Grouse Thicket A distant heartache

@Valentine

What is he doing? Playing this game again, even Jean-Pierre feels it's getting old. Yet he cannot help falling back into habits. He feels cautious, nonetheless. This Asterism Grove is great on the cover, but he knows what lays before him will be chaos.

The beige prince wants to bang his head on a tree. Or three. Maybe four. It'll knock some sense into him, right?

At least, he isn't the only one looking worse for wear. Although he doesn't expect to run into Valentine again, least not after how much time had passed between their last meeting. Brown and white coat scruffy, and less meat on his bones, it takes Jean-Pierre a moment to realize that, yeah, it really is him laying there by the thicket.

Mon cher, Jean-Pierre exhales, approaching light on his feet. Valentine looks like Hell. You look terrible. What happened to you? The beige prince intrudes his personal bubble, attempting to groom the mess of his fur. For how could he let such a handsome man look so... ugly?

he doesn't know how long he's been lying here, but he doesn't really care at this point. he feels like shit, and there's no one around to care. heavenly and anais are gone, rokig probably hates him — and what other connection does he have here? apparently the universe has an answer for him, because a familiar pale form emerges from the foliage the moment the thought crosses his mind. he snorts softly, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips for a moment before jean-pierre asks him what happened. a fuckin' death pit, he says, ears flattening to his skull. the grooming relaxes him somewhat, though he tries to stifle any outward reaction. it takes him a moment to find the words to elaborate, already a little worked up at the thought of his experience. joined some guy on the coast tryin' to start a pack, ended up fallin' in a fuckin' hole in the fuckin' ground — i was stuck in some beach cave for days. almost died.

Well, that is… unexpected, to say the least.

Jean-Pierre makes a confused noise that eases into a hum, partly attempting to soothe the obvious ruffled feathers. Whatever “death pit” meant held bad blood for Valentine. He continues his grooming, gentle in areas while nipping a bit where the knots were tough.

“Fortunately still kicking and swearing though,” he teases lightly in between licks and bites. “How did you escape?”

it's... a long story, he mutters, reluctantly allowing himself to relax further. what have you been up to? it's likely obvious he's changing the subject on purpose, but he doesn't really care. he's genuinely interested anyway; he hasn't met many like jean-pierre, and he can't help wondering what the man does with his spare time. he can only hope it's a more pleasant subject than his death pit experience.

Ah, long stories. Jean-Pierre requires exactly three dates before he releases them, so it's a perfectly acceptable response. He shrugs his shoulders and continues to groom the mess of a boy in front of him.

Oh you know, the usual wandering and making stupid decisions, he replies, unable to hold his tongue. The beige wolfdog has to get the frustration out somehow.

I joined a pack. Asterism Grove. Stupid decision number one.