He'd not always been this square of meat, but Collin had never been anything less than a carcature of intimidation. It was relevant, the way he carried on with his life. At home, growing, he'd always been given anything he wanted. While Miranda would sacrifice time by her needles and threaded machine, Mrs. Ranh stood by her smoking pans. Meat, all the time. And to distance herself from it, like twins do, his sister had eaten as little as possible, proudly wasiting away while her actuall little brother had shot up. At some point, just like his mother, it was hard for anyone to refuse him. In the mountains, wild things are expected and encouraged to run free, and few things are wilder than boars.<br/><br/>All this heft, and the usual quiet of a natural structure waiting for people to settle around it so it can act up with fire-downpour or great quakes, and he still had challengers. Collin thrived on them - he was always looking for someone hopeful. Or someone who hadn't been beaten down well-enough, yet. It was the same with the girls. By some right, he had his pick. The ones who were counting on his charm would have to find it themselves, and the ones who had their splayed-lashes fanning at some other buck would be sorely surprised if they fit his palled. Reno might have thought she had it bad with her finger cuffs and sudden embraces to shake her into the mood until her teeth clapped, but he'd performed by-the-book violations too. He'd not liked it for itself in the beginning, but he learned to apprechiates the finer shadows of distress. One of the challengers, though, had left a mark.<br/><br/>And just like then, on their snowy advent away from her brother, his head was out. Sometimes the lulls had him try his hand at a conversational path. Smiles on girls aren't that expensive. Aren't birds supposed to eat anything? A minimal angle to his head showed that he was already growing weary, the concoction of his blood expressing itself in a shinier film on his green eyes. She was allowed her protests like she was allowed breathing. If it made her feel better and kept her wings agile, she could have it, but little birds don't survive great turbines, no matter how flaked red and over-revved. The backseat pen was already calming from the battle royal of the other swine. They could all sense the particular brand of docile Reno was offering. One of them pressed his forehead to the glass.<br/><br/>Collin did stir a bit from his intended cerography when she mentioned her passed father. She was pulling out all the stops. She really didn't want to be his courtesan in flimsy shoes and corduroy jacket tonight. Admittedly, some girls didn't know what they were for, and he'd forgiven a lot of them for that - it usually didn't get in the way of his archaic courting. On another night her grief might have traded her some peace. But she wasn't grieving, was she? She was catching a tan from the glow of Burning Bear's most beloved cub. It was offensive, actually, that she'd try to keep him to herself. He sucked a breath through his nose, short and decisive.<br/><br/>"Nah." and that was a hammerfall as good as any judge's. He didn't like the feel of it, but the fact was that he owned this town in Volk's absence. All the stow-away, too young nights when mom and dad was away, all the forest escapes, all the parked cars by the cliff. The court of hyenas in the back changed their demeanor again, hungry but still somewhat contained. Poor Reno, putting out all the vibrations that she was indeed the kind of wilting that these scavenging hollow-eyes liked. In truth, the girl displayed a perfect balance act of town whore and frolicking flower-girl. It was the kind of creature they wanted to protect and violate at the same time. Collin might have been a bit more attached to her because of it, if she didn't stink of her brother's absence. The boys in the back had no such history with the gone prince, and wondered if they'd be allowed to plug her up between them, real air tight.<br/><br/>"We're going there anyway. He's our buddy. He'll kick my ass if I went by you and didn't pick you up." Because honor is important for dirty blond behemoths with girl blood still on their gullets, and fresh scenes of unfortunate people doing unfortunate things for cash on his laptop swimming with malware. He knew the better motivations, he was just not of them. "'sides, Reno. Do you want us to get to him without you?" The threat should speak to her loving side. Heroine in a skirt. His sister wouldn't have taken an uneven breath at the thought of him meeting with half a mob. Reno reverted to this hatchling exactly because of strings from her heart to Volk's leaving spine. He stepped out, open shirt and clean t-shirt and all, to stand like an ill-willed roadblock by her side, sinking into the filth by weight and plans, to heavily suggest she climb past the drivers seat.<br/><br/>If the distance and time had taught her the right lesson, and she'd rather see his beautiful chariot push off than the ripped up rubber of his dashboard, he'd simply scoop her up and place her inside, real gentle, hand on her ass to fold her right. Either way the gaggle of hooligans would shake the car. Maybe when Collin made his way in again, and slammed the creaking barrier shut and drove, she'd realized that his tentative calm was better than the eager sweat and adoring eyes looking for hers in the mirror. "Nice seeing you again." and that was true, even if he didn't face her for it. "Sorry about your loss." And by the lack of emotion in the sound, he probably meant it as much as he could. Conventional sentimentality was just not that interesting to him.<br/><br/>Volk was feeling glorious, pacing around and pointing out what missing frames he could remember, their poorly captured content. Everywhere memories of the family's memories smiled back at him. Here was Reno holding up a fat fish Jonas had pulled out of a drying lake. She smiled toothless and didn't notice her father's hand pinching the head to help her. Her raised one twig arm was an ergonomic disaster as much as it was a festival for his heart. It was the remembered color-catches of the little girl that made him happy. Father's face let him grieve in little bursts, atop the empty piano that Reno used to dangle her feet in front of, making sounds closer to that of drums while assaulting the keys. He thought maybe Miranda had ruined the insides of that instrument out of self-preservation. When the girl had gotten extra loud it had then-Volk rolling on the floor in hysteric laughter, until both adults were amused too. He bit his teeth when he remembered the wedding photo. It was barely color, and he held the absent wood square up to himself by the window. He'd put it to Miranda's face while she was being overly zealous while he fucked her. He'd berated her and she'd grown slicker. Volk let the picture slip from his palm with a sigh. There was no crash of cheap glass, but he'd shattered that memory himself, hadn't he, inside Miranda while she said his name.<br/><br/>The clock on his well-charged device said it was getting late, as though he was blind to the mountain night outside. He muttered to himself as he slipped black leather over an ambitiously casual gray tank-top. Proud boy and all his other sins. It took more time getting the cycle down from the truck, and he muttered to himself about a stubborn bitch for the third time today, at the truck's presence. What was the point of inheriting a ride if she wasn't going to use it? He didn't know the silver rustling in his pocket was the answer, because things are never Volk's fault. He spent some time checking his only faithful darling for scratches and licked his glove to stupidly wipe away a reflection in the coat. It felt like he was going to drive off into the cab-infested night, and arrive gallantly at some already thumping building where people called his name from the balcony. Season's cologne and eau de whathaveyou filling him faster than tar-smoke from rolls of fancy paper and colored filters. He missed the numbness of his perfect concoction of middle-range libations. He missed the younger generation of girl names talking to him and finding reasons to turn around for no reason. "Fucking place, eh, Joan?" he offered for leaving her outside before standing.<br/><br/>He was the very incarnation of a dapper, runaway prince, sitting on the exclusive build and lifting his helmet while the wind built a sideways tower of his ridiculously well cut mess of hair when the riders saw him from their less-than-grand red truck. He could see the attitude in the turbulence of that falling-apart mass, and laughed to himself, shaking that head without it's helmet. This was part of the gauntlet of coming back. He remained where he was though, eager to hit that electric switch.<br/><br/>"Hello, Reno. I'm Carl, and I'm new." a sickly slender character said from behind her, rolling a longhaired likeness out beyond the top of her seat. It had the hyenas scream with happiness, as though it had been a joke they were waiting for. Collin didn't mind them, staring at the snob brother on the snobbier bike. Volk had not seen the girl yet, and Carl made sure to delay that, too, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back to the den of happy hands, one quick over her mouth while the other willing men made belts with their arms for her body.<br/><br/>Collin landed by Jonas's truck and came out quickly, arms out, trump-card still bandaged in less-offensive, but not too friendly limbs, away from brother's direct detection. "Mother-fucking Wicker!" he called and Volt smiled with an amused hiss, looking down and shaking his chin, mouthing 'this fucking guy'.<br/><br/>He shrugged with a grin, so handsome and healthy it made Collin want to put his whiskey and cheese sandwich on the ground with the bile. It all came with meeting this beautiful traitor. Deserter. The two did hug on Volk's terms, with Colling slightly bent over the bike, Volk sparing one arm for the helmet. Reno could see, but she couldn't speak.<br/><br/>"Ya see, Renno. Collin kinda hates Volk, but they were like fucking besties back in the day." Carl said into her ear. With the music, they didn't really need to whisper. She was in the afterlife, set apart, and was allowed to watch her brother live mortal from a dirty window between the worlds. Nothing she said or did would reach him. "Volk kicked his ass, king-o-fucking dirty tricks. And that's made Collin a big baby around him ever since." Pronounced 'séance'. It was before he walked out, must be. It wasn't something Collin would have been keen on telling her, squeezing her neck.<br/><br/>"Hey, nice seeing you, bigboy." Volk gave and meant it. Bully Collin had never been a problem for the Wicker prince. Collin accepted gracefully and even took a step back to let Volk continue getting ready. Short but sweet, he thought. "But I gotta go. You didn't see Ren on your way, did you?" he asked and placed the helmet ontop of his head, like a fucking monopoly-man high hat.<br/><br/>"Yeah. I did." he said, and saw the darkness gather in Volks brows - the nightly pelagic churning in some calamity. All manner of howls suddenly wrecked Volk's skin like a bag of motorized weapons. At least the boy knew to keep his expression in check. "She's in the car." Thumb there-ward, like Volk needed it. The siblings locked eyes finally, and Carl let go of her beautiful lips, now with the paint unmade slightly. Volk slowly shook his head, the helmet staying where it was. It was Volk's turn to die in front of her, cheekbones hollow and strength vacated, like a screen had been pulled from a starving landscape. If she'd ever wanted proof of her worth, she'd see it in the hidden anguish that made him deadly mad and hopeless at the same time. Her brother wasn't formidable for an instance - lover in the rye, leaving prodigal - he was Jonas in the casket, wasted away to only the physical parts. He was warning her of something before he turned back to Collin. "You know what. I'm being rude. Let's catch up." Volk put the headgear on the seat after leaving it, and threw an arm around the giant. It underlined that they were roughly the same height, which might be hard to believe. It seemed brother was trying to whore his own time for more of hers. Collin pretended no to notice, which was his way of accepting the barter.<br/><br/>The hyenas carried out the bird onto her own yard, and Carl held her hand when she got her footing back. "Handsome lad, your brother." he said as another boy-man leaned closer, too, much to Volk's quiet anger. A wolf's skull in spirit, smoking and bubbling over brother's head in place of the discarded helmet. The behemoth leader still held him by the leash of baby bird's safety.<br/><br/>"Not your real brother though. Right?" the new speaker prodded as he took her other hand. "Ever fuck him? Collin says you're the kind."