j - out of style

Normandy's inhibitions to tell them that he was the “Bastard Prince” and had been chased out because he'd been perceived, laughably, as a threat (likely because Nevermore had favored him and his mother) were nothing personal, and in the end the tangible need to be honest with them had won out against his trepidation. He did not wish these wolves to perceive him as a threat, also. He had no intentions of usurping, and no want to claim something that was not his by any measure. His ambitions were much simpler than command and control. Silver ears contentedly rested at half mast atop his skull as Scarlett admitted her surprise that he'd been able to find them for the simple fact of seclusion. He could not, truthfully, tell her how he'd found it simply that he had. It was not a long shot to claim that he had more or less gotten lost, having never been to these lands before. They were foreign and alien to him and when he had caught the scent of this particular pack he knew now, he had followed it like Hansel and Gretel had intended to follow their trail of bread crumbs.

It was nothing short of an impulse. Whether his impulse would allow him to find a home here or not he could not yet know or tell.

“No I have nothing against bears,” Nothing but perhaps a logical want to give them their respective space but he would not be aggressive towards the creature lest he was first met with aggression. Normandy's attention, however, was claimed by Kove as the pallid man spoke, asking the questions that Normandy had been initially expecting. The questions in and of themselves were presented easily, but Normandy found himself struggling with his responses as the potential answers took turns swimming around his mind. “I can hunt but it wasn't something I'd ever considered pursuing as a trade,” He paused to lick his lips once. “I had been given many lessons at the discretion and command of my ex-Alpha and mother. I am well versed in the duties of a Warden though I prefer a diplomatic approach with violence as only a last resort.” In truth, Normandy was not a lover of violence. It was unavoidable, of course, but diplomacy had been taught to be the favored option. Usually, many would be willing to talk it out, or at the least negotiate so that neither party had to become injured or drawn into a blood bath. This was not always so, Nevermore had always warned, and Normandy had taken the inky DeMonte's word.

“My father... was a diplomat first and foremost and I think I could do well at being a Counselor, but perhaps that is not for me to judge,” Meaning if they accepted him and if he could prove his skills in that aspect that, regardless, the ultimatum would be theirs. “As for my weaknesses, my main would be that I can't swim.” Or rather he could swim, but however, held an inherent and deeply rooted fear of deep water. Of course, theoretically, he could drown in any level of water, even the shallow ends but he did not consider that too often (for obvious reasons). “I am sometimes impatient, and if it is something that I cannot pick up right away then I will give up on it.” Admitting that particular flaw in his character was not something he did so readily, and it was spoken in nothing short of a good act of faith. He had many more, of course, but it was the one that held the potential to effect his life within any pack and thus chosen as the one of more importance above the others. After that, the svelte DeMonte fell silent, inquisitive as to if more questions would follow, or if they had heard enough to pass his judgement.