★_★【Mason The Lycanthrope "Noble"】★_★ ✯☠
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A sleight of laughter echoed within the slightly narrow halls of the upper level of the tavern, obviously belonging to a female of sorts. Her fill of irony and sauntering gazes were only for the productive nights, and lust filled mornings. However, her professionalism needed some work, and what better a teacher than Mason? No one. Another man stood beside him, while he leaned with his back against the wall, and explained several terms to go over. Mason's eyes hid under his hood, the new wardrobe to disguise his nobility and appear the commoner. His sword held within its own sheathe, the golden tipped rod placed on his hip/ He simply observed from the back wall, silent, and in denial. His recent transformation had left him with extreme guilt, the knowledge of having lost control now tampering with his human self. Recent memory had been cleansed, though the senses of battle and the taste of blood lingered strongly. He crossed his arms as the two chatted amongst themselves, realizing that his friend was only an acquaintance, trying to persuade the lady to be bedded. He could see it wouldn't happen, since the girl only replied with snide comments and subtle rejection methods. It was then did she look to Mason, and wondered what was going on in the Lycan's mind. "Hey, Mace... something the matter? You looked depressed, or something." She wasn't too far off, though her curiosity was only granted the opportunity of confusion. "I... changed, today. Earlier." He replied, refusing to make any form of eye contact.
Both friends gasped simultaneously, almost alerting Mason of the severity of his words. They questioned whether or not if he remembered his beastly events, or if he could feel any residual pain. He denied both questions, as it was still a sensitive subject. Despite Mason' lack of memory, he could still see flashes throughout his beat mind, the lycan the looking up to see a woman heading up the stairs. The area around him slowed, only his heartbeat being the sound and feeling having to rush through him. However, what felt like minutes only lasted a split second, his eyes flashing brightly as the scent of a familiar individual filled his nose. It was easily recognizable, though he deftly avoided dwelling upon it. Memories usually led to stress-induced transformations, ones he could seldom control. He shook his head slightly, and jarred his mind from the red headed woman who seemed to drunk to think straight. he could tell she was intoxicated, just by the way her movements were slowed, as assumed her reaction time as well. He took the opportunity to hide his eyes, lest the female notice and doing anything to provoke his involvement. he hoped that she would simply get to her room, and sleep, as everyone else who came upstairs to do... among other things.
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