Ankyra Sound Didn't it rain?

What differentiated one pack from another? Nothing, really. Honest. There was no rhyme or reason to Nails' march to the sea, nor did he have the privilege of picking Rusalka off of some grand list of prospective packs to join. He simply picked a direction and started walking after a brief and pleasant reunion with Thorn. Over mountain and valley Nails traveled -- weeks passed, and having been forced to scavenge like a coyote with no pack behind him, he grew thin. It was here, at some no named cove where the salt kissed the earth that Nails smelled the welcome scent of community and piss.

Mostly piss.

Beyond the border, caches innumerable surely lied. What use was rustling from one and risking life and limb when one could nab the whole kit and kaboodle by joining the gang? Symbiosis, or whatever. He lingered where the pack's scent was weak, unwilling to stray too far and overstay his welcome. He howled.

The call of a stranger sounded, and seemingly (I'm assuming bc why not) from her end of the beach.  Rosalyn at first was set on ignoring it because why the fuck would she go greet a stranger in the condition she was in.  But then, she figured, there was honestly not much else she could do to be helpful around here.  The call didn't sound like Drageda, and who howled before causing problems?

It did take her a bit to get there though.  Her leg was slowly healing in the weeks since, but it still had a while before it was sound, and she still knew she couldn't use it.

Alright, what do you want?  And it better be good, because I didn't drag myself out here for a social call. She said as she arrived, humored, but slightly out of breath and stopping a good distance back.  She kept her good eye on him, ribboned side of her face turned askance.  Just.. keeping him in view better.

Settling comfortably to his haunches, Nails waited for the welcoming party to arrive. He yawned and hummed a mindless tune to pass the time. While most would sit in silence, stewing in fear of strange wolves and the unknown, Nails had no such reservations. He was confidence incarnate -- reckless and arrogant, possesing enough charm to warm the heart of whatever grumpy-guss the Sound threw his way. Or at least, you know, weasel his way out of getting killed if shit went south.

However, he was not prepared to be met with a walking corpse. He saw her approach, limping and labored. His disarming expression shifted into that of surprise. Everything he planned to say, the whole spiel, it went poof into oblivion. Silent for perhaps a moment too long, Nails had to fight not to ask, 'Holy shit lady. What happened to your face?' 

He held his tongue. "Uh," he stammered, charisma all but scared away. "I, uh -- I'm Nails." He craned his neck to get a better look at pink ribbon wounds. "Lookin to join up, I s'pose." However, judging from the woman's wounds, he was starting to question the idea.

I'm laughing at my own joke help

Oh boy.  She was going to need to get used to this, wasn't she?  He craned to look and she felt that familiar flame of irritation ignite at the obvious attention her new face recieved, irritation that she tried to hide smoothly as soon as it surfaced.  And here I am, face of the sound, she said somewhat tersely, though she kept a light smile in place.  Nothing.  It meant nothing.

But I'm not her leader.  You'd be wanting Caiaphas for that.  Before she comes, what makes you want to sign on here?  Rosalyn wasn't honestly all that interested in doing the woman's job for her, but she'd recruited too many of her own to lose the habit.  That and now that she'd stepped in this, the idea of sitting here in silence while this guy oogled her face was only slightly more attractive an idea than throwing herself from the sound's cliffside.  

Also - Nails.  The hell kind of name was that?