『 𝖱𝖤𝖣𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇! 』× private

[Xx-Kishio-xX]

This thread is for Xx-Kishio-xX and Lady March Hare!
DO NOT POST!
Kthnx.

Graphics coming soon...

[Lady March Hare]

vows are spoken To be broken
to be broken
feelings are intense Words are trivial
words are trivial
✽ feelings are intense
✽ fee lings are intense
✽ feelings are intense
✽ flings are intense
✽ fls are intense
✽ fl are intense
✽ fls are intense

❝ Hey, Piper! ❞
wearing humming home
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Click Click Click Click Click Click

It was a pen that was making that noise, and it was annoying. Piper knew that. The nervous clickings of a pen retracting and and releasing the mechanisms that held the ballpoint in place were one of the things that would always, without fail, distract her during lectures. No matter how much other noise was going on around her, no matter the whispers or the sounds leaking in through the windows, it was always the clicking of the pen that managed to best grate on her nerves. In fact, just listening to it now was getting on her nerves, even though she herself was the source of the noise. The pen was laced between her fingers, its ever appearing and disappearing tip hovering over the prim stack of paperwork spread out across her desk. Perched in her computer chair, the blonde leaned her elbow on the desk and pushed her bangs back from her hair with a palm and studied the papers that stared up at her.

"Focus, Piper." she said to the empty room, hoping the sound of her own voice would shock her out of the sudden lethargy that had settled itself across her shoulders at the sight of those papers.

It didn't.

Sighing, Piper allowed her pen to drop with a muffled thump atop the papers and leaned back in her chair with a prolonged sigh. Her head was buzzing, her mind filled with tight little lines of black font that spoke of requirements and recommendation demands; application after application, they all said the same things. It was mind numbing to have to go through each and every one of them, but if her mother found out that she'd skipped such a step and signed documents without reading them, she'd have a cow. A career attorney, Piper had a feeling that the lawyer would loose her maternal tone in favor of a stern lecture. Which the blue eyed girl could clearly do without.

"For real, Piper. These applications won't fill out themselves." she ordered herself, leaning forward again.

College. College. High school had flown by in a blurred whirl of activities and grades delivered in a variety of colored inks; before Piper had time to blink, people had started talking to her about college. Where was she thinking of applying? Had she already met with any deans? Toured any campuses? Did she know what she wanted to major in? Minor in? Was she going to follow in her father's footsteps to be an alum at this Ivy League university, or was she going to follow her mother's to be an alum at that Ivy League university? Had she decided to join any sororities -- had she been invited to any interest parties? Had she been doing her networking, schmoozing with her father's business partners and her mother's high class socialites whose brother's wife's second cousin could help brush aside any pesky roadblocks in the acceptance process?

The answer to all of those questions was no, unless no wasn't applicable, of course. Piper hadn't told the councilors, friends, and relatives that had asked that exactly; she had been making due with smiling, nodding, laughing nervously, or talking around the topic, about just how many colleges there were out there these days, and just how exciting the world of education was getting, and just how many opportunities there were out there. Usually she could talk enough and completely distract whoever was asking from the subject completely. It was an avoidance technique, used to keep herself from deciding anything definite or from being put on the spot. Because the truth was, Piper had hardly given a thought to college until it was so abruptly pushed to the forefront of her mind. Oh, it wasn't that she hadn't given any thought to attending college; she had. She was one of two daughters of a very rich, very well educated family. She and her sister were not only inheriting wealth, but the requirements to be as impressive as possible, to attend some highly accredited university and saunter away with a mildly impressive degree and, most importantly, to accomplish that ever-important networking whilst within the ivory walls of education, meeting people who one could tap for favors or opportunities in the future. It was a tried and true process, rigid and simplified to a step-by-step procedure. All she had to do was fill out a few applications, making sure to include one from each of her parent's graduation institutions, mail them in, and allow money, prestige, and 'who you know' do the rest.

There was only one problem: Piper didn't know what she wanted to do with her life. She had never been one of those kids that had a whole slew of careers they wanted to undertake; in fact, if she remembered correctly, the very first thing she wanted to be as a child was a zebra. Seeing as that was impossible even for the ridiculously rich, she had let that particular ambition die. But she had no other ambition to replace it with. Piper wasn't one of those people who had a calling; no career, no cause, no path had opened itself up to her like it seemed to for other people. This had never bothered her before: she was rich, what need did she have to work? But in the face of these uniform applications, she suddenly felt listless and ungrounded. What sort of person went their life without knowing what they wanted to do with it? Of course, she wasn't the only young person on the cusp of entering college who had no end destination in sight. There were countless other heirs of fortunes who did not know what they were going to do with their lives. But Piper had the funny feeling that they weren't as concerned with this conclusion as she was, perhaps because they knew with certainty that they had been groomed to go into family businesses, perhaps because they were a little more put together then Piper herself. Either way, when she mentioned her mental agitation to her school friends, they shrugged it off with a laugh. Apparently, Piper was being ridiculous, worrying about such things.

'I can't keep thinking about this.' she groaned to herself, running fingers over her scalp therapeutically. 'It's going to drive me nuts!'

There was only one conclusion she could reach: she would fill out every single one of those applications. Wherever she was accepted... well, that is where she would attend. That made her uneasy, but she tried to put it from her mind. Since she had no personal say, and since there seemed to be equal pulls from all sides, she could leave her future up to fate. It almost made her laugh; her mother wouldn't like such talk. Well, obviously, Piper just couldn't tell her. She would talk to her sister about it instead; there was no better advice then that of a sister, after all. Piper's lips quirked into a smile at the very thought. Desperate for a distraction, she kneaded her knuckles into her eyes and pushed back from her desk, untangling her legs from one another and planting them on the carpet before getting to her feet.

Wasn't there something that was supposed to be happening today? Somebody coming to visit, or someone mother and father wanted them to meet? Piper couldn't quite remember; her mind had been far away in the world of great next steps. She'd been holed up in her room for too long; it was about time for her to emerge and remind herself as to what was going on. Moving barefooted to the door, she flung it open with abandon and inched into the hall. Where was everyone, anyway? Shrugging to herself, Piper closed her door behind her and moved to find her sister.


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pleasures remain

so does the pain

words are meaningless

and forgettable

[Lady March Hare]

Who's afraid of the big bad wolfXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXBig bad wolf, big bad wolf?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXbig bad wolf?
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
Tra la la la la
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXCame the day when fate did frown
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAnd the wolf blew into town
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXミ
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXㄨ 彡
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX彡 ㄨ
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXミ ミ
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXㄨ

❝ It's me, Dorian! ❞
wearing | humming | michael's study
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"You are sure about this, aren't you?"

He spoke in a murmur, casting his gray eyes around the room in a slow, analytical manner. Perhaps such a low tone wasn't really necessary; the room was quiet, and he was one of only two bodies that inhabited the space, so there was no fear of being misheard. But the young man that sat awkwardly in the chair before the cherry-wood desk felt the urge to speak quietly just the same. There was something about the expensive fabric that made up the drapes, the ornate carvings along even the simple chair on which he sat, and the library of ancient and valuable texts that lined the back wall that not only made him feel uncomfortably out of place, but that demanded some sort of reverent silence. It was like being in a museum or a library; one was to speak in a soft, considerate tone, and for god's sake, he wasn't supposed to touch anything.

A chuckle answered his words, and the young man's companion looked past his reflection to study the uneasy youth by his mirror image. An older man who was flirting with forty, he was olive skinned with dark, sympathetic eyes and a wide, natural smile that barely hid perfectly white teeth. His hair was dark and with a natural curl, just starting to fleck with gray at the temples that he made no effort to hide, and his clothing, though relatively simple, was of high quality.

"Of course, I'm sure." the man replied with cool confidence as he returned his attention to the straightening of his tie. "Why do you ask? You aren't second guessing me, are you, Dorian?"

Dorian, so uncomfortable surrounded by subtle shows of great wealth, scoffed softly, looking down at his calloused hands. "Of course not." he muttered. "It's just... well... this is a big deal. A really big deal. I'm just not sure you've thought it through completely, that's all."

"Well, it's a little late to mention that. The papers are already signed! As far as the courts are concerned, you're a Brewster now."

"Michael..." Dorian started in slight exasperation, the laughter in the elder man's tone doing nothing to reassure him.

"What's this? I thought you were going to call me 'dad' from now on. That's why I'm adopting you, you know. I'm greatly looking forward to having a son to call me 'father' before dignified ladies. It will make me look equally dignified, with just a dash of responsible. They won't be able to resist me."

"See, when you joke around like that, I can't tell when you're being serious." Dorian replied dryly.

"You're way too young to be so cynical." Michael laughed, turning from the small mirror hanging on his wall and bracing his back against it. The older man displayed none of the younger's anxiety about being surrounded with shows of wealth; he had been born and bred to money, and his study wasn't even the most lavish of the rooms in his spacious home. It was a serious moment, but when Michael traced his eyes over Dorian's form, with his back hunched so that he could rest his elbows on his knees, his expression uneasy, and his dark eyes so serious, Michael's lips twitched up into a grin on pure instinct. Sure, he understood why Dorian was worried: it was because he was a worrywart. "Look, stop worrying. Sure, taking you under my wing isn't the most popular thing I've ever done. But the Elders will get over it. What are they going to do, sue me?"

Dorian shook his head slowly; his newly obtained benefactor was still far too cavalier for his tastes. His adoption was unusual, even without his extraordinary circumstances. He was a good deal older then most people who found themselves adopted; he was over the age of accountability by far, and he was completely capable of taking care of himself. He wasn't like some of his kind, that ran wild, slaves to their changes and slaves to the occasional full moon. A great deal of time had been invested in studying humanity in general, in making sure that he could blend in just as well as any human, like he was one of them. Of all of the werewolves that he had met, Dorian was proud to say that he had, thus far, been one of the most savvy. He was used to being in his element. Of course, now that was turned completely on its head. It had started with the death of his pack. There were a great many werewolves in the world, he supposed, with packs of varying sizes, but his had been a small one, consisting of only five members. They had been a tight-knit group; he had nothing but fond memories of the lot of them. But apparently one or all of them had walked under a ladder, broken a mirror, or hung a horseshoe in the wrong direction, for their small pack had been an unlucky one. One thing had led to another, and he'd ended up as a wolf alone. At first he'd figured that such an occurrence would call for leaving town, but then Michael, an unexpected friend that Dorian had known for several years, gave him a surprising offer. Michael was rich and successful with a string of ex-wives, but no heirs; he had little patience for children in general. So when the idea to adopt his young friend as his own entered his head, the man had acted automatically. Michael Brewster was a shrewd businessman, an economic genius, a societal expert... but sometime he made Dorian wonder. Like in this particular situation...

"Are you sure about that?" Dorian asked. "Your Elders are... not the most understanding bunch of humans I've ever met. If I understood them clearly --and I'm pretty sure I did-- they weren't too fond of one of their own adopting a werewolf. They were even less fond of you calling me your son."

"That they were." Michael replied fondly, suppressing another chuckle. "Nearly gave the old boys a coronary, that did. But seriously, don't worry about them. There are a lot of benefits of being rich and powerful; getting to adopt whoever I damn well please is one of them." Finally satisfied with appearance, he turned to observe his adopted son critically. "Enough of that talk; we have more pressing matters to attend to. Aren't you going to change your clothes?"

"Why should I?" Dorian countered, the slightest bit of stubbornness entering his tone.

"Well, I'd like you to make a good impression." Michael said, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. "This family I'm going to introduce you to is one of the best I know. I've known the father since our university days, and I was the best man at their wedding. And their kids are just great. They're around your age; really friendly."

"So you've told me." Dorian agreed flatly. "I just don't think this is the best idea, Michael. I mean, I'm used to being around humans. It's not like I'm going to be any trouble or anything..."

"I know that." Michael chuckled.

"But I feel like this might be pushing it." Dorian continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Normal humans, I can get along with just fine. But these rich people... I don't know anything about how to act around rich people. Other then you, I mean. I'm probably just going to end up embarrassing you. And since that's going to happen anyway, then why don't we just wait for it to happen on its own? Why rush things?"

"Such a pessimist! Look, you need to learn how to adapt to high society at some point. Take this as a learning experience." he added as he moved to pat Dorian's shoulder. "Well, I guess if you're comfortable showing up looking scruffy, I won't stop you. You should know by now that I'm not that easy to embarrass. So, let's get going, hmm?"

Another sound pat on the shoulder, and Michael released his adopted son and moved towards the door. Understanding the silent cue, Dorian lifted a hand to rub at his temples and, with a small sigh, rose to his feet. He wasn't enthusiastic about meeting yet another clutch of snobby rich people, but he wasn't really in a position to argue. His kind usually weren't in the position to openly do such a thing; he reminded himself of this and tried to take it all in as an experience for the species. Besides, he really hadn't had anything more constructive planned for the afternoon; might as well surrender to Michael's whims. So he followed the older man through the ornate halls of the townhouse Michael loved best out to the front of the home where an expensive sports car waited. There was no driver; Michael was fond of driving himself. The man took the wheel and Dorian slid into the passenger's seat without complaint, settling into the worn leather with a small sigh.

'Might as well get this all over with.'



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Who's afraid of the big bad wolf

Big bad wolf, big bad wolf?

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

Tra la la la la

[Xx-Kishio-xX]

xxx xxx

xx WHAT IF THIS xx ↘ ↘
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx &! xi WHOLE CRUSADE'S A CHARADE
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx &! xi WHOLE CRUSADE'S A CHARADE
xxxxxxxx ████████████████████ xix ✄
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx ✖ BEHIND IT ALL THERE'S
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx✖ A PRICE TO BE PAID

For as long as she could remember, the woods behind the incredibly grandeur mansion she called home had always been off limits. 'Don't go into the woods, Hailey,' Uncle Mike used to say. 'Scary monsters could be lurking about out there.'

At the time it was enough to deflect her from wandering too close to the forest line. After all, she had only been five and believed in such things. Now, at the ripe age of twenty, she was wise to the adults ploys and had been for quite some time. Since puberty, she had figured out what Uncle Mike referred to as 'monsters' were probably kidnappers. Coming from an extremely wealthy family, she and her sister, Piper, would be the prime targets for kidnappers seeking a healthy ransom. Two heiresses playing about in the woods in their backyard—which might as well have been never ending—was the perfect setting for a little abduction.

However, that didn't stop Hailey from disobeying once the cat was out of the bag. She frequently snuck out to the woods; at first because it was forbidden, but once she discovered her artistic talent it turned into a peaceful work place. One where she could paint and draw without being interrupted by maids and parents and Piper. It also helped that the scenery was quite inspiring. People continuously asked her where she got the ideas for her pictures, but she could never tell, lest she get into a world of trouble and her favorite spot taken away. So she would always dodge the subject and simply tell them it came from her mind. Bad idea, because now everyone thought she was a genius.

A sigh left the brunette as she sat in a small clearing. The grass was slightly wet underneath her, but she didn't mind. It was refreshing in this summer heat, and her mind was too full of colors and shapes to really pay any attention. She was supposed to be working on a piece for her art class, but she'd gotten sidetracked from her original idea and started to experiment with her colored pastels. An hour later, and a still life piece to be done in charcoal had turned into a scenery picture in a bight array of colors.

The pink pastel she'd been working with froze on her sketchbook as Hailey came out of her normal art induced stupor, and really looked at her piece as a whole for the first time since she started about an hour ago.

“Oh, no,” she breathed in dismay. “I did it again!”

Whenever she sat down and set to work on a specific thing, it would never turn out the way she had originally planned. Inspiration or the desire to experiment took over her body, and in the end her piece turned out, admittedly great, but not what she'd been assigned to do in the first place. Her professor gently scolded her about this several times before, even though he really preferred her spur of the moment pieces the most. He had to, otherwise the other students would complain that she was getting special treatment.

She let the sketchbook fall into her lap and then dropped the pink pastel back into its box. How was she supposed to explain this one? Last time she had promised her professor that she would do the assigned work this time. Looking back at it now, that probably hadn't been a very good idea. Now she had a useless picture and a whole other project to do before the weekend was out. Pair that with the fact that she had promised Uncle Mike that she would show his new adoptive son around this weekend, and she had a recipe for disaster.

Maybe she could manage to sketch something before Monday? It didn't have to be grand. As long as it met the assignment requirements, she should be fine. Her professor might be a little disappointed by the quality, but that was something that couldn't be avoided at this point. It felt a little weird planning out how to do a mediocre piece, when she was so used to putting her heart and soul into each and every thing she had ever drawn, but that was the problem. Her heart and soul didn't always want cooperate with the assignment. And so, mediocre work was born.

Hailey was in the middle of blending some of the oil pastels with her fingers when a mechanical beeping started, scaring some birds out of a near by tree. It had been so quiet that the little noise sounded like a scream echoing out through the forest. Even Hailey had been a little surprised, and she had been the one to set it in the first place. The alarm on her cellphone had started to go off, which indicated that her time in the forest was up. And when she picked up her cell and flipped it open, she found out that her time in the forest had been up five minutes ago.

This was the alarm repeating itself.

“Shoot!” She squealed, flailing to pack all her materials up into her black canvas bag as fast as she could.

There was a reason she made herself set an alarm every time she came out here. At the age of twenty, the woods were still forbidden. If she was caught, then it was game over. She would be grounded for life under the parent pretense, 'my house, my rules', even though she was an adult that was perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Setting an alarm generally assured that she'd be back in her room before anyone would notice that she'd even left it in the first place. Normally, missing the first alarm wasn't a big deal. Heck, it usually went off a couple of times before Hailey could drag herself out of her thoughts long enough to shut it off and pack everything away, but today was different. Uncle Mike was bringing his new son over in about five minutes, and she had to be there.

Michael Brewster, also known as Uncle Mike to Hailey, wasn't blood related to her in any way. He was a friend of the family, and she had known him and his warm inviting smile for as long as she could remember. Over the years, Michael had made a very big impact in her life. He was the one who had encouraged her art when no one else would. Hailey's family wasn't very artistic, and they didn't think it was practical. They didn't see how she—or more importantly, how they—could benefit from it. Especially since when she started out, she wasn't very good. But Uncle Mike took her to art shows, bought her art supplies when her father wouldn't, and he had also been the first, but not the last, to buy one of her works. Of course her father had deeply disapproved, but Hailey didn't care. Even if only one person supported her, then that was all she needed.

Today she was hoping to support him when he needed it.

For some reason, people weren't very pleased with Uncle Mike for his decision to adopt. He'd never had a child of his own—which Hailey found hard to believe, since he had more ex-wives than she could count—and so that left him without an heir. Around this time, Dorian—his new son's name was Dorian—had lost his family. After that, Uncle Mike got it in his head that Dorian was to be his heir. It wasn't weird, considering Uncle Mike had known him for quite a few years, apparently, and people probably wouldn't have minded if it weren't for two specific things:

One; Dorian wasn't an dependent anymore. No, he was well over the age of needing a guardian.

Two; he was what some would call a commoner.

Frankly, Hailey didn't see why people were making it such a big deal. So what if Uncle Mike made a 'commoner' his heir? Obviously he knew what he was doing. From what Uncle Mike had told her, he was smart. Brilliant, actually. And very interesting. Hailey, for one, was anxious to meet this person whom her most beloved male figure thought so highly of. Which was why she had to hurry back to the house. They'd be there any minute!

Once she had finally had everything in her bag, she shot up and sprinted through the trees. It took her quite a few minutes until the egg-white paint of their home began to poke through the brush. She always made sure to go as far into the woods as she could until things started to seem unsafe. If she was too close to the treeline, then someone could easily spot her, and she'd be busted for sure. She couldn't have that, not when she'd gained such an attachment over the years.

Finally, she reached the treeline, and she paused behind a bush, peeking out from behind its leaves to see if the coast was clear. When all she saw was their deserted, but well manicured lawn, she slunk out from her hiding place and skittered across the lawn in a crouch, holding her canvas bag close to her body. She always felt like a ninja or a burglar when it was time to go back. Because sneaking out was easy, but sneaking back in was hard.

She made it to the side of the mansion and under her window undetected, but that didn't mean she was home free yet. There was still the matter of climbing back into her room, which she always dreaded. It was always a high risk to get caught during this little portion, but usually she had a lie on her lips, just in case. The brunette had been thinking of one while she slid her window back open, threw her bag into her room, and hoisted herself up onto the windowsill. She'd only gotten one leg over into her room when a knock sounded at her door, startling her. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't slipped, but she had, and she came crashing down to her floor with a scream.

“Hailey?! Are you okay?” Piper's alarmed voice traveled through the door, and Hailey heard her little sister trying the doorknob. “Why is the door locked?”

Hailey cursed under her breath and scrambled onto her feet. “Just a second!” She croaked, snagging her bag off of the ground and throwing it in her closet.

Hide the evidence. Always hide the evidence.

With that taken care of, she rushed to the door and flung it open, flipping her now mussed hair out of her face and leaned against the door frame in what she thought was a casual manner. "Hey, what's up?" She asked breathlessly.

Piper cast her a 'what the hell' look, with the raised eyebrow and everything. “What's wrong with you?”

“Oh! Uh. I was just... doing yoga! Yeah, yoga. And your knock startled me out of a position and I fell. But it's all good,” she waved a hand nonchalantly. “So, what did you need?”

“Since when do you...?” Piper started suspiciously, but shook her head and continued on. “Nevermind. I just needed to get away from those college applications.”

Hailey winced. “Ah. Yeah, I hated that. We can go out for coffee and talk about it after Uncle Mike leaves?”

Piper blinked. “Oh, right! Michael's coming over today with his new adopt-ee. Yeah, that sounds like a good—”

“Hailey! Piper!”

The loud booming voice drowned out the rest of Piper's sentence and caused both the girls to turn. Hailey didn't have to be told who she'd see.

Uncle Mike was walking down the hall, looking as suave as ever in his suit, arms held wide open—an invitation for one of Hailey's usual running hugs. A smile lit up her face, and she started to comply. But when she was just about to throw herself into his arms, like she usually did, she remembered she was covered in oil pastels and stopped abruptly. Michael raised an eyebrow in question and his face fell a tad.

“What, no hug?” He asked, keeping his arms in that ridiculous position.

Hailey glanced down at her body, clad in a pair of blue jean shorts and a white tank-top, which were both covered in splotches of paint, pastels, and charcoal. She looked back up at Michael. “I'm covered in... stuff. I don't want to get you all dirty.”

The older man heaved a sigh and let his hands drop. “I suppose that's fine, then.”

She smiled and was about to ask why he hadn't waited downstairs for them when she noticed someone standing off to the side of Michael, silently watching the events in the hall unfold. Hailey looked at him curiously and found who she assumed was Dorian.

"You must be Dorian," she said, a friendly smile already on her face as she moved to extend her hand for a handshake. "It's nice to meet yo-Oh!" She cut off with a gasp. Quickly, Hailey yanked her hand back as if she'd been scalded before he could make contact with it.

And then she realized how that must've looked—like she didn't want to touch a commoner—and hurried to explain herself.

"Sorry! It's just...," she trailed off and flashed him the palms of her hands with a sheepish smile. They looked a lot like her outfit; covered in all sorts of colors. "Oil pastels. They're messy."

[Lady March Hare]

vows are spoken To be broken
to be broken
feelings are intense Words are trivial
words are trivial
✽ feelings are intense
✽ fee lings are intense
✽ feelings are intense
✽ flings are intense
✽ fls are intense
✽ fl are intense
✽ fls are intense

❝ Hey, Piper! ❞
wearing humming home
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Piper's eyes darkened in slight suspicion as her sister moved past her. Yoga? When had her sister started doing yoga? And in jean shorts? The blonde almost sighed and shook her head, fighting back a small smile; her sister was many things, but a fantastic liar was not one of them. Piper could hazard a guess, of course; if it was Hailey, who made a habit of devoting her time to art of all types and materials, it would be safe to assume that her sister had been up to something artsy. The younger of the Palmer sisters couldn't draw a straight line with a ruler, but her sister's passion was well known. Piper was generally ignorant about the art creation process and, even with a healthy imagination, couldn't being to figure out what about it had made her sister scream. The elder girl was dusted with colorful... stuff; stuff Piper probably should have been able to identify seeing as her sister had been creating ever since the younger Palmer could remember. But, though it was a bit embarrassing to admit it, Piper didn't know squat about art. Art was something her sister did, and art was in museums. Really, that was Piper's extensive knowledge of the realm of fervent creation into which her sister so often tread. It wasn't that the blonde didn't care; she did, in a way. But art had never been able to hold her attention like it did Hailey. In a way, it had always made some little corner of her heart twist with jealousy to see her sister's art. Not because she had any artistic ambitions in particular, because she certainly didn't, but because her sister pursued the field with such passion. Hailey had even been willing to stand up to their father when it came to her art, because of what it meant to her. Though she was more often then not on her father's side, the move had left Piper a little awed. Maybe that was part of the reason she didn't understand exactly why her father so disliked his eldest daughter's taste for art, and Michael's support of it. Couldn't her sister focus on her art and manage to do whatever it was their father was expecting of her? It was certainly more direction then Piper had in her life. She had asked him once; her father had given no clear answer. As fond as she was of her father, the why behind his reasoning was often rather foreign to Piper.

But there was no time to point out the colorful... stuff, nor was there even time for the blonde to finish her statement; a familiar voice boomed through the halls, confident and excited. It seemed that Michael had let himself in, which was a bit odd; Michael was one of their closest family friends and frequently came and went as he pleased, but he generally remembered himself and waited for one of the maids to announce him first, at the very least. Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, Piper twisted to look their guests' way, the small smile on her lips more reflexive then enthusiastic. As she had expected, 'Uncle' Michael was smiling warmly, his arms already extended for the hug he fully expected from Hailey; he was as bright and confident as always. She could never remember him being anything but, that Michael. Unlike her sister, Piper didn't spring towards the man that had been like family to her. Oh, she liked Michael well enough, she supposed; he was never anything but nice to her, and they always traded pleasantries with warmth around holidays. Occasionally, they even hugged. But Piper had the feeling that the two of them would never be chums. It was entirely on Piper's end of the relationship that comradeship came to a screeching halt... Piper knew that well enough, and she couldn't really explain it. It was simply difficult for the blue eyed girl to be as open and enthusiastic with Michael as her sister was. A firm handshake and a cordial but distant greeting; that was the sort of relationship Piper had with her 'Uncle'. Michael occasionally attempted to circumvent Piper's walls to deepen the friendship between them, but as they didn't have something to serve as a common interest to bond them, such as art was for Michael and Hailey, all such attempts generally failed. Michael's amusement waned quickly in the face of such an opponent, and if Piper was anything, she was consistent.

"Hey, Piper." Michael sighed heavily, looking somewhat like a kicked puppy at having missed out on a Hailey hug. Piper felt sure that he would demand it in spades later, and the girl shook her head slowly, lifting a hand to return the greeting. As her sister's attention turned to the figure standing a bit uncomfortably at his back, his wide grin back in force as Hailey attempted to clear up the understanding. Michael laughed, then shifted his weight back to slapped a hand on Dorian's shoulder, forcing him forward slightly. Flashing a large smile, Michael winked at Hailey and nodded. "Right you are, kiddo. Hailey, Piper, I'd like to introduce you to my son, Dorian. He's got his mother's eyes, but I like to think he's got my chin. What do you think?"

Piper lifted an eyebrow; Michael was clearly enjoying herself. She took a moment to study the new arrival curiously. He looked completely uncomfortable to be in their presence, and seemed a beat away from fidgeting. So this was Dorian; Piper had heard plenty about him. Whispers had spread like a wild fire apparently the moment after Michael had decided to adopt this decidedly capable adult as his son, but the most credible information she had came from her father. He had been somewhat exasperated and, since he rarely kept things from his youngest daughter, Mr. Palmer had spent a good deal of time pointing out how unorthodox such a move was. Piper, once again, didn't completely understand her father's apparent irritation, since Michael made a habit of doing unorthodox things. Her father didn't elaborate, but what little he had told her to date hinted that there was something Piper didn't understand about the situation. Piper didn't like missing things, but from first glance she couldn't tell what exactly she could have missed. He seemed normal enough, uncomfortable, sure, but normal. But the girl rarely, if ever, doubted her father; if he was not happy about the situation, there had to be a good reason. And why hadn't he told her what it was? What had so irritated her father about this latest of Michael's whims?

"Oh, hi..." she started, looking at her sister a bit oddly at her reaction to the hand shake. Ah, pastels; that was what the colorful stuff was. "I'm Piper. Nice to meet you."

"These are the two I wanted you to meet, Dorian. And the rest of the family too, I suppose. Are your mom and dad around?"

"No," Piper answered for them. "They're both at work. Dad said to send you on to the office if you had something important to talk to him about."

"Hmm..." Michael sighed very slightly; clearly he was somewhat disappointed that his best friend hadn't stuck around to meet his adopted son as planned. His eyes flicked to study Piper for a moment, and he almost chuckled; she was like her father's little parrot. "Well, that's no problem. I know where the office is as well as he does; I'll just find him there."


[O.O.C.: Okay, I fixed these post decs... Piper's in particular was making my eyes hurt. >_>;;; ]




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pleasures remain

so does the pain

words are meaningless

and forgettable

[Lady March Hare]

Who's afraid of the big bad wolfXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXBig bad wolf, big bad wolf?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXbig bad wolf?
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
Tra la la la la
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXCame the day when fate did frown
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAnd the wolf blew into town
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXミ
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXㄨ 彡
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX彡 ㄨ
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXミ ミ
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXㄨ

❝ It's me, Dorian! ❞
wearing | humming | the palmer 'residence'
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The house was huge, grandiose; Dorian supposed he should have suspected as much. Seeing as Michael himself was one with a massive house that screamed of subtle wealth and old money, the young werewolf supposed that he should have expected the same of any Michael would call friend. Still, it was a strange sensation to have driven up to that large home knowing it was his destination; no matter what Michael said, Dorian wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it. It hadn't gotten any more comfortable, as Michael had parked rather boldly in the middle of the driveway with an ease that hinted at habit, and had pushed his way past the oak doors of the home with the ease of familiarity. In fact, Michael seemed almost diabolically pleased to be flaunting his ease in the home; when Dorian had hesitated at the door, the older man had cheerfully ordered him to follow over the polite dissent of the assistants in the employ of the Palmers. Dorian had felt a bit bad for the slightly exasperated help that had clearly faced this particular problem before; Michael was clearly just amused at the effects of his teasing. What else was there to do but follow his lead, even if it was accompanied with a disbelieving shake of the head. The inside of the house was beautiful, and despite his discomfort he found himself looking around curiously as Michael guided him expertly through the halls. He wasn't going to say it aloud, but he now wished that he'd taken Michael's advice and changed before they'd made their way here; he felt suddenly rather scruffy surrounded by all this rich-people stuff. A sudden imagining of the rich ladies he was supposed to be meeting flashed in his mind, and his expression became more drawn; the frilled and ribboned debutantes that where his only vague recollection of 'rich girls' he had in memory fainted dead away at the audacity of having a dirty commoner brought before them. He scratched the back of his head and did his best to shake such thoughts away; surely that was an exaggeration on his part. Girls like that didn't really exist, did they? Surely not, not in this day and age. And if they did, Michael would have warned him about it, wouldn't he? Suddenly suspicious, Dorian had studied his newly obtained guardian's back sternly. The sad thing was, Michael probably wouldn't, if doing so would make him laugh.

Michael called out, sounding relieved, and Dorian, distracted from his thoughts, flicked his eyes up towards his guardian's targets: two girls roughly around his age. Ah, these must be the Palmer sisters Michael had been making such a point of talking up; Dorian caught himself before he sighed in relief at the notable lack of ruffles between the two. A slap of a hand on his shoulder and he was jolted forward into what could be called a greeting. Dorian cast his eyes sideways to Michael in slight irritation, but didn't speak a word before looking to the first of the two girls. She had an open, friendly face, and the young man subconsciously relaxed at the warmth in her eyes.

"Yeah... nice to-" Dorian's attempt at minding his manners, (which Michael had simply insisted upon at least four times on the drive over), was cut short by the young woman's violent recoil. Dark gray eyes immediately dropped to study his hand for the usual suspects behind such a reaction: dark claws, fur... nope, still human hands. Well, that was fortunate, at least. His gaze returned to the girl at her explanation. "Oil pastels?"

"Ah, been working on a new project, have you?" Michael, far from surprised, questioned the young woman before he remembered himself. "Oh, of course. Hailey is the artist of the family. You've seen her work, Dorian; I have one of her pieces hanging in my study. You know the one; the wood scene?"

"Oh, right." Dorian said with a clearing of his throat. Despite the fact that Michael spent a lot of time talking to him about the huge amount of art in his possession, Dorian did indeed know the piece he was talking about. There'd been something authentic about it; he'd liked it. Returning his attention to Hailey, he tried for a smile. He wasn't too sure about proper etiquette or anything, but it was almost sure that smiling when meeting someone was a good thing. On top of that, it was the opposite thing one would do when meeting another werewolf; so, according to the law of opposites, it must be the right thing to do here. Of course. "Nice to meet you. Michael talks about you a lot."

The second sister, the thought she'd said her name was Piper, stepped up to speak to Michael, and the older man sighed in disappointment. Dorian, on the other hand, relaxed slightly. Instinct decreed that one never went alone to a den they didn't know; in his world, doing such a thing was taboo. Not that werewolves fought among themselves too often, but, like any group of creatures with a feral nature at their core, werewolves were wary of one another. A werewolf without a pack would usually never make the mistake of encroaching on another pack's territory. Approaching one other, sure; two to three, maybe. But meeting a pack divided instead of in force was always preferable. Of course, this was a werewolf way of thinking, but Dorian didn't allow the bias to influence him. Humans had the capacity to be as deceitful and ruthless as werewolves; in that way, their two species were not too unalike. And there were humans that knew of werewolves, knew of and loathed his kind. It didn't do to let one's guard down around humans just because they were humans. Not that Dorian was fearful of any imminent attack; aside from his discomfort at being expected to act properly human around humans, he was relatively at ease. He trusted Michael completely, and if Michael said that these humans were alright, then they were alright. But instinct didn't usually respond to logic, and Dorian's instincts were greatly relieved that he was being faced with the meeting of only two new people instead of the four that he had been expecting.

"You know, if you call, Dad might be willing to meet you here, Michael." the second Palmer sister spoke up.

"You think so?" Michael chuckled, shaking his head. "No, that's alright; I'll just swing by and talk to him face-to-face. I've got to drop some paperwork by the office anyway. Your dad will be proud of me for multitasking."

"Sure..." Piper didn't sound too sure, which didn't waylay Michael at all.

"You were taking time off to go visiting when you had work to do?" Dorian asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Nah; there's always work waiting, and there always will be work waiting. Might as well have fun first, before anything else." Michael waved off the concerns of the younger people that surrounded him as he shifted to check his watch. "Actually, I have an idea..."

Dorian wasn't surprised to hear that, and he didn't think for a moment that it was a spur-of-the-moment sort of idea.

"I'd hate for you kids to have to wait around for me. Why don't you guys hang out for a while, then swing by the office whenever you're in the mood to? That way I can get all of my responsibilities out of the way, and you kids can have some time to get to know each other without an old guy like me getting in the way."

"Alright... we were planning to go out for coffee anyway."

"Perfect. Then I'll see you all then, hmm? Is that alright with you, Dorian?"

"Ah, sure." Dorian answered with a smile. He could practically feel how important Michael felt it would be for his newly adopted son to get along with this particular family. Michael had said as much, sure, but not to the full extent of what it meant to him. But he didn't really have to say it; Dorian knew how important the Palmer family was to his adopted father. They were the family he never really got around to having himself, a special and important part of his life. Dorian usually didn't go out of his way to associate with humans more then necessary, and he certainly didn't go around hobnobbing with the upper class too often, but for Michael, a member of Dorian's pack despite his race, the young man was willing to go outside his comfort zone.

"Alright; I'll be on my way, then." Michael said agreeably. He half turned away, then pointed a finger towards them. "Be good, son of mine. Hailey, you owe me a hug with interest. Have fun, kids!"


[O.O.C.: Also, I'm so sorry these replies are long and not so good. I've been having a pretty stressful sort of week(s?), and looking at them has made me mad. ^_^; So I decided to just throw them up here... if there's anything you want me to change to make it easier for you to respond, let me know. I was just getting tired of looking at them. ^_^; [/lame]]



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Who's afraid of the big bad wolf

Big bad wolf, big bad wolf?

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

Tra la la la la