Tuktu Weir nothing like a big bad bridge

With the appearance of the daylight, Henryk was awake and straying from Kingslend's new home to explore the wilderness that surrounded them. This time he was alone- unless one of his new packmates decided to try and catch up with him. But for the moment he was solitary as he approached the Weir. 

The very first thing he noticed was the potent smell of unpleasantly doused beavers permeating the otherwise crisp autumn air. The earthbound fellow hadn't known the squat rodents to be a common creature but curiously, it seemed like they thrived here in mass just by the smell alone. Edging closer to the water he could see the marvelous stacks of wood and twigs they'd accumulated, and if he squinted his hazels enough he could even make a few of them out, patches of brown waddling against the messy backdrop of muck. 

His nose crinkled ever so slightly. He couldn't imagine them tasting that good though he'd never tried, but he guessed it was something like lake-water or bog smell. No... This wouldn't turn into a hunt today. But. He would observe them from afar and take mental note... 

Should dire need ever arise, beggars couldn't be choosers, and they could provide a suitable amount of food given there were wolves talented enough to catch them.

So Henryk lay idly on his belly, hidden within the brush around the Weir. Beaver-watching.

ravinger has always been in the business of doing what he wants when he wants to.  a hedonist to a fault, he has decided that in his family's new home, he will be turning over exactly zero new leaves.  currently, he's trailing mindlessly after henryk, a wolf he isn't yet welcome with.  all that matters is that he's good-looking and not related to ravinger.  this alone is cause for the wayward bard to follow the recent pledge.  

the stink of beavers greets him rather swiftly, and a grimace crawls across his boyish features. "disgusting," he gripes childishly, a forward glance at henryk's retreating form being the only persuasion he needs to proceed.  now, ravinger has seen beavers.  he knows what they are; he's familiar with them.  however, he has never been a fan.  they smell rancid, and their tails and giant teeth just give him the creeps.  so, imagine his surprise when he realizes that the object of his attraction has settled down to... watch them.  he sighs, inwardly remarking on the heinous acts he does for pretty faces.

"nasty things," ravinger barks his cool greeting to henryk as he joins him in the brush. "about as interesting as watching fur dry." another melodramatic exhale follows, and he plops down on his hindquarters to accompany henryk, unannounced. "you're new. new faces are good. i get tired of looking at the same faces all the time." never mind that he's related to exactly 99.9% of them.

The slender man's ears perk up with the bark from behind him, his head following the movement swiftly. To his pleasant surprise, someone had indeed been tailing him up here after all. Even despite the smell, which his fellow man understandably remarked on when as he came to sit near him.

Heh. No... They're not pleasant. He agreed with the slightest of simpers. He hadn't expected anyone else to accompany him but he was pretty pleased that another from the pack wanted to get to know him. No reason he couldn't take a moment to be social right? The beavers definitely weren't going anywhere.

Although... Henryk struggled to put a name to him. So many brown faces and pelts... It definitely didn't make it easier for him to remember even as he looked him up and down. But luckily he was able to trudge something up from his mind while the ruby-eyed man spoke. Thank gods. He could definitely see what he meant by looking at the same old faces.

You're Ravinger, aren't you? He was at least 80% sure. Lessening by the moment. You're all new faces to me. It's nice to finally meet you though. 

"so you have heard of me. most wolves have," ravinger preens without hesitation, his tail swaying absentmindedly behind him as he does so.  in his mind, he knows that he's the most popular of his relatives. "i'm the grandson of the king, you know, but please, no bowing required." he assures henryk with a coquettish glance, complete with a wink.    as usual, he's laying it on think as stone.  this is how a wolf makes a good impression, as far as ravinger's concerned -- the more flamboyant and showy, the better.  how else are new wolves supposed to know what the good wolves of kingslend are like?  he has a brand to maintain.

"but enough of that. what's your name?" the slender wolf queries handsomely (that is to say, he asks the question while looking as devilishly handsome as one as beautiful as him possibly can). "we aren't related, which means you're fair game," incredibly straightforward, ravinger clicks his tongue on the verge of a wretched realization. "and don't tell me one of my cousins has already gotten to you.  that would just be awful, and a waste of your time, really.  none of them are quite as nice and lovely to be around as i. let me assure you." he flutters his lashes a little, a throaty chuckle making its way in there, too.

He chuckled amusedly, the fellow Kingslender was already proving to be quite the character- definitely a flavor spiced differently from the other Deorwines he had met so far. The chocolate-colored fellow certainly captured his attention, and it wasn't unwelcome at all. Henryk gravitated towards boisterous and charismatic wolves like a lost puppy- their excitement making up for his inherent dullness. 

Grandson of the King huh.... Wait, which one? They all looked pretty young to him, and he was pretty sure they at least weren't old enough to be grandparents. A question for another time he guessed.

Henryk! My name's Henryk. He said with a soft smile, feeling an odd warmth underneath his face as Ravinger fluttered his lashes in his direction. Had that been where the advances stopped they would have gone right over his head without a second thought- but Ravinger continued to lay it on him like a steamroller. Henryk had to sit there idle for a moment, blinking and clearly unsure how to react- really honestly not sure if he was processing what he'd said correctly. Oh he felt an anxiousness crawling up his back- the longer Ravinger looked at him the more he came to the realization that he was being... hit on?

He'd hardly ever been, let alone so straightforward.

Ha! I- um, well- His words tumbled out of his maw and fumbled over themselves pitifully, he tried to clear his throat and steady himself. I'm not taken, no. I mean did just get here, heh. He joshed with a nervous laugh.

"henryk," he tests the name on his tongue, eyes wandering as he considers the rhyming potential.  whenever he learns a new name, his first instinct is to do this.  his mind is a myriad of unchained tunes and fragmented couplets.  all he has to do is find the links that will put them together. "valiant and keen, fled a horrible regime / daring, young henryk watches beavers by the stream!" the melody is fanciful and fun, an upbeat start to what he surely intends to be an epic tale.  he sings out the lyrics he creates on the spot, much to the fright of the beavers they had once been observing.  they don't appear to be fans of ravinger's booming tenor as the beasts startle and upset one of their dams.  the bard takes no notice.

"ha! how about that?  i think i have just found another muse," he leans closer to henryk with a conspiratory smirk. "never to displease, doth stinky rodents bewitch / and thus ends our hero upend'd in a ditch!" convinced he has just composed a grammy-worthy verse, he flashes his fellow packmate an absolutely shit-eating grin. "ah, what can i say, my darling? when it comes to me, it really comes to me." ravinger, you are so cool and so brilliant, you little rascal, you. his moons over himself via inner monologue, nearly forgetting that he had been hitting on henryk.

"so you aren't spoken for? good to know! neither i am. i am what many call a free bird," cue suggestive eyebrow wiggle. "i fly from tree to tree, mingling with all the other free birds, invite them back to my nest, and... well... see what happens. the birds and the bees, and all that, you know, henryk."

A blank glance is drawn to the beavers for a moment, clearly unnerved by the wolf's droning and starting to sink back down in their dens where it was quieter. Easy come easy go in terms of his beaver-scouting plans. Henryk was, on the other hand, definitely amused and actually impressed by the man's ability to sing and his grin showed it, but he still shifted awkwardly while being sung to, very unsure how to react to being... serenaded? 

His body shrinks back a hair as he's leaned into, but he lets out a soft laugh. You sure are a good singer. He complimented with a surprising amount of pitch for him. But Ravinger was not done letting him know of his intentions.

Henryk's chartreuse eyes widened, and immediately he felt a warmth gathering under his pelt and cheeks at the suggestion the man was putting out there right in front of him. Especially when he tacked his name on the end of his sentence, a flustered shiver went down Henryk's spine. No he wasn't inexperienced with the subject, in fact he'd been with a male before- but it wasn't something he wanted to dwell on now, and for good reason. Their relationship hadn't ended well. Yet regardless his attraction did continue to lean in all directions- wolves of any gender could be found lovely by him though he was much less likely to be the first one to show it, unless he got a shotgun signal to let him know of their interest. 

Ravinger on the other hand might as well have been firing right into him, and that definitely hadn't happened before. It wasn't that he found the handsome man unattractive by any means but, jeez, they had just got each others' names down.

There was a subtle temptation underneath, whether fueled by being deprived of love for a while or simply magnetized by the fact someone found him attractive at all, but it was largely overcome by his conscience. Rav I- I'm flattered... but- Ah- He stammered, desperately trying to find a good thing to say without offending him. God he did not want to make ill relationships already. Maybe play the humor card?

H-heh. I mean at least take me to dinner first?

Immediate inward facepalm. That was not what he had in mind. Too bad though, it'd already rolled off his tongue.

As he is praised, Ravinger continues to beam.  He knows he's good, but it never hurts to hear it. "Thank you," his tone suggests he's already aware of his worth as a singer, too.  He's never exactly been shy about his talents.  Arrogance runs in the family, and he's a prime example of the power behind these genes.  To go along with his ego, he also boasts a healthy serving of ineptitude.  He is entirely unaware of the inner turmoil he's inspired (as usual).  So, when Henryk finally responds to him, he laughs loudly.

"Dinner!  Aren't you a high-class fellow?" he seems delighted. "Don't you worry, dear Henryk.  If it is dinner you want, then dinner you will have.  In the meantime, though, how about we sing a little diddy together?  You sing, yes?  If not, why, what a fateful meeting that I should find you!" Ravinger continues on full speed, clearly unperturbed or unknowing of any rift he's created between them.

Sing with him? Oh no.

He sang as every wolf sang in their own presence or humming to themselves every now and again under their breath, but the way Ravinger formed lyrics and held a steady melody? He couldn't even imagine, a coldness creeping through him at the thought of singing in front of anyone but himself. He was beginning to feel like a kid who'd just been told he had to give a presentation to the class.

Ah- He began, his companion talking so fast and enthusiastically that his brain was desperately trying to catch up. Luckily Rav didn't seem too put off by his hesitance. I don't think I'm a very good singer? Definitely not as good as you, of course- eh heh... M-maybe you could teach me something.

Cue me rolling at disadvantage to see if Henryk has hidden singing ability or destroys himself in awkwardness

Ravinger was constantly dialed to eleven.  There was no happy medium between his manic rantings or incessant laziness.  He was either up and ready to go or sleeping until two o'clock in the afternoon.  Naturally, he'd never considered that he was about too much for some wolves to take.  In his mind, he was a delight and inspired joy in others.  If a wolf was shy, he believed he could crack their shell and free them from what he assumed was a prison.

"I would love to teach you one!" he trilled eagerly, his tails and tail standing up. "I think it's a good time for a fun song, or - well - at least I think it's fun." He chuckled to himself.  He'd been told in the past that his sense of humor was too ripe -- whatever that meant (only the High Elk knew, probably). "A song about... partaking in forbidden fruits." Wink wink. It's a song about fermented treats.

Ravinger cleared his throat:

"The white wolves have their nasty brew
Made of piss and bile
The sinners eat their bugs and twigs
And everything so vile

But those of us who walk the woods
Know life's greatest pleasure
Is strictly sweet, a tasty treat
It's moon sugar that we treasure

Fields drenched in moonlight
Dewed with summer rain
Brilliant green and growing tall
Sweet moon-sugar cane!
Sweet moon-sugar cane!"

Henryk's teeth shown in a large awkward grin while the man sang, horribly unsure what to do with his body as Ravinger sang his tune. Catchy as it was- he had to admit- should he sing along? Initially he tapped his paw with the rhythm, but if this was indeed a lesson of sorts would he expect him to sing back? Oh gods... No he'd much rather sing in unison with someone than sing alone in front of someone, he couldn't come up with lyrics on the fly. But he also didn't know the words and couldn't pretend to, so instead he quietly hummed along with the general melody. 

And the end of it he rose on his haunches and brought up his front paws, clapping his pads together twice before thumping them back on the ground, wagging his tail. Catchy! Question though... What is moon-sugar cane? It definitely wasn't something he'd ever had the pleasure of trying. Though he definitely wasn't virgin to fermented treats.

As always, Ravinger relished in the attention.  He grinned, all teeth, and allowed his own tail to wag.  It never got old, performing in front of other wolves.  He would never understand the need to practice brute strength or cunning when he could merely use his voice.  Singing songs and making wolves laugh was much more interesting than scarring their minds or bodies.  

"Never had it, actually," he confessed when pressed on what moon sugar cane was. "I've heard that it's a fermented delicacy in a land far from this place.  We never had it back in old Kingslend, either, see, but one of my mentors came from a distant territory where they did," Ravinger cocked his head to the side, brows lifting. "Where did you roam before you joined us, Henryk?"