Haunted Wood Watch My Swagger

8°, currently it is misty and set during the night. Located in Haunted Woods, wretched timberland | tagging: @Hela

For no particular reason, Abaddon had begun roaming the haunted woods more and more. There was no telling how much longer he would stick around for, perhaps just a little longer for the famine's sake, but he was looking forward to perhaps going out and meeting others. There had to be less aggressive wolves out there, others he can manipulate easier to let him satisfy that thirst of his from time to time than to worry about snapping teeth wrecking the one and only face he had. How terrible would that be if one of father's little minions would put a blasphemous scar on his alluring face?

He held a certain swagger in his step, tail slightly curled over his haunches, not enough to challenge for any rank - but certainly high enough to tell all that he was under no one's thumb. He wandered the mist with a hum on his tongue. The fog was so thick he could barely see the outlines of the trees around him - there was one thing for certain that he would miss about his father's little group here, it was the lands he claimed. The fog that always seemed to hug the trees was damn well appealing. Too bad it fucking smelled like his pops all the time.

the wolf is a tough one to track in the fog, but the girl is fed up entirely with the scents he leaves scattered around the territory with no explanation, and the way they seem to leave the territory as soon as she thinks to track them. this time, she wastes no time and sets off after the freshest trail the moment she becomes aware of it. once, twice, does she zero in on silhouettes in the fog onto to find oddly-shaped thickets, or nothing at all. 

but this time, the shadow she chases is flesh and blood. she moves within earshot, carefully guarded should he turn out to be a threat. "who're you?" she demanded, already at a disadvantage. while most of his figure was well hidden amidst the fog, she, dark and red, stood out especially.

He moved with the fog. Light steps making no sound in comparison to his father's heavy footfalls. Unlike Vengeance, Abaddon had no notable scent, he was indistinguishable other than his own personal perfume, he smelled of nothing in comparison to the Warlord and wandered through the woods like nothing other than a specter. He was in no rush, he meandered along atop silent feet, steps swaying to and fro while his tail danced behind him in rhythm along with the tune he hummed. 

It was the voice of a young girl who caught his attention. Ears twisting into her direction as he paused and grew silent for a moment... then, suddenly he whipped around. Movements liquid and fluid as if mimicking the fog itself around him, his frame almost disappearing into the mist except for those two dark circles, with fire and ice carving a way through the mist and onto the girl. Can't you tell the family resemblance? he paused for a moment, letting the girl ponder his question first before answering it himself. I am your Warlord's only living specimen - well, biologically linked at least. 

He took a couple of steps forward, his toes dancing along the ground in a deaf tone, swaying with the smog as though he himself was a ghost within, slowly devouring the distance between them while swallowing her whole with those big black orbs. And who, are you?

his answer is vague and answers about none of her questions. she's not entirely surprised to learn that Vengeance has relatives, though it seems odd for a man like him to have any ties. she's immediately disdainful of the man; he uses far to many words to make his point. "that's it? a relative?" it's not that much of a thing to be at all. 

he echoes her question, and she responded in turn. "I'm a girl. a warrior." she'll give him her name when he gives him hers, and while the black-rimmed eyes are unsettling, the vague outlines of his figure moreso, she holds her ground.

Hurtful. he cooes. But he would agree - even to him being related to Vengeance wasn't much of anything, he just aired out that bag for the fun of it. Spilling his name meant very little, he thought perhaps sharing his bloodline made him a little more important, more significant than some wretch who wandered into their woods every so often. Apparently not. 

Oh? You must be quite brave. Is that why you came to question me? Girl. He teases using her gender as she introduced herself. Putting weight on the word at the very end while watching her every movement. He had no real plans right now, no ideas floating around that noggin of his - he was simply "winging it" as most would say. What would come of this? 

Most likely nothing. 

But maybe something?

So? What do you think? What's your plan? Tilting his head to one side, he watched her with wide eyes, childlike almost in its faux innocence he played. 

he doesn't seem much like vengeance in the slightest. save for his size, the carve of his face, the burn of his gaze. and still, she does not believe that bloodlines offer one any significance.

you are melonii. this place is your birthright

she did not want it. not if that place had killed her mother, not when Eyes had told her to run. he's speaking again, and she does not deign to reply. his next response irritates her further, if only to point out the fact that she's woefully unprepared. unwilling to admit this, she states instead, "I think you use ask a lot of questions and don't answer any." shifting her weight, far too stubborn to give up yet, she presses, "what's your name? why are you here?" he's unnerving, and some part of her wants to turn in the opposite direction, which only fuels her spite.

"I think you use to ask a lot of questions and don't answer any." Well, she was right. The Ghostly figure only answered when he felt like it when it offered any use to him in the long run - and frankly, he was having more fun dancing around the subject instead. Her questions continued. And his little game did too. 

I am the destroyer, The Angel of Death! For those who knew anything of lore from where he came from, from where Vengeance and he had slithered from - he was Abaddon. The key to the abyss. To get closer to my father of course... well- He dawdled on. I'm still on the verge of joining or not, getting to know his followers, you, might make up my mind. He lied. 

The young Rache had no intention of joining. Eventually, Vengeance would grow tired of his games too and revoke his welcome to wander the Haunted Woods, but until then, he would enjoy this until that day. So far... I'm intrigued. His eyes lingered on the young girl - she was almost the right age. They were only separated by a year in sexual maturity, but hell, she was so close.

He could imagine what her blood would taste like... so sweet. 

It made his mouth water. 

his proclamation was greeted only by a narrowing of eyes and a stiff lash of her tail, quickly growing tired of the man. the way he continually evaded her questions irritated her, and apparent inability to make up his mind even more so. deciding she'd had quite enough, she offered, "choose, then. stop hanging around." in truth, it unsettled her that this man could not be easily defined, as she could so easily the rest of her ppackmates. had she been bigger, ranked higher, she'd have tried to run him out there and then. but she was little more than an angry pup, and so she turned tail and returned the same way she'd come, left with more questions than answers.

He didn't answer or reply at all as she gave him a cold goodbye. Instead, he grinned. Only thinking, I don't think so. Not until I'm ready. As if he had more control over the situation than anyone else. As if his say weighed more than the wolves who called the fog home. As she disappeared into the mist, he turned back on his heels and continued on his path - toward the pit where he had heard they had a new visitor - a couple of them actually. A while and a black female. How interesting. 

Even if the pack members here didn't like him, he could play around with the captives at least. He doubted anyone would care if he did so anyway.