Greatwater Lake Scrawny Motherfucker with a Cool Hairstyle

His paws are getting itchy. Look, Aleister's doing pretty well, considering he left all he's ever known behind- which he's well aware, thank you, was his own decision, and he fucking stands by it, alright, it's not an excuse, just a fact- he's doing pretty great, actually. He's not died yet, which is a feat in itself, he's been able to feed himself well-enough that he doesn't feel starvation will set its claws into him anytime soon, and he hasn't had a full mental-collapse so. Aleister is doing pretty well. It's just- his paws are really itchy.
 
Really. Itchy. 

He's not quite certain when exactly it began, the hours have been blurring together for him, dripping into each other as he crosses the flat plain. His vision is his greatest asset, and it's been a phenomenal guide, but the land is so devoid of any semblance of a personality that the young man is beginning to believe perhaps he's ventured into some place where time loops and he'll never find his way out of these damn plains. Anyway, his paws are really itchy and he has no marker for exactly where it began. It could be allergies, or just them acclimating to new terrain, he doesn't really know. But it's bugging the hell out of him.

The pallid boy has taking to nipping at his paws in between every few steps, trying to gain some minute bit of relief from the unrelenting little fires that have been lit upon his delicate paw pads, and it's getting fucking tedious. He's pulling his head up from another hasty bite when a shimmer in the distance catches his eye. His head snaps towards the view immediately, spine prickling with anticipation. Water. Without so much as a second of hesitation, he's sprinting towards it, breath huffing with his effort to make it to something not fucking dirt and grass. 

He's thoroughly winded by the time he reaches the bank, and his eyes are stinging from the bite of the breeze that's assaulted his face, but his paws aren't itching anymore and he's not sure he's ever been so grateful for water in his life. He meets his own gaze in the ripples, examining his dirty face with care for a moment, the expanse of sky above him. He can't remember the last time his fur got so messy. An unthinkable joy blossoms in his chest, and he feels hs throat vibrate softly. He's becoming.

@Clarence

His paws are getting itchy, but not in the physical way. He's been stuck in the Haunted Woods for weeks now, healing from those cats and then, later, Ursus. The cats had left scars to add to the topographical map networking his entire body. It wasn't pretty, no, but it wasn't like Clarence was the most vain canid in the world anyway. Perhaps it would make him look cool, like Santiago, who he'd been... admittedly not clinging to in the way he used to. This newfound independence was empowering him, and he felt like he didn't need to lean on the older wolf as much anymore. 

It wasn't that he didn't love Santiago, anymore. It was simply that he felt stronger, more capable, like he could care for himself now.

And it was this sense of empowerment that had him wandering further than he'd wandered on his own in a while. But no one was depending on him back home at the moment, and he liked this freedom. 

The plains were open and beautiful, and Clarence greatly enjoyed the walk to the lake. He was tough, however, used to pain and discomfort, so the rough terrain did not bother him. Still, he was excited when he saw the water, curled tail waving and red eyes alighting upon the water. He picked up the pace. 

He slowed once again when he saw the figure on the bank. 

After fighting opponents for so long in the cages, Clarence had learned well to size up potential threats. This one was almost the exact size and shape of himself, but perhaps a bit more... thin? Dainty? Very pretty, with messy white fur that had the boy staring for maybe a second or two too long. The being before him was just interesting. 

"Hello!" he called after a moment, trotting up the bank toward the other wolfdog - a boy, he thought. Fortunately for the other, he was not approaching from behind, but rather the side, so that he was not likely to sneak up on him.

It doesn't take long for the lure of the water to pull him in, the boy distracted enough by his own little epihany that he tucks his face into the ripples just as the other begins to make their way into a place of possible visibility, causing him to miss to miss the stranger altogether. The water is an escape place for Aleister, he thinks. It's another of those moments where he can pretend that he's got every piece of himself. He thinks he remembers it being mute underwater, at least. His memory of it is fading a bit, perhaps. The thought is terrifying. 

He holds his snippets of sound dear to him, replays them in his mind and tastes the words he knows how to formulate on his tongue regularly. He can't lose them. He can't. They're the only bits he has that make him feel like he has a chance of normally communicating with outsiders to at least some tragically small extent. Yet in a way, he supposes, they're horribly isolating. They're awful because if he thinks too hard he sometimes realizes that the things he dubs the most normal parts of him are things he can only half-experience. Maybe-

There's movement. 

The boy's head yanks up immediately, air rushing into his lungs and his eyes flicking open, but his vision is slightly blurred by the water and he begins to panic. Fucking idiot- should've kept his head up until he got an idea of if there was anyone near. He backpedals slightly and blinks hard several times, is certain now that the figure is a canine of some sort, and they're not moving fast, which is good. His breath comes in short inhales as he takes a few steps more back, before shaking his head and clearing his vision completely. His eyes focus on the new face, and his hackles lower slightly- they- he?- doesn't look to have harmful intentions. The boy, he believes, is pale like him, but shadows laze over his body in charcoal pools, catching the ghost's eye. He's got a distinctly wolfish face, but he must be part dog. It takes one to know one. He meet the stranger's vermillion gaze again, muscles still taut as he cocks his head in a question, water dripping from his fur. He makes a low buzz from his throat, inquisitive but on alert should he need to get away.

The boy seemed to be having fun in the water, and Clarence thought that maybe it would be a good idea to join him, when the other wolf reacted to his presence.

Oh, oops. He scared the stranger. Clarence didn't think of himself as too intimidating, but he had scars all over him, and he did guess that he was probably too friendly for most wolves' comfort. Still, he didn't think he warranted a reaction quite like this from the other boy. It seemed extreme, in his opinion, but he wasn't one to judge. 

The spotted boy stopped in his tracks, letting the other back away and put as much distance between them as he wanted. After all, he certainly didn't want to frighten the other wolf. Perhaps they could be friends, if he could overcome this particular hurdle. 

A smile spread across his maw and his curled tail waved near his hocks, and an idea sprung to mind. Clarence rolled onto the pebbly shore, onto his back, and his tail wagged a bit harder. "I'm not scary," he announced, looking upside-down at the other boy. "See?" It didn't occur to him that the other might not be able to hear him. After all, he'd never met a deaf wolf.

The wolfdog is definitely not a threat.
Aleister watches the boy carefully for a moment as he tumbles over, his eyes scanning the spotted wolf's face as his maw begins to move. Silence. Always, silence. The pale boy closes his eyes for a brief moment, using the chill of the water still driping from his fur to attempt to center himself the best he can before glancing back to the other. He isn't quite sure yet how he's going to go about this, but he knows that he doesn't want to start it with a resentful mind. It's not the stranger's fault he's whole.

Aleister never likes this part. It's the part that makes him feel alien above anything else. Maybe if it wasn't part of the whole you-can't-fucking-hear-anymore thing, maybe then it wouldn't be so bad. But it is. It is and he hates it. That he has to communicate like he's some other sort of- It's easier when he has a system. It's better when he has someone who can just tell those who try to communicate with him that he's unreachable so that they just leave and he can pretend like he's normal. It's not that Aleister isnt a social creature, no it's just.It feels like there's no point when they always end up giving up anyway.

But he's becoming, so.

He shakes his head in response to the boy's moving lips, smiling apologetically and giving his tail a soft wag- that's a start. His eyes meet the others and he blinks carefully, trying to make sure the stranger is watching him before he lowers his head to the ground, pressing the side of his face down with his ear brushing the ground. He's still watching the boy, his eyes briefly flickery over his body, the scars that run through his pelt, before he refocuses. The position is quite uncomfortable- he's bent in a way that's not dissimilar to a play boy- but the little dove manages to raise his paw and scuff lightly over his ear, brow furrowing as he watches for a reaction from the new face. He does it again and then attempts to shake his head from where he's bent, praying that he's managed to get something across.

When the other boy relaxed, Clarence rolled back onto his stomach and offered him a smile, hoping to keep him at ease. He was nothing to worry about, after all - Clarence was not a threat, in this mindspace. If they were both fortunate, they would not ever experience that side of him again. But that was just wishful thinking, the piebald boy considered. Was he recovering? Yes, he was. Did that mean he'd never have an incident again? It did not. 

Clarence was eased from his thinking by the stranger's behavior. 

His first thought was that doesn't look like a comfortable position, but that quickly became irrelevant when the question of why? rose in his mind. People didn't just do things for no reason, after all, did they? So there had to be a reason. It was up to Clarence to figure out what that was. 

Crimson eyes narrowed as he watched the display. Did the boy's back hurt? His head? His ears? It was becoming obvious that the problem here was with his ears. He tipped his head to the side and frowned when his own ear flopped over. 

After a moment of wracking his brain for an answer, it occurred to the boy that the stranger had yet to say a word. Maybe he didn't talk. But what did that have to do with...

Oh! 

The reason why hit him all at once. He couldn't hear. Maybe it was that Clarence needed to communicate differently. Maybe that was what the boy needed. The Nightwalker's tail wagged more furiously and he padded forward, dropping his own chest to the ground and flicking his ears deliberately. A lot of communication was nonverbal, anyway. He certainly didn't mind putting in a bit more effort.

Aleister had resigned himself to the belief many moons ago that expecting others to understand him ever again was a fool's dream. The piebald boy seemed to be proving him wrong.

Initially, as the stranger begins to walk closer, Aleister is certain that the man is misunderstanding him and he huffs out a harsh breath, narrowing his eyes and beginning to raise from his former position. Just as he had begins to turn away, ready to start off in the opposite direction, a movement from the stranger catches his eye. He was..what the fuck is he doing? Is he- is he mocking him? Aleister lip curls slightly, he's gonna give this bastard hell if he-

He's touching his ears.
He's touching his ears.

Aleister's silver gaze meets the other's eyes immediately, flicking back and forth between his ears and his paws every few seconds. It's not- he can't...is he? The movement becomes even clearer, and Aleister realizes he has no clue what to do next. This never...This is happening.
He nods frantically, like a crazed man, his eyelashes fluttering rapidly as a disbelieving grin breaks from his maw. He's still in shock, and he can feel the high thrum produced from his throat as he smiles down at the boy. Before he can stop himself, he's stepping forward closer to the boy, his tail wagging rapidly, and he decides. He may as well.

Carefully, gently, slowly, he tries.
His name.
He knows it. He knows it better than he knows any of the snippets of words he keeps pressed inside the walls of his throat, and he holds it dear to him, but he thinks he can share it now.
He does.

Wait, really? Disbelief rendered Clarence stunned for a moment - had he really gotten it right, on the first try? He almost couldn't believe it himself, but the other boy was nodding his head and seemed really relieved, and Clarence felt warmth bloom in his chest. Red eyes widened at the reaction, and he was briefly silent, trying to consider what to do. 

But then the other boy spoke. 

One word, a name probably - Aleister. It was pretty, he thought, and repeated it aloud even though the boy wasn't going to hear it. 

Aleister stepped forward, obviously excited, and that was contagious. Clarence's own tail waved like a banner and he play bowed momentarily before popping back up, brows drawn together in sudden confusion. Because he had an important question. 

How was he going to tell this boy his name?

The thought of going nameless was not a new concept to him, but he would really rather not if he could help it. 

So, dumbly, he tried saying his name very slowly. "Claaaaaarennnnnce," he drawled out, hoping by some miracle that Aleister would understand what he meant.

Aleister is buzzing. His eyes light up as he watches the boy mouth what he's almost certain is his own name- and he can almost hear it as it spills from the stranger's maw. It's a pivotal moment for him, he thinks. He's shared his name.

He doesn't have time to dwell on the notion, though, because the other is trying to say something to him. He tries not to dwell on that, either. Aleister is going to have a lot of things to freak out about later. He glances down from the ruby eyes set into the spotted wolfdog's face down to his mouth as he drawls out a word. The word seems to drip along like molasses as he speaks, and the little ghost is near-certain now that he's trying to sound it out for him. Gods it's not like pronnunciation's gonna do much for him anyway.

Aleister's ears flick slightly, a subtle annoyance buzzing in him before he forces it away. He has no right to be frustrated with the piebald boy, he's trying. That's what counts. Nonetheless, Aleister intends to communicate clearly. He shakes his head briskly, meeting the boy's eyes again before repeating his name once more, the sylables concise and crisp, before motioning with his nose in the boy's direction, eyes expectant and encouraging.

Oh, this was cool. Clarence hadn't really known it was possible to communicate with someone without words. And it made the other boy so happy, too. Aleister, his mind supplied as he looked the other wolf over. His curled tail wagged languidly behind him, pleased with his own ability to make the ghostly boy happy, when Aleister spoke again. 

Repeated his name.

Did he wanted Clarence to say his name again?

"Aleister," he echoed, wagging tail picking up a bit more speed. Then, he decided to take some initiative. He couldn't do a lot of physical activity right now, but he wanted to try to play regardless. He dropped his chest to the ground and bounced a bit, approaching the other boy and nudging his shoulder before gesturing to the water. That was what he was doing before, right?

This boy, however nameless he may be at the moment, is intruiging. He's got a sort of youthful excitement about him that fills Aleister with a new energy. A hope, perhaps, for the future- for his future. Though his brow furrows when the boy repeats Aleister's name once again, the slight frown is quickly overtaken with a curious surprise as the boy moves forward and touches his shoulder. Depsite the fleeting nature of it, Aleister finds himself leaning subtly into the brief nudge- he can't remember the last time he felt another's pelt against his own. The thought is alarming.

He's distracted from mulling over it though as the young man begins to gesture to the lake before them. Aleister's eyes flick hesitantly towards the other's. Does he want to...swim? Or something? He cocks his head slightly but starts to pad softly towards the water nonetheless, keeping his head cast slightly to the side so he can observe the spotty boy, giving him an odd appearance as he walks- as though he's shuffling. Once his tose touch the water, he makes a full turn around his pearly gaze tracking every subtle tick in his body language as he awaits some sort of semblance of an answer.