Hoshor Plains everyone's tea and the receipts

He’s always liked the attention his odd looks got him. Even if it was bad. Like many wolves, they find him disgusting and ugly with his obvious dog heritage and it only strikes joy in his blackened soul. Especially as this male takes an honest moment to look his body over and really take in how different he truly is, both mentally and physically. Yet, he doesn’t quite know how odd he is mentally, but perhaps he’ll find out.

So finally Donovan tilts his head up at the chin and regards him with a curt nod when the other offers his own smile, the one on his muzzle never faltering. Though the curling of his lips is less malicious than it is teasing and the curious glint in his eyes only strike him as a interested passer by. 

He’s greeted politely and Donovan parrots the name. “Juju.” Allowing it to roll off his tongue experimentally. “I’m Donovan Azura of the Abbey, Grandmaster of the Saints — my pack nearby.” Then he notes something in the others introduction. “That’s what the people called you back home, no? What do you truly want to be called? It sounds almost like you detest the name? Bad experience?” He inquires experimentally coming a good few steps closer and stopping nearly four feet away.