Sunbeam Lair 'Cause some things just don't change

for @Donovan Azura
set for late evening, clear, 73 F
sorry it's....weird, it's been a while and he's kind of crazy

He must be a masochist; that was the only explanation for why he was back in this shit hole rife with the memories he had tried to so hard to drown out the last few months. 

because you have a job to do, the voice whispered—the voice he equally hated and longed to hear. The beast tried to ignore him, but he never went away, he found him in his weakest moments and whispered things to him. He was supposed to return to Blackfeather Woods, check it out, see if any of his family still claimed it. But he didn't want to go there. He hadn't wanted to come here, but somehow here he was. 

He growled and shook out his raven coat. Drew in a deep breath. Pushed the voice away. He wouldn't dictate his life anymore. But hadn't he? Midar was here. He was here when he didn't want to be. Another snarl, and he snapped at whatever was closest: a thin branch from sapling. He tore it from the young tree and thrashed his head back and forth, then he threw the stick across the ground and began to stalk along the rocky side of the mountain again. He needed something else to do, something to keep him from being idle—it was when he was idle that the voice affected him the most.

He has been to this mountain once. Walked inside and saw a beautifully lit hallway of blue that he won’t soon forget. Anyhow, getting there is really the challenging bit. Scaling the side of this mountain has his rough paws aching. Yet pain doesn’t register to him all that horribly so it’s livable.

He sees something else on this cursed evening. Another form just off in the distance. Of course he has to go and investigate. So he pads on over, not bothering to keep himself hidden, even though he really couldn’t anyway. What appears to him is another wolf. One of dark shades and wicked eyes of periwinkle. 

He stays a good distance apart from them and curious smile comes to his maw. “Now who are you?” He hums to them.

He froze at the sound of a different voice, one not in his head. He realized then that it had been a while since he had spoken to anyone. The sound of someone talking to him was so startling that he stared at the other man with crazed eyes for a few moments before his entire expression shifted to wipe away and lingering emotion. 

Some days he was wound so tightly that he thought he might attack the first living thing he came across, but tonight he was desperate for anything that might keep the voice away. This stranger seemed like the perfect way to do that. He straightened up, and looked over the odd-looking man. He had never seen a wolf with those colors and that tail. He realized then that he probably should answer, though. Midar, he finally supplied, taking a few steps closer. He dipped his head in greeting as he paused again. And you are? Perhaps this stranger could keep him occupied for a while. The beast certainly hoped so.

Those velvety purple hues are suddenly glued on him and Donovan softly raises a brow at him curiously. Suddenly his odd expression is deafened and he’s offering a curt nod instead. Then a voice meets his ears and Donovan peeks the thickness of his auds in his direction to hear him clearer. A name — Midar. One he hasn’t heard yet. Then a few steps closer, perhaps he’s hesitant to approach. Or maybe Donovan is giving himself too much credit.

In return he asks Donovan for his own name. Confidently enough, Donovan languidly closes the distance between the two. Canary orbs never leaving his sleek black coat and grape colored eyes. He decides that he likes the look of him. Likes the crazed look in his eyes. Donovan wants him — perhaps in more way than one. 

For now though, Donovan gives his own name. A smooth introduction of, “Donovan.” is what he gives back. “Where’d a gem like you come from?” He asks with a questionable tilt of his massive head. Leaving a fair three or so feet between them he looks into him awaiting a response.

Midar stayed where he as as the stranger approached, neither tense nor relaxed. If he died today, then he would welcome it but it didn't seem like killing him was on the other wolf's agenda. 

At first he was confused by the word gem. It had been a long time since anyone had reacted to him positively and certainly no one had ever referred to him as a gem. It was odd, but he decided to let it go. The beast shrugged. I used to live around here, but then I left. I've been on my own for a while. Intentionally vague because he didn't care to delve into his sordid and painful past. 

He took a seat and watched the large man, his gaze calculating but curious. There was something about him that called to Midar, something about the way he carried himself that intrigued him. He tilted his head a little and asked: Where did you come from? 

Dim light bounces off of the sleek sheen of his shoulders as he shrugs them and he catches himself eyeing the motion. He tells him vaguely of his past and instantly Donovan gets it. He nods in silent understanding. Then watches as he goes into a seated position, allowing his haunches to fold comfortably underneath his body. Then the inquisitive tilt of a head just as Donovan did to the other and he’s asking the brindled male where he came from.

He answers with his own reply now and easy chuckle bubbling past his lips. “Old pack got exterminated by two legs. I’m here rebuilding my pack.” He too sits. “It’s going well so far it seems.” His smirk becoming devilish in appearance but fitting on his handsome face. “It’s a good way to meet interesting folks such as yourself.” He hums almost politely. Though the knowingly heated glance in his eyes and the curl of his smile say other things than polite.

Two legs? He wasn't sure he knew what Donovan was talking about, but instead of interrupting him to ask, he just let him continue. Besides, he was more interested in what he said next about building a new pack. 

The heat in his gaze and the curve of his lips made his unspoken lust obvious, but all Midar could think in response was that he was not Alarian. For so long, he had only wanted the scarred man, even when he didn't want Midar anymore; he wasn't sure he could want anyone else. And when Alarian's love was gone, so was anything that made the beast reasonable—not that he had been very reasonable in the first place. 

Still, he was the picture of calm and collected (something he rarely ever felt on the inside) as he spoke again. What kind of pack are you hoping to build? He was curious to know more. Was this going to be a pack that would cause problems for him if he stuck around? He needed to make sure.

They watch each other curiously and the all too common question about his pack is popped. So Donovan dips his head and answers confidently. “We’re known as the Saints of the Dying Light. We pride ourselves on our warriors and strong nature to run anyone down who wrongs us.” He says the words casually. He’s straight to the point, no point in lying to the guy.

“We’re not unreasonable. Though it seems like others think we are.” Then he laughs softly, a dark snicker of sorts. “I’m quite the merciful god if you ask me.” 

The idea was intriguing—to be able to take out anyone who wronged you, but in his experience, many claimed to share this mentality but rarely ever practiced it when the opportunity arose. I was part of a similar pack once; they claimed the same as you, put me in charge of the soldiers even, but then my skills were wasted, he said, his disappointment obvious. I find that when it comes down to it, most would rather settle peacefully than spill blood, he added, shaking his head in disapproval. 

As for being reasonable or merciful, Midar found little motivation to be either. He supposed he could manage either if the moment called for it, but only a rare few ever deserved that kind of restraint from him. Mercy is only desired by the weak, he pointed out, his violet gaze cold as it remained locked on the other man.

At the mention of wasted talents Donovan becomes even more intrigued. Growing more and more interested as he continues on. Oh, this is good. The spill of blood. Yes Donovan likes that about him. He’s sure he’d be a savage opponent in the battlefield. They have yet to see. Perhaps Donovan will ask him to a spar if he’s able to snag him into the grasping hands of the Saints. 

Then as if this man couldn’t peak Donovan’s interest any more, he does. The stale, ice cold temperatures of his violet eyes against his own gold ones. The words the slip past his lips has Donovan smirking devilishly to the other. The hairs along his black prickle with satisfaction and he rumbles a low laugh. Where the others eyes are cold and calculating, Donovan’s are fiery with the heat of want — of need. He wants him, will clutch at him to become one with their pack.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, dear.” He hums back. “I would be honored to fight by your side if you would provide your services to us. You’d be monstrous in the hand of the Saints. I don’t want to see myself pass up this opportunity.” His words are low, but passionate. The bloodlust is clear in his straight gaze to the other. He wants him.

He could tell their visions aligned in more ways than one, something that pleased the beast; it meant that if he were to accept the offer to join Donovan, he could potentially wreak havoc on what ever enemy he was unleashed upon. No loyalty was required for him to take someone out. His wasn't easily won anyway. It remained to be seen if this leader would be someone Midar could truly follow. 

Midar recognized the wanting in his gaze—he knew it well; it was how he looked at anything he wished to make his. Now he needed to decide if he was willing to allow himself to be possessed. He wasn't sure what else he would do, other than sulk through the mountains and pretend Alarian hadn't left a black hole in his chest. Still, he wanted to be absolutely sure what he was getting into before he agreed. His gaze narrowed as if he was trying to figure the other man out but eventually he spoke, his voice low and even. If I join you, I can't promise that I'll stick around if I feel my time is being wasted again. He could fuck around literally anywhere on his own and not have a pack of wolves he was forced to get along with. If he was going to give up a certain level of his freedom, it needed to be worth his while.

Donovan has an easy confidence in the way he carries himself that displays into his shining golden hues. All he meets him with is a smirk and a swift quirk of his brows. “Then perhaps I shouldn’t waste your time then.” He hums with that same calculating, amused smile of his.

He stands, excitement breaking through the walls of yellow in his eyes. “Then I’ll tell you more of the pack if you wish.” He says calmly.

“I treat every one of my pack members as equals.” His gaze darkens and his smirk widens. “Until they challenge my rank in any type of way. Now,” he says as if he’s about to point something out. “I welcome opinions, suggestions, and even arguments. Not blatant disrespect. You will have free reign over the entirety of the territory to do as you please. I only ask for loyalty and to come when called. Participation in the pack — everyone has a place.” 

His muscles shift beneath his striped pelt as he saunters casually over to him, never taking his eyes off of him as he goes past. Stopping only a few feet from the raven wolf on the opposite side, he looks back to him. “I don’t just trust or respect anyone and I’m sure neither do you. A leader must gain that. So by all means, take as long as you need and if you don’t feel as if I’m worth your time — leave.” The teasing smile is forever present on his handsome face. He awaits an answer.

Midar watched the movements of his face—the way he smirked in response to his condition that he wouldn't have to stay if he felt unfulfilled. And then he offered to share more of his pack, the subject clearly exciting him. Midar nodded, interest sparkling in his amethyst gaze. 

He couldn't deny the thrill that ran through his veins at the thought of challenging this wolf for control of his pack. Mostly it was because he didn't like being told what he couldn't have, but as intriguing as the thought was, he knew he had no real interest in leading anything; he was far too concerned with his own well being—for now anyway. It at least sounded like he would have more freedom to do as he pleased than he would in most other pack's, as long as he could get over the whole following someone else's orders thing. Loyalty, he could give if earned, and he supposed he could abide by the rest, given he was provided with the purpose he so clearly wanted; he was a weapon, and he wanted to be treated as such. 

Midar's gaze tracked every movement as Donovan came closer, and he turned his head to follow as he continues to move past him. When he stopped, Midar stood and shifted so that he was facing him. He nodded again in agreement with his assumption that he wouldn't easily offer his loyalty. It seemed they were on the same page there, which was enough to finally make the beast's decision. 

Okay, he said, dipping his head. I'll give your pack a chance. He would at least stick around long enough to see if this leader would keep his word. But I want to fulfill my purpose, he added, his own expression darkening. Call on me when you need muscle or someone dealt with, he clarified. I'll do whatever you need, probably with no questions asked. And I'll try my best to follow your rules. He raised an eyebrow, a silent question to the leader of his new pack.

Oh, this is too good. Donovan is more than satisfied with his answer. Honestly expecting a bit more pushback, but is pleasantly surprised. This causes him to give a gentle hum of acknowledgment. Flaxen eyes rake over the others facial features, searching for a tell. Finding nothing obvious he finally speaks.

“You will make us deadly, Midar.” He comments pleasantly. “You will be used to your full potential; I’m sure there will be many opportunities ahead of us.” Then he nods back. “I’m glad you agree, feel free to speak up if there’s something you need from time to time. I’d definitely be willing to spare you some extra attention if you need a sparing partner. As is the rest of the pack.”

Then he gazes to the horizon, gathering his bearings, he’s able to figure out which direction they need to walk to make it to their new territory. “Shall we?” He asks, willing the other to follow him back.