With the three days of full moon light comes the taint in man to draw out the crazy and bestial. For some this is more literal than they like. For years, since their graduation from high school into adulthood, Donald Anaston and his band of brothers have live together under one roof making music as often as they do memories. He loves them as much as he is loved by them if not more but it that kind of friendship that draws Donald away for the full moon cycle. The beast within seeks blood and when it's his time to run free as his nature intends, nothing will stop him from shedding it no matter how much it sunders Donald's heart and soul. Don, his wolf, cares for nothing but sacred pain so Donald protects them by keeping them in the dark about his condition. Not even his parents know what's really happening on these by-monthly camping trips.
___, a reputed hunter among the circle of supernatural poachers, has heard the rumored reputation for the patch of forest Donald uses to corral his darker half. They say a great white wolf roams on full moon nights and kills everything he gets his claws on, never eating anything just shredding it to confetti but if you're careful with your scent and stay hidden, you could sneak up there and hear it sing. Hot on the trail of his pray, ___ tracks Donald during the day, observing, setting up traps, fighting him so as to avoid the full scale scuffle the night brings.
However cruel the beast maybe...after meeting Donald one has to wonder if ___ will have the heart to condemn this man to same fate as any hound of the moonlights taint?
Pairing Style Summery :: Werewolf x Hunter Yaoi, Cute Drama/ possibly short term Inspiration Flavor :: Click Me
Name : Donald Anaston Age : 24 Race : Cursed Werewolf Birthday : February 15, Aquarius Numerology : Life path 5 Skills : Singing, Lyric Writing Personal Orientation : Homosexual, Seke leans Seme but willing to Uke if the other is uncomfortable, Still virgin for lack of opportunity. He's had three boyfriends but it never got serious enough Occupation : Vocalist for a Local band called "Cherry Jam" Special : Full moon activated beastial form, but takes on a lesser variation of those personality traits at night Personality : Happy-go-lucky and still a little innocent, Don is very passionate about his music and likes to sing about making the world the world a better place. The bands genre is rockish that boarders pop, and he works well with it. Donald is a special person that draws love to him like moths to street lights. He can be foolish in ways that make people want to cry and say "I wish I could do that." He's humble and brave without knowing it. That guy to give the shirt off his back to a stranger if he was asked to give it. But when the sun goes down and he gets mad or excited, he becomes vicious if not violent. An inconsiderate and selfish little psycho, his inner persona is the polar opposite of the Donald that everyone knows and loves. It tears Donald apart that he can't control his inner beast to the point that he often contemplates suicide in the morning only to perk up and smile for a new day of love and laughter with his friends and reasons to keep trying.
Flaw : Easily embarrassed, passive aggressive, emotionally sensitive, shy, Schizophrenic with medication Redeeming Feature : Adorable, faces conflict with love, and pure at heart, thoughtful, endearingly stupid, self-sacrificial by nature, Heroic motivation Likes : Singing for betterment, being part of the crowd, his band, ducks, the color blue, baby animals of all sorts, being a hero, Beany Babies Dislikes : Violence, singing about sex, being a pervert, his inner beast, hurting his friends, the taste of beer/ doesn't smoke but doesn't mind that others do
Background : Most don’t know about his family’s curse that started with his direct ancestor Lioneil Anaston that only affected the boys in his family and since there hadn’t been a boy in the direct family for two generations, Donald’s Father didn’t know anything about it either. Donald’s mother had heard stories from her grandparents about it but there wasn’t anyone in the family currently under the curse to prove that they were more than just stories. Donald was raised like any normal boy with a thing for superhero’s and dolls. He got picked on for being too nice, picked on for crying when the other boys fried ants with magnifying glasses, but mostly for being popular with the girls. He had lots of female friends because he liked playing with unicorns and tea cups and would often hum when they played. Even at a young age he was showing signs of a voice to be remembered and people noticed both for good and ill. None of the picking ever bothered him though. He was content liking what he liked and playing with girls. His parents on the other hand, didn’t like it. They pulled him from public schools for homeschooling. They still wanted him to have the benefits of peers so they enrolled him in extracurricular activities like Dance classes and the church choir, knowingly giving bullies more ammunition against him but dance was Donald’s choice at the time and he was very into the idea of choir and singing lessons…until the more ambitious ones of the choir decided Donald was a better voice than them. They never hit him, just verbally and mentally tortured him, and he still wanted to sing and make friends so he hid it from his parents thinking they would pull him out of the program again. However, once he hit puberty and the normal things started to change like they were supposed to, he also started to experience the effects of the werewolf curse passed down man to man in his family from the dark days of Lioneil. The first time he changed forms was so tramatic that if he hadn’t done it again the next night he would have repressed it. Luck would have it that he was alone at the time, his parents out on a date and they lived in the country. It started with his bones breaking in his chest for now apparent reason, so much pain at once and no way to prepare for it. His entire skeleton was breaking itself, reknitting in new shapes, growing larger in skin that didn’t fit anymore so it tore loose from his body. Teeth and nails fell out one by one, pushed out by larger sharper teeth and claws. He trashed his home from the pain of it, feeling the accelerated growth of a heavy pelt on new skin.
The damage to the house was extensive. A frenzied werewolf had that effect indoors, but misunderstanding parents blamed him under the belief that he had thrown a temper tantrum or was on drugs. Try as he might to explain what happened to himself, he couldn’t find the words to tell them even what he thought had happened. The next day the voices started talking to him, telling him terrible things about himself, the worst being the prediction that it would happen again. Donald had listened to the voice and snuck outside this time just in case it was right…it was. He changed again that night and he even remembered most of what had happened afterwards, how he slung that 6 point buck deer like a rag doll raining blood everywhere. He remembered just killing it and bounding off to kill something else, he didn’t even eat it! He remembered thinking it was funny. He spent the third day in his bed crying, telling his parents that he didn’t feel well to convince them to leave him alone. He didn’t want to see anyone, or talk to anyone, if anything he shut down that day. He took the third day in utter pessimism, hoping this time he killed himself for the beast he was becoming at night. Anything it took to make the voices stop.
He didn’t kill himself that night but the changes had passed giving him a break to recover from the emotional torment it had put him through. The voices on the other hand didn’t stop. They were ever present and crueler than any bully he’d ever encountered because there was no hiding from them, everything they had to sling his way was true, the voices never lied about anything! They didn’t tell him things like conspiracies or that certain people needed to die to save the world, but they did point out that he wanted to kill them, that it would be fun to do things to them, to get even for all the teasing. The voices got so bad that he lashed out physically at the voices in the middle of choir practice in the church. It looked like he had snapped into a mental meltdown and scared everyone that was there to the point that the family had to move to a new town shortly after.
Due to his breakdown, Donald was admitted to a hospital where he was diagnosed with Schizophrenia: Audible hallucinations or “voices”, detailed delusions involving a belief that he was a werewolf, Depression including thoughts of suicide, trouble focusing, delayed memory, along with mild movement disorders. Medication have helped him control the illness, and the voices of the wolf to a degree. As an unforeseen detail, Donald has convinced himself that the entirety of the Werewolf business was his illness at work; that he never changed just believed that he had in a very vivid dream like state. For all he wanted to know, Donald was a very sick human. He hated it but believing that, seeing the doctors, was better than accepting the wild notion that he was a mythical creature of the night.
Because of his “illness”, Donald’s family couldn’t stay in one place for more than a handful of years. They had moved to small town Idaho when Donald’s doctor suggested that it would be save to reenroll Donald in public school as a birthday present. This permitted him to meet the three guys that would become his friends and his band. Those boys turned his sad outlook on life to one of bright optimism by giving him something more to live for than himself.
LOOKS Hair : Platinum blonde, short crop cut with bangs Eyes : Cool Water Blue; Wild gold when the beast is in control; hybrid left=blue, right=yellow when the personalities sync up Distinguishing Feature : A huge friendly grin, a wide range of blush colors and can get to the point that he blushes from head to toe Height : 6'2" / Beast : 6'5" Build : Human : Swimmers tone, strong limbs and shoulders without being bulky *****Beast : Ripped out, dense heavy bones, broad barrel chest, narrow hips, long limbed Personal style * Hoodies and Jeans * Loose shirts and minimal jewelry * size 12 boots or high top shoes
Notes * Can and will fall asleep just about anywhere * The wolf persona makes him sleep walk occasionally
Name:Jarron Felds Gender: Male Age:23 Sexual Orientation: Bisexual (Leans towards men more, doesn't matter whether he's seme or uke) Height/Weight:6'1 180lbs Personality: Jarron seems to be very cold hearted and distant towards anyone he meets, but deep down his a nice guy still not over the lost of his sister and mother. He tries to little to nothing of contact with anyone Species:Human Likes:Butterflies (reminds him of his little sister), Starry Nights, Smoking (helps him calm down) Dislikes:Crowds, Only being able to see out of one eye, Werewolves, His father, Alcohol(Father was an alcoholic) Hobbies:Hunting, Playing his harmonica, and Cooking Abilities:Tracking, Fencing, and Kickboxing Occupation:Werewolf Hunter Eye Color: Steel Gray Hair:Mid-Back length, poppy red with orange highlights and usually put up in a rubber band or left down. Appearance(s): History:Jarron use to live a normal life, unaware of any supernatural beings existing at the of fifteen. His father had left their lives when the red head had turned seven and his sister at four just to waste money on booze. His mother had to work two jobs to keep food on the table and bills paid, leaving him to look after his only sibling.
For eight years, Jarron had gotten himself and his sister dressed for school, cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He decided to get a part-time job at fourteen as a bus boy near his high school and his sister's middle school to help pay some of the bills and be able to keep watch on his sister. On his fifteenth birthday, he was working late and his mother had picked up his sister unaware that they were planning to surprise him when he got home from work. Jarron had gotten home really late that night and expected a welcome home from his little sister, but opened the door then saw a destroyed birthday cake with blood splatters all over the floor. He ran inside and started searching for any sign of his mother or sister being alive. The fifteen year old nearly puked upon seeing the remaining pieces of his mother's corpse and feared for the worst about his precious sister. The red head grabbed one of the kitchen knives and cautiously walked through the darkened house.
He had heard small struggle happening upstairs and immediately started running, not caring about the fact he was caring a dangerous object in his hand. Jarron figured out the noises were coming from his sister's room once he had gotten to the second floor. The long haired male quietly stepped inside the room and was horrified at the sight in front of him. His sister covered in slashes and a beast towering over her about to strike at her once more. Jarron had rushed at the creature with the knife in his hand only to get slashed in his right eye and smacked into a wall. The teen forced to see his sister's neck be ripped out and blinded by pure rage he held the knife tighter then stabbed the beast till he was separated from its bloodied corpse by a duo of hunters that was tracking it down. The realization that his sister was actually dead came pouring down on him when he picked up her favorite butterfly hairpin out of a puddle of her blood.
Ever since then, Jarron was trained by other hunters of the supernatural to track and fight creatures much like the beast that took away his only family from him. At eighteen, he started tracking down and hunting werewolves that were terrorizing small towns, suburbs, and some big cities. He became famous amongst other hunters by the amount of success he's had about tracking down werewolves and removing them before they could be a major issue. The young man didn't want fame just the fact he's saving innocent lives from being taken.
It's hard to say I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep...
Beautiful, this forested mountain country was some of the most beautiful terrain Donald had ever seen with his own eyes. The air was so clean here, it made him feel like he was becoming cleaner himself with every inhale it took to hike up to the abandoned bunker he used for a home during his three day bimonthly camping trip. It was times like this that made the trip worth making; when it almost felt as though he was here for fun instead of necessity. Up here he didn’t have to worry about hurting people. The worst that would get the brunt of his inner beast were the elk and they usually had sense enough to steer clear. As he reached the ridge overlooking the 6 foot waterfall he was reminded of the last trip, breathing into the pain so as not to cry, Remember the curious teens…they had called it the work of a bear, we were rather insulted.
“Just shut it, there’s no one out here to hear you and I’m not listening,” Donald sneered at the voice of the beast that loved to point out the feelings he repressed as things he wanted no part of; so much blood, he remembered them and how easily his claws passed through their skins, the taste of their blood in on his tongue, it had made him puke then and it was about to now if he dwelled on it anymore. People shouldn’t have been up here, the locals were superstitious and knew better but sometimes one or two small groups ventured up for the thrill of a haunted house. They weren’t supposed to be there, and he wasn’t supposed to be real. That’s all it boiled down to, a big mistake that ended precious lives and taxed Donald’s ability to cope with his second half. The wolf made him want to be a better person, to strive and hunger for it dragging himself through razor wire to claim it, but could never reach it because the beast was right there on his shadow ready to rip him back into the darkness when he was so close to happiness he could feel the magnetism of something just at the tip of his longest fingers. Honestly, by day three of this he would be wondering why he bothered to fight against the futility of it all. He could never be really good and so long as there were people still depending on him to stay in the game, he could never give up. It was a ruthless and cruel cycle that his deepest heart’s desire wished would stop…even the beast with in that knew him best and never lied agreed that it was true. It’s reasons for the agreement were its own but Donald was tired of all the pain it gave him while inflicting it on others. Wounds hurt more than just the one person that bleeds, it touched everyone that loved that person and, though only some one of enlightenment could know of it, it also hurt those that caused the bleeding. He had to get moving again or else Donald would have gotten lost in the philosophies that kept his sanity until the moon came out and ruined all the supplies he’d brought with him. Mountain mornings were cold and this was early spring, he wouldn’t care later but he still had the good sense about him to know he needed a blanket out here.
Up higher in a plateauing valley, Donald finally got to his bunker which would serve as his temporary home for the next series of events. Already so pulled down by the nature of his need for the trip, he attempted to cheer himself up by singing one of the bands song, Get What You Give. He had to imagine Mitch on the drums, Ian and Koda’s synchronized guitars but up here in the crystal clear quiet, his imagination was loud and the music kept the voices in his head quiet. The rocks love his voice up here, especially when he let loose and used all the volume he could while holding the notes. Right now any listeners would have to excuse the fluctuation because of all the bending over and in and outs he made while clearing out the leaves and spiders from inside the bunker.
...'cause everything is never as it seems
Posted: Fri Jan 24, 2014 12:56 pm
M1DN1GHT_V10L3T
Thanks, I hope it's a good intro. smile
Jarron
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Several beams of sunlight crept inside of a motel room hazed with smoke in almost every corner of the room. Jarron stared at the rising run with a lit cigarette in his mouth and an emotionless look in his left eye as the room had gotten brighter.'Another day begins and so starts another hunt...'he thought, while taking a few more puffs of the 'cancer stick' then extinguishing it. The lone hunter got up from the worn out twin bed and slipped on his usual attire: a wrinkled white dress shirt with three buttons missing from the top, loose ebony dress pants, and a sleeveless scarlet vest. The red head's eye patch was always covering his right eye and he could careless about wearing a tie around his neck as well didn't feel like putting his hair up today. He grabbed three things: the room key, his harmonica, and his sister's hairpin then left the motel.
Jarron had taken train from Illinois all the way to Idaho for business of the supernatural type, no he's not a medium or a priest that does exorcisms, but a hunter that specializes in hunting werewolves. In fact, he's almost on same playing field as Van Helsing himself, but doesn't care about fame or money...well the money is good for taking care of certain expenses. The young hunter truly only cared about preventing innocents from being slaughtered like his sweet little sister. He bit his bottom lip hard almost making it bleed at thought of his sister.'Lizzy...I need to focus.' The eye patch wearing male gently gripped the butterfly pin in his pocket, before letting it go and continuing his hike towards the mountainous range where the rumors of the large white wolf begun.
Okay as Stated, I promised you would improve so here's lesson one as it coincides with the inspiration. Identification and presence; with every post I should know exactly who you are from that post alone. Use this as example: Granted this is very long and mostly doesn't have much to do with Jarron, it's entertaining to read at least I think so. From this one scene you as an audience knows exactly who each person is by what they say and do, why they do it, and distinguish themselves from the other characters as individuals. Try to Identify with Presence in your turn. This should be easy since he's got someone to interact with...Hint: if you're having fun, the audience is probably having fun too.
As we go on we remember all the times we had together…
Meanwhile, Mitch and the boys had loaded up in the van to restock the kitchen since they didn’t typically have much in the way of food that needed more than a minute or two in the microwave and Donald have taken half of it with him. At the front of the grocery store Mitch took out the wallet that was chained to his belt and held up three fifties for the two younger males that lived with him. At the age of 25, he was the oldest in the house and by default the leader of the band but sometimes felt in his 30’s because of these two, “Alright, we split up, 50 apiece we’ll meet back here when it’s done. I swear to Jesus if either of come back with 50 bucks worth of nothing but potato chips and Little Debbie’s I’ll break both your guitars over you’re a-butts.”
“a**,” Ian stated to recorrect the swear Mitch had avoided. Having found religion, Mitch was doing his best to cut cussing from his vocabulary which was a topic that Ian, an atheist raised in a Wiccan home, loved to irritate.
Koda was a natural follower and Ian’s shadow but since Donald wasn’t around to keep the two dominant personalities from killing one another, the responsibility of reason fell on his shoulders, “It is a little difficult to take you serious when you stop in the middle like that.”
“a**,” Ian interjected, purposely punishing Mitch for his near miss. Koda was already cracking a smile, knowing what was going to happen next but so hard to not laugh because it’s never funny when friends fight.
Mitch defended himself, staring dead at a straight faced but very stoned Ian, “There are kids here, little impressionable kids.”
Ian answered this challenge thusly, “a**.”
Koda didn’t know what to do here, he was desperately trying to think of what Donald would do here, while Mitch just made it worse by silently glaring at him losing his saintly patience exponentially. Once again, Ian stood his ground and answered the challenge in his usual fashion, “a**, a**, a**, a**, a**, a**, a**, a**, a**, a**-.”
“Shut him up or I will,” Mitch rounded on Koda with that vain bulging in his temple that Ian loved to see as he continued to chant the offensive word despite the number of mothers covering their child’s ears around them.
Koda shrugged, blushing from the mounting pressure, “You know he doesn’t have an off switch.” Continuous glaring at the chanting stoner spurred him to chant faster and louder, 16 chants in and Mitch hit his limit as well as Ian’s jaw. This should have silenced it but no, that would be too easy. Bent over and cradling his jaw he said it one more time, “a**.”
Koda had to jump in the middle of the pair to stop Mitch from pounding Ian into the floor, holding the elder back and putting his hand over Ian’s mouth, “Maybe we should just get this over with huh? Sound good…”
Why Koda kept putting his hands in Ian’s face was a very good question since every time he did, Ian licked his hand until it was removed. Already squirming from the weird spongy wet thing sliding all over his palm, Koda was quite grateful to take the two fifties and see Mitch being the bigger man that walked away from a fight instead of acting just as immature as Ian. Koda finally removed his hand as if he’s just stuck it in a jar of molded jelly, “That’s straight nasty brah.” “Do my shopping for me will ya, I’ma step outside,” Ian stated already walking toward the door with Koda calling behind him, fishing out a small tin leatherbound cigarette case that didn’t exactly have cigarettes in it.
“Seriously? It’s not even noon yet,” He should have known better. This was Ian’s usual bake with cartoons time since he didn’t have a job or a car of his own, he wasn’t going to break the habit just because they were low on munchies to enable his problem. “Whatev’s, man. I quit.”
Outside, Ian slipped into the side ally with the store’s dumpsters and let a hand rolled fix the length of his of his little finger and just as thick hang on his lip while searched for a lighter. He must have left it at home, this is what he got for wearing clean clothes today. Out of sheer luck, or lack thereof, he spotted a red headed man his age passing on the side walk that looked like he might be the type to lend a little charity for a bit of charity in return. He ran to flag him down, shouting at him for attention, “’Oy…Brah, hold up…” Arriving at Jarron’s side, unphased by the mild exertion but that spot where Mitch hit was turning a very noticeable shade of red, he held up his piece and asked point blank, “Gotta light for me?”
Depending on whether or not, Jarron chose to light him up or not, Ian’s background afforded him a rare privilege. He knew a hunter when he saw one and now that he was up close Ian was 75% certain he was talking to one. Question was, why was a hunter in town? He had his suspicions, “You new around these parts brah?” If he had been given a light and told that he should go, Ian would pull out his pure silver pentagram pendant and explain very matter-of-factually, “Can’t, It’s a religious thing. I can’t accept anything without giving anything. Since you gave me a light, I have to return the kindness. So, where you headed? Maybe I can give directions or some s**t like that.”
…And as our lives change, come whatever, we will still be friends forever
Posted: Fri Jan 24, 2014 9:13 pm
M1DN1GHT_V10L3T
Mitch and Ian sound like a married couple with Koda as the third wheel. xd
Jarron
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Jarron was clueless on where to start his search for the infamous wolf's hunting ground and every time he tried to ask one of the locals they either pretended not to hear him, quickly said had they had to go somewhere, or just run off. Frankly, he was slowly losing his patience with these locals almost considering turning back to his motel room and forgetting all about this rumored wolf, but instead decided to continue walking.'Sooner or later something will turn up...I just hope it's soon.'the steel grey eyed male thought, before taking out another cigarette and lighting it with a disposable lighter.
The cigarette's calming effect on Jarron already started taking it's toll on him after he passed by a few people, not caring if they gaping like a fish once seeing his eye patch or stiffened up with his presence nearby. Though, he wasn't oblivious to the shouting behind him and started walking a little faster. The red head half expected the person to give up, but that wasn't the case when they started talking. He almost told the guy to leave him be or run off, until he had said he'd give him some directions just for a light.
"I'm out here on business...I'll give you a light if you tell me about the mountains."Jarron said, while holding out the disposable lighter in front of Ian.
As we go on we remember all the times we had together…
Bingo. Ian knew he smelled a rat and sure enough there it was, too bad he hadn’t lied about that equivalent exchange thing. Since he wanted info on the Mountains, Ian had to oblige him truthfully in exchange for the light. However nothing said that wasn’t a bad thing. The hunter didn’t look like a first timer, but then again, all three of them knew what Donald was capable of never letting on that they knew. It made Donald feel better to have them not know so they protected him back by keeping up the front. Donny-boy wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. He grinned big taking in that first inhale of herbal relief that loosened his lips, “You’re chasing a whale aren’t you brah? Got yourself a Moby in your sights am I right…looking to see the White Wolf.”
The look on his face was enough of an answer. Ian could see his whole day in that shocker, the locals had been dodging him all day, no body wanting to get involved, saying it was a bear do bear things up there when they all knew better. Here this seemingly dim, obviously stoned, “too old to be a child but never gonna be an adult” guy, telling right off what he wanted to hear and all for a light at the end of a homegrown dubbie. “You picked a good time to go up if that’s what you’re after but if it ain’t you better rearrange your vacation plans, brah. You wouldn’t be the first dumbass to lose his s**t by Star Bright Falls. Between you and me, I don’t believe the wolf is real but there is something up there turning people to lunch meat when they stray too close to the falls on full moon night like this one. Do with the directions what you want but it’d be a better favor to you if I’d kept my trap shut and you got to steppin’ your way home.”
Cocky hunters, of course the warning just made him want it more. Ian sucked his teeth and shook his head to any response, “So what name should I be looking for in the obits when they find your bones in three days?”
…And as our lives change, come whatever, we will still be friends forever
Posted: Fri Jan 24, 2014 11:29 pm
M1DN1GHT_V10L3T
Good question...I'd have to say it's Mitch.
Jarron
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The long haired male took a small drag of his cigarette while he waited for the man standing in front of him. 'Well this is definitely a bit of surprise that the only person willing to talk to me is a herbal smoker.'he thought, before being brought of his thoughts by the name of his target. 'At least he more than willing to talk about my quarry. Unlike most of the locals around here...' Jarron thought, watching Ian smoking away the rolled up herb.
The red head almost wanted to sigh out of annoyance when he started warning him about going up there. 'Different places, but the same warning whenever I get information about a wolf or two, but I can't blame them if they don't know how to track down and properly kill these beasts.'he thought, while partially listening to his warning about the Star Bright Falls. "Bears, wolves or whatever animal is hanging around tearing someone limb from limb isn't going to make me turn tail and run...I'd appreciate having the directions to that spot."Jarron said, before a few more puffs of his cigarette then tossing it to the ground to smother it out.
The one eyed hunter didn't show an emotional response towards Ian's question and just stared straight into in his blue eyes, "Death doesn't bother me...Jarron Felds is my name and hunting has been my life."he said in an icy tone that would most people shiver afterwards. Those who know of supernatural hunters would definitely remembering hearing his name over the years in close relation to the deaths of many werewolves.
As we go on we remember all the times we had together…
Ian had to whistle at the name, too many years on the herb numbing him to fear. It was rather difficult to hold onto things like that when you were constantly trying to ignore the pink unicorn trying to wet willy Jarron. Unfortunately for him, he had heard the name. Since meeting Donald, his grandmother whom was as much his supplier as she was the Grand White Witch of the congregation had kept tabs on the hunters. There were many people protecting the White Wolf but having personally handed him over on a platter to the most notorious hunter that had come calling, all for the sake of a light, would cost him. He was Judas thus far might as well give him another piece of the puzzle just to break off blade which he’d stabbed in his friend’s back.
“A heavy weight comes all the way out to see Moby, shouldn’t he be proud,” Ian stated purposely revealing that he might know a little more than he’d let of so far. “Watch your six up there lest Moby do it for you…especially if that’s all it took to interrogate the Jarron Felds.”
He’d aimed for total mind rape and waved goodbye with the blunt in his fingers and smoke seeping from his crooked smile. Whatever happened between Jarron and Donald by Star Bright Falls before the trio could to him, all he could do was inform the others and pray Donald could handle it…or at least let the beast keep the skin on his bones.
Back in the store, Ian had rubbed out the light on the bottom of his shoe and repacked the blunt first, having at least some semblance of good sense, he tracked down Mitch first. The elder wasn’t thrilled to see him after their last argument but that bruising mark his fist had left behind did ease his distaste for the stoner some, “You better be here to apologize.” For once, Ian almost seemed deadly serious, “Put the milk back. We’re going camping.”
Up on the mountain, with an hour until dusk and time enough given for Jarron to have reached the territory, Donald had completed all his little chores. He had plenty of fire wood for when the dawn gave him relief from this gnawing anxiety that melted ulcers in his stomach. The bunker was cleared out and safe from the rampage to come. Food was stored up, a pit for the fire inside along with a clear means of escape for the smoke, bed laid out, all that was left was for him to strip down to his skin and sit by the water for the moon to take his life away and turn it over to the charge of an animal. It would take the whole hour to dusk for him to get there and if he wanted clothes for tomorrow there were two reasons to leave his threads behind, boots included. Early spring weather had warmed the evening to a temperature he could stand nude but he’d take his chances when it came to his shorts. Outside of the times that he ruled this patch of trees, there were no telling how many perverts made use of it. He was already barefooted because of this injustice he wasn’t about to be a flasher for it too.
…And as our lives change, come whatever, we will still be friends forever
Posted: Sat Jan 25, 2014 12:26 pm
M1DN1GHT_V10L3T
That's exactly what I was thinking of when I thought who'd be the wife. What proved that fact even more was when Ian told him put the milk back as though he's wearing the pants in their 'relationship'.
Jarron
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Alarm bells went off inside Jarron's mind when the stoner had stressed the before saying his name, 'That definitely wasn't a run of the mill stoner, he must either know the wolf,connected to someone who knows quite a bit about hunters or there's even a possibility of both...Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if this entire town knew who the wolf was and that would explain why they tried to avoid talking or looking at me.'he thought, before sighing and lighting up another cigarette then continued his merry way towards the mountain.
Jarron felt this hike up the mountain was going to take a while and decided to play a tune on his harmonica to pass the time. The tune as a song he use to hear his mother play on piano before his father had left them. The sound of his harmonica could be barely heard by anyone, unless they were nearby or had enhanced hearing.
He stopped playing after seeing the new scenery around him had changed entirely. The red head placed his instrument back into his pocket and re-lit the cigarette he snuffed out to play his harmonica. "Time to get to business."he muttered under his breath then started examining the ground for any possible prints or tracing of the white wolf's existence. 'A good hunter never attacks his prey first it's always best to study them then kill them...'Jarron thought, while continuing his analysis of sorts.
Okay, Bit number two, Reaction; Here there is nothing for known interaction but plenty for Jarron to see and hear. So this time I would like to see what you can do with focus to Reaction. What do these things make Jarron feel, what memories does it bring up? Can he connect to emotions of the other from just this much? Stuff like that. if you've done it right you should have at least 3 paragraphs.
I can not begin to describe the hunger that I feel...
His choice to observe would prove to be Donald’s only means of advantage in this struggle between hunter and quarry. The beast he was after had been here before but two months of weather had erased what could be found of the dog. For now he would have to make do with the bare foot platinum blonde man in Ninja Turtle shorts picking his trail through the brush to get down in the gully where the water collected.
For Donald, his family curse made this a harsh change. Burning and blindingly painful to fuel the rage of the monster he harbored, the change was designed to insight destruction because creation had been the crime of his ancestor. The witch didn’t love her consort but when she had discovered that her toy was having a baby with another woman, she punished him and every first born son of his first born son. Blood was Donald’s crime, being the first born son in his family directly descended from that first born son and the only solace that could be found for the insanity of it all was in some way he was defending his Ancestral right to love with his heart by keeping up this fight for life. The extra struggle would make it sweeter when he lived to see the day his friends got their dreams turned into inevitabilities.
Donald dragged his foot over the cool water steaming because it was warmer than the night air though not by much, he closed his eyes and smiled into the visions he fabricated for those closest to him. There was Mitch, playing his drums for the greats on the stages of Europe. Ian was kicking Kid Rock’s a** on Guitar Hero. Koda had to pause his game of Dungeon’s and Dragons with Seth Green to make out with Britney Spears’ Daughter. The last one made him laugh, smiling because it was better than giving into the miserable panic for what was coming right now. How much he wanted to cry for himself but the beast wouldn’t let him. This was his night and that half was already breaking out for control of the body they shared. He surrendered a little, permitting that nature to turn his one eye yellow because they had agreed on this, one last stretch of pretend to help ease the fractured soul. He had to add his dreams to the pot but all he wanted was the simple stuff. He put himself in a blacked out venue, it could have been home or anywhere, but it felt so right because his band was behind him on that stage of life. It didn’t matter what they did or who they were with so long as they were with him and happy he’d have everything he needed. To complete his vision, he took the opportunity presented him by his assumed singular audience of self and the acoustics of the smoothed out rocks, the falls playing the part of roaring applause. As he sang the song that he had written without a proper tune because the band was not supposed to hear it, he let his sadness and choking misery color the lyrics. Stuck in his fantasy for the whole song he made believe that he was doing this for a crowd of millions and for no one at all simultaneously. This was his song and no could judge the way he felt, they hadn’t been here. They weren’t the ones getting the scraps of life built on love back to them in a bucket by something that had used his own to tear it down! That anger peppered the finish, with the sun dipping out of sight and the moon becoming more and more powerful. Had it not been for a life time of vocal and dance training, the pressure the hour put on his ribs might of interrupted his ability to sing but he used that rasp to emote even further. He would have to skip the echoes that tapered the song to a close because his ribs snapped inward and made him stop.
All of them, every single rib broke and visibly so in this cloudless pre night. Jarron would observe him tossing himself about, naturally responding to the panic of so many explosions inside his skin. Every bone broke and re-knitted instantly in a new form just so it could break again to find that shape the design wanted. Donald had a beautiful face but the visible indention of the breaks to his skull disfigured him in terrible ways until finally his bones were too big for his skin and it split from him, new skin suiting to his new size already formed underneath but even from Jarron’s vantage point it was quite thin, raw and sensitive. Donald’s teeth fell from his mouth along with blood that buffeted the teething canines of a dog fit to the shape of his new face and new wild golden eyes.
...Run if you intend to survive for the beast is here
Posted: Sat Jan 25, 2014 11:30 pm
M1DN1GHT_V10L3T
Jarron
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Frustration would have overtaken an amateur hunter upon finding no paw prints or evidence of the wolf's existence, but that's not the case for Jarron. The hunter glanced in every possible direction, expecting to see someone else roaming in the distance. Though, he actually a little surprised to see a male around his age walking around in pair of Ninja Turtle shorts and nothing else appearing to be on his person. Upon seeing Donald's current choice of clothing he started remembering when him and sister had stayed up late watching all of the original TMNT movies, until she had fallen asleep. Jarron quietly shook away the memory and silently followed the platinum blonde.
The red head watched him carefully from a distance, not wanting to take any chances of being noticed and creating anymore space between his prey. He was mentally taking note of Donald's actions as well slight change appearance, before being completely caught off guard by his voice. The lyrics crawling underneath his skin bringing back one of the worse times in his life. His mind was drifting back to the first week without his little sunshine, Elize, his baby sister. Jarron didn't want to eat, speak, or sleep during that time. All he could think of was the lifeless corpse of Elize popping into his mind constantly. The hunters that took him in had to sedate every night that first week to get him to sleep, but he finally started piecing himself together and began to eat, sleep, but didn't speak to anyone for a while.
The long haired male snapped out of his trip down memory lane after the song was cut short abruptly. He watched the barely clothed blonde's body transform in an agonizing way almost showing a sign of sympathy, but kept an analyzing stare on Donald. Jarron had only witnessed a werewolf transformation three times, but none of them were this violent during the change. He was a bit impressed by the size of his quarry, but not enough to keep him from killing the beast.
I can not begin to describe the hunger that I feel...
Where there was once music in the air, now that Donald’s skin was peeling away from him in a wet mess, there was only the screaming. Real screaming of pain that very few would ever hear; that sickly kind that started as silent echoes like the tongue was swelling in the throat, that shuddering noise when children tried to meet the demand of an adult that told them to stop crying. Then it would follow up with that roar of pain, blood on the vocal cords easily discerned from the bile enduring gurgle that twisted it. The rattling volume and fluctuations, the renewed vigor from each new wound as it was inflicted with no time to rest between them; this kind of cruel screaming couldn’t be faked. This punishment was supposed to fit the crime of birth, of rebellion? How was someone supposed to still believe in love when this was the bimonthly price? Martyr’s had it so easy, all they did was die for their causes. This was why he loved Heroes. Heroes endured life for their beliefs and took a lot more strength than dying. Then again, that sounds much like the speech of someone trying too hard to convince themselves than someone else.
Donald had his shape now, the fur on tender new skin growing in rapidly. It prickled and itched so much, and the beast already pushing the human back to the depths of subconscious, wouldn’t know any better but to scratch at it. Such big sharp claws on still delicate pink skin, there was no resistance when he cut himself open. The change still under process afforded him the forgiveness of rapid healing but that didn’t stop the smear of red on the rocks and that snowy white underbelly. Neck, ears, the side of its fully formed face, the great white wolf had dawned its war paint. The thing stood a clean 6’5” with a broad barrel chest, narrow waist and sported long reaching limbs. Its strength was clearly stated before it even did anything. Surely Jarron had seen big wolves and maybe a few stronger ones, but this one was true its title. Donald was a trophy worthy head to be mounted on a wall somewhere. One last thrashing, the beast tossed its head back to expose its belly to the moonlight, paws on its eyes and ears as if gaining it’s head and mind back from the pain. For Jarron this is where things would start to contradict and also start to get more familiar, the beast was making a new noise as it’s tongue ran over its nose and down the side over the blood…it was actually laughing. This pain and this freedom at last after so much repression; it was joyous like an uplifting revival. Why shouldn’t he enjoy the pain he inflicted on his capture? The human runt never gave him an inch of slack; the doormat pathetic c**t and he was supposed to answer to something as weak as humanity? Of course he’d deal with a few boo-boos if it got to that parasite in his head.
What to do first with his limited time of absolute freedom? Maybe bound down the mountain and pay a visit to the human’s pack, shred them like confetti just to spite him for his incarceration? His answer came in the form of a scent he knew well mixing with the unique stink of human; he smelled nicotine. Someone close by had been smoking recently, he sniffed the air that paled pink nose turning to find it. Would Jarron get the hint before that nose pointed at him, those eyes like razors cutting through the brush and into his soul as it saw him? He bore his teeth as it chuckled, “What’s the quickest route between two points?”
Rather than answer in words, the wolf chose to leap for the ledge where Jarron had crouched to spy. The ledge had been too high for his jump, his top half landed but his hind quarters would have to struggle for a moment, dislodging old stones and uprooting trees in the fight for footing to chase down his target. It wasn’t much in the way of a handicap for Jarron to get to a safe distance but it would be the hairs distance he needed to arm himself.
...Run if you intend to survive for the beast is here
Posted: Sun Jan 26, 2014 11:36 pm
M1DN1GHT_V10L3T
Thank you biggrin I'll definitely enjoy the fight.
Jarron
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The hunter had forced himself to keep his arms at his sides after the screeching was practically assaulting his eardrums. 'This beast has some lungs...I'm almost sure my ears are bleeding by now.' he thought, still watching and ignoring the painful ringing going on inside of his ears. Most hunters that didn't have a backbone would have ran off or made an amateur's mistake and try killing a werewolf while they transformed let's just say confetti or mince meat. Jarron stayed at his perch, hoping to see any possible weaknesses as Donald changed under the moonlight.
The moon gave Jarron a clear view of his quarry in it's beastly form,'Snow white fur, check, tall, check, and razor sharp claws...check.'he thought, while remembering the details he was given that stood out to those who had seen a glimpse of the white wolf from a distance. The hunter took note of the beast's muscles and already assume there would be a long struggle before there was a victor.
His mind took a small trip eight years back once hearing the wolf laughing at the splatters of blood. The red head smacked himself quietly, but hard enough to snap himself back into reality. 'Werewolves always either smiling or laughing at the sight or smell of blood...typical.'he thought, still keeping his sights on the prize standing below his perch as well fighting back the thoughts of that fateful night.
'This wolf is a wildcard there's no telling what it actually wants or if just enjoys the thrill of pure bloodshed.'Jarron thought, trying to still figure out away to trap the beast properly before taking it out. The long haired male silently lowered himself to the ground when he noticed his prey sniffing the air as though something had caught his interest. He tensed up slightly when the beast had asked a question which of course the answer was a leap. 'So much for not blowing my cover, the one time cigarettes betray me. F***!'
The grey eyed male moved back far enough where the beast couldn't grab a hold of him. He knelt down to grab his bowie knife from his shoe, since his rapier was back at his motel room. 'Should have expected this to happen and not cared if I got hassled for carrying my blade around the town.'
I can not begin to describe the hunger that I feel...
All fours to the slated rocks and moss of the ledge, claws sinking deep into natural earth like sporting cleats, the beast moved fast and though it’s broad shoulders checked some of that speed they ultimately gave to the impact of the wolf’s single minded focus. Prey was the only thing on his one tracked mind. Jarron was smaller and more nimble when it came to getting around the dangers of the forest but the trees were just as much his enemy as the beast on his heels pushing him north: toward the bunker.
“Run, run as fast as you can Ginger p***k,” Don, the alter ego of the beast that dwells within Donald, taunted a reference to a nursery rhyme at Jarron’s back while he rocketed through the trees in a hail of splintered pine wood. “You’re not fast enough!”
Assuming that Jarron took advantage of a minutes worth of time to hide as he cleared the crest of hill before the beast and hid himself, it would buy him time for the opportunity of finding Don’s single weakness. The rush of the race, the adrenaline in his head pounding with his pulse and the tempo of the fight in front of him, it clouded his judgment and he lost the scent for a second. It opened for the instantaneous switch of attention to the scared skittering of a squirrel over leaves. The sorry squirrel didn’t make it passed the second tree before jaws snapped on it. If true terror existed it wasn’t here but in the nightmares later when it would sink in just how fast life can turn into patte in the mouths of monsters. Hot blood, tawny fur, and half munched skull slid on the teeth as it opened to grin at its handiwork before the barely recognizable lump of meat fell to the ground. Out of sight out of mind, Don went chasing birds leaving Jarron with his secret; Sever Attention Deficit Disorder. The wolf was Donald’s Id on steroids without the ego of the human to guide it. Prehaps that was what werewolves really were, the splitting of ID and Ego, and that’s why they were so dangerous.
...Run if you intend to survive for the beast is here
