the same time, Airi had learned (this she assumed, having never actually seen her sister fight). And if her sister could learn, then she could, too; Kaori didn’t think herself to be greater than any member of her family, however far from Draco’s graces they might have fallen, but she did view them as all being equal. So, if one could learn to stand up for their self and take charge, then, as far as she was concerned, there was nothing stopping her from doing the exact same thing.

But in order to learn, she would have to join his pack. She would have to insert herself into yet another home that she doubted would fill the void in her soul—but perhaps it would be worth it this time around if she had another teacher to follow. It seemed like the perfect scenario, which made her skeptical. “Why would you train me?” she asked. “What do you get out of it?” Everything was about balance with her. If someone did something, then someone else would do another thing for them in return. The constant exchange kept the world at peace and the dragons at bay, saving them all from being engulfed in flames.

“What does it matter?”

The question fell from his lips abruptly and he furrowed his brows at her. For an offer such as this, the ghostly figure imagined that she would leap for such an opportunity. It was not often that he would propose something of the sort. The dark girl was not in a position to be questioning his motives for the offer, though, and he made it abundantly clear that he was displeased with her inquiries. The curl of his lip and the ruffling of his already ragged coat would have been enough body language to demonstrate his feelings on the matter. Still, he suspected that she would want a more compelling reason for a man like himself to take her under his wing.

“I'm old and don't have any children of my own. I'd like to teach someone what I've learned,” he lied to her with a small shrug. “There are others who will teach you as well, and some who are softer of heart for you to... make friends.” As he said it, he wondered if that was something that young girls sought. He did not rightfully know what most wolves wanted at her age, but he had given it a good effort and faced her with an expectant stare.

The reaction to her questions took her by surprise, concerned by the lack of proper balance. She was so terribly used to doing nothing for free and expected the same to be put into place for herself. But his reasoning was an easy one to believe—it even made her feel a tad bit more guilty for her earlier accusations—and she found herself without any reason to say no. But what about what moth—no. She gave a hard shake of her head, ridding her mind of the voice that nagged at her so often. Although she loved her mother and would never think negatively of her, this was not her life—it was Kaori’s. And as such, she had every right to use it as she saw fit, even if, by doing so, she went against a few of the laws put in place by the Draconids.

Besides, the chance to make friends wasn’t easy to turn down.

“Okay,” she decided. “I’ll—I will join and train under you.” Perhaps she would even become worthy of the dragoness title, should all go well.

It had gone far better than he had expected, but it appeared that the dark girl was interested to accept his offer. Kierkegaard regarded her with raised brows for only a moment before he nodded his head and began trying to formulate his next steps with her. He had not had very many instances with Wylla, so he was not sure how her demeanor was on any given day. If she was anything like Caiaphas, the ghostly figure imagined that she would be difficult to persuade. Kierkegaard did not want to show back up on the borders of Grimnismal with a frightened little ink blot and attempt to coerce the smoke and charcoal woman that Kaori was worthy of a rank in Grimnismal.

“The Alpha will want you to be strong, so we will work to boost your tenacity as we travel,” he instructed her with a gesture of his muzzle in the direction that they would be heading. As an after thought, the ghost realized that he did not even know what the girl was called. He had a brief flash of memory to another young, dark-coated girl that he had picked up. It seemed that he and Caiaphas were more alike than they appeared.

“What is your name? More importantly, do you want to keep it?”

To a point, she was surprised that he wasn’t the alpha. And if he wasn’t but still looked the way he did, then what should she expect from the actual leader? A shiver ran down her spine at the thought, imagining, briefly, one of the treacherous wolves from her mother’s stories; big, burly beasts with canines that stretched on forever and had a taste for blood even greater than their appearances suggested. With her ears still flat, she gave a nod of her head, trying to shake from her mind whatever hesitance was still trying to hang on. “Will you not train me if I’m not allowed to join?” she asked a moment later, the possibility refusing to leave her head—it wasn’t a stretch, after all, the likelihood of her being rejected.

At his questions, her ears popped back up, only to fall back again as another act of rudeness came to light: she’d never bothered to introduce herself. “Kaori,” answered the lamb, her voice perhaps the loudest it’s been yet. “Keep it…? It is the only name that I’ve ever had—should I… should I not keep it?” Was the shedding of a name for the placement of another custom? She had heard tales of altered identities for the sake of hiding, running away, or starting anew, but she wasn’t so sure if that path was the correct one for her. She liked her name, it was handpicked by her mother, but… perhaps the history that came with it, the life, was something she should set aside—at least for the time being. Uncertain, she looked to him for an answer; the transition of her views from him being a threat to a teacher was a swift one, prompted by his earlier lie and her own quest from something.

The inky girl asked him if he would still train her if she was not granted an acceptance into their ranks. He had not quite thought of this possible outcome, but he imagined that he would be able to vouch for her; it could very well have just been enough to make a difference in Wylla's eyes. He mulled her question over in his mind several times and then frowned. “It would be easier to have you in Grimnismal,” he remarked to her gruffly. It was not a promise that he would still take her under his wing if she was denied, but still did not come off as being dismissive. Kierkegaard would leap from that bridge once he had arrived at it. Until that time came, he would assume that she would be allowed in without too many qualms.

Kaori; the name latched to his mind and he nodded his skull as if to tell her that he had heard her and he understood. “I am Kierkegaard,” he then returned in the form of a grunt. She asked him if it would be best to shed the name or if she was better off keeping it. The ghost shrugged his shoulders and one side of his mouth shot down in a half-frown. “You can keep it if you're attached, or we can find something else for you. It's your call, kid,” he finally answered and looked to her to see if she would make her mind up immediately.

i will leave you to wrap this up ♥

It would be easier was neither a yes nor a no, but she settled for it anyways. It would not be the end of the world if he refused to, though she hoped he would not; in actuality, she hoped to not be turned away, but this was something she’d yet to realise as her desperation for a home lingered far deeper within herself than she could presently venture. So the girl nodded, taking his words for what they were and leaving it at that.

The exchange of names was completed and she found his to be a lengthy one, the pronunciation something that would likely take her a few tries to master; she considered repeating it back to him right then, only to be stopped by her certainty of messing it up. Instead, she mimicked him and gave another nod of her head, letting it be known that she’d at least heard him. Just as she heard his answer, which… didn’t offer the same degree of guidance that she was accustomed to; she was used to being ordered around in a way that made the commands seem like mere suggestions, not being left to make major decisions on her own. But this one she did make, saying, “I think I will keep it.”

She lingered near him for a short moment after the final word left her mouth, then moved away and turned her head to gaze over at him. She was waiting, nervously, to be led to his home—hoping all the while that it would soon be her home, too, and that the training she was to endure would not be too tough.

So, Kaori opted to keep her own name. He didn't say it, but Kierkegaard found it admirable that she would hold onto the calling. He had been faced with the same choice and had held fast to his given name. So, already they had found something that they had in common. The ghostly figure believed that he would have a better chance with the dark young thing because of her age. She had reached adulthood but was still well into her youth; Kaori had so much ahead of her. Signe had been different, he told himself; Signe had been too young and he had not had the patience. While he had not necessarily gained even a modicum of poise, he believed that her age would grant them a bit of room to breathe.

The two trudged back to the edges of the pack, where Kierkegaard prepared to present her to Wylla. The young leader was something of a wild card, and the inability to predict her made things difficult. Still, as long as he did not allow Kaori to cross over into the territory until she was invited – if she was invited – he believed that they would stand a decent chance.