<span style="color: #FF80BF">OOC NOTE:<br/><br/>Coool! Totally in! &lt;3 <br/><br/>My concept for the pack is a bit of an oddity; the idea is that they're carnival folk. They travel with caravans and cheap rides, hook-a-ducks, tin alleys, bright lights, huge speakers, they read tarot, set up dog fights and sell drugs. Modern days gypsies with a twist!<br/><br/>They're a wee bit on the barbaric and dark side! I hope you don't mind! ^^' Oh you'll see! *flails*<br/><br/>Atticus is a young (18), recently 'crowned' alpha still finding his feet. Quite a bohemian creature, stands at 5'11, think dark dreadlocks, nose rings and tattoos, dash in sharp Romani features and a strong back from man handling funfair ride maintenance and you've got yourself anything but a dashing prince charming. <br/>He's the kind of fool that believes the Pack should be equal and still does some of the dogsbody jobs about camp. <br/><br/>I've also introduced his Beta, Lute here, but you'll hear more about the androgynous monster as you go!</span><br/><br/>Lute:m<a class="postlink" href="http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/291/b/e/eeeh_another_character_by_jawbone_ashtray-d4d8wzc.jpg">http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/ ... 4d8wzc.jpg</a>m<br/><br/>Atticus:m<a class="postlink" href="http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/043/2/8/bored_by_jawbone_ashtray-d4phol4.jpg">http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/ ... 4phol4.jpg</a>m<br/><br/><br/><br/>Burning.<br/>That sickly sweet, metallic tang of bubbling flesh and dry burned hair carried with the early evening breeze. It was a scent nigh on impossible to forget, the kind of wretched stink that set up a second home in the back of your skull and paid you regular visits in your sleep. It was the stuff of memory that fed the stuff of nightmares and although it's terrible source was gone three miles away, buried in a colossal ditch of earth at that, both werewolves could still smell the small town blazing a hole flash through the snow and blackening a home shaped ring in the earth.<br/>Could still hear the echo of voices, though the initial panic had long since settled into a gentle murmur.<br/><br/>Two figures snaked their way through the trees, one human one otherwise. It was a dense smattering of undergrowth, but there was nothing frigid to their footwork, both knew precisely when to alter a step slightly higher, when to duck a low hanging branch, when to tread lightly or lose a foot to the sucking mud and snow, when to pause and test the scent of the atmosphere.<br/>Their kin had an outstanding collective memory of earth formations, it was almost as though some little part of their ancestral inheritance was a dedicated and detailed mental compass. Had to. When the difference between life and death came down to recalling the split line between one tree and another , one packs territory and your own, then Darwin's theory tended to favour the natural map makers amongst wolves.<br/><br/>Lute broke the silence first.<br/><br/>"Territory politics," he announced, sounding a little too cheerful for his comrades liking --<br/>Lute was often like that. More often than not. Insensitive, cold hearted, disregarding, unemphatic and very much playing the ball of social etiquette in his own stadium, a different one, a 'better' one, one great distances away from everyone else's.<br/><br/>Perfect for his role in the Pack.<br/><br/>Lute played both Beta and enforcer.<br/>First to fear and second to respect.<br/>He was a tall pale creature who's pride of place was at the right hand of the Alpha and should any threat arise over that place it was his duty to quash it. Once upon a time a handful of stray mutt-like werewolves had clashed with their Pack, even killed one of their number; Lute, who was judge, jury and executioner had set out with a smile on his face and knives down his socks. Three days later only one of the trouble makers was left the poor fellow had been handed Polaroid snapshots, like keepsakes from a holiday, memorabilia from the oh so happy day, these were before-and-after's of what had happened to his buddies. Disgusting photo's, images that looked like so much glistening meat (or, in Lute's own words "Still shots from the movie The Thing!") until BOOM all the pieces came together in your head along with the sudden and terrible realization that you were recognising body parts.<br/>'To share among his friends' Lute had told him and sent the poor guy on his merry way.<br/><br/>Always save a messenger was the motto here and it was one that had earned him and the entire pack a reputation that traveled three states ahead.<br/><br/>And, like a well loved antique, Lute had been passed down through the family, from the previous Alpha to his son Atticus.<br/><br/>"Territory politics," Lute repeated dully, grinding a wad of vibrant pink bubblegum between the sharp, wolf-esque ridges of his teeth. His breath visibly curled out for the cold, mud flecks pale against the leather of his chelsea boots, looking for all the world like a naughty teenager out on the booze, but walking with the prowess of an experienced hiker.<br/><br/>A mottled grey wolf, tall as his waist loped along their path ahead of him.<br/><br/>Atticus, the second member of the gruesome twosome knew better than to take the Betas devil-may-care tone to heart. It had been seven years since Lute's son was pronounced dead and nearly half as long since Lute himself was pronounced clinically psychotic.<br/>-- Atticus would have winced were he in his human form; now he was making excuses for the monster! A town was burning and he was making excuses...<br/>No.<br/>It didn't stop him from feeling pissed off though. A low growl rose in the back his throat, ears flattening against his skull, he didn't turn back or stop though, Lute knew well enough to listen.<br/><br/>"I'm just saying," the enforcer raised both hands defensively, eyebrows leaping up a notch, long pale hair like ghost floss catching in stray banches, "It's obvious isn't it? A town goes down, who do you think people are going to blame?"<br/><br/>There was a fierce bark in reply, Atticus's eyes glistened a fierce blue even in the falling dark. Communication in wolf form was about many things, body language was a significant portion of that.<br/><br/>"I know,<span style="font-style: italic">I know</span>, it wasn't us," Lute rolled his eyes, "But we're a bit obvious aren't we? New boys about town, crock o' gypos pulling a carni onto the edge of town, few days later POOF. Buh bye! BBQ hoedown next door," Lute carried on casually, but his dark eyes glistened like beads on a childs necklace with a deeper function, the promise of violence, "Someone's setting us up Master..."<br/><br/>Atticus glanced back over his shoulder, hackles rising. The following growl and pause meant one thing and one thing only; shut the fuck up and change.<br/><br/>They had hunting to do, what happened to the locals didn't concern them. Humans had their own authorities let them deal with it... still... as much as he wanted to he couldn't ignore the facts. Lute was right. There was a witch hunt coming their way, but one they couldn't afford to face on empty stomachs nonetheless. Food was the priority.<br/><br/>Lute sighed, bent into a melodramatic sweeping bow and spat a gob-load of gum and spittle into the bushes. "Yessir." he ducked off onto a separate path, peeling off his jumper as he went. Changing form was a... 'messy' process and Lute rather much liked his clothes fresh from the packet pristine.<br/><br/>Atticus snorted a billowing cloud of mist in distaste and started ahead. That slimy bastard would catch up in his own time. There were scents to chase up.<br/><br/><br/><br/>------------              -------------------              -------------<br/><br/><br/>Atticus could feel the vibrations of each step as his paws pounded against the earth. The vibration roared through his, set his blood on fire like someone had pumped raw gasoline through his veins. The mint-fresh sharp tang of nature built up in his lungs until he could explode with it and his muscles protested with a dull ache against the assertion of the run.<br/><br/>But it was worth it.<br/><br/>Every second.<br/><br/>As a wolf his whole mind, the way he webbed the world together, metamorphosed as much as his physical form. Whilst his muscles bent and twisted to accommodate his new shape, the cat's cradle neurons of his brain shifted and entangled themselves all over to comprehend all the extra sensory data his new features provided him. They processed things in new orders. His surroundings no longer arrived to him shackled with ideas and concepts, nothing linked to emotion or memory the way it did when dealing with the deck of a human head-- instead the environment came to him with all the clicking certainty of a film reel. NOW, the moment, the very present second was all that existed, all that NEEDED to exist.<br/><br/>No regrets. No worried. No self consciousness. No oh so human mental blights to tackle.<br/><br/>And it was wonderful.<br/><br/>Lute was nowhere to be seen, but the whole forest stank of his mark, even the trees were periodically dashed with scars from the white wolfs claws, he didn't need to be around for his presence to be known, it was reassuring. It meant that the enforcer was doing his job, but most of all it frightened away most other predatory animals and ruined the competition for food...<br/><br/>Speaking of food-- the wolf froze. His nostrils flared, ears pricked.<br/><br/>There was a new scent to the air, something musky and warm, something alive.<br/><br/>Atticus veered off course and chased it up, a moment of weaving through the undergrowth later, the mottled wolf came to a small clearing. Interestingly still there was something else there. It smelled... no... surely not... it smelled human, but it was alone, not noisy and... fearful...<br/>The emotion caught in the air and made his blood cold, animal instinct wanted to immediately snuff it out, sink fangs deep into it's throat, all the way to the hilt of gum, until blood wet the fur about his lips and rich, hot, metallic liquid glistened on his tongue and basted the inner flesh of his throat.<br/>Blood. Always left a sticky coating.<br/><br/>Atticus shook off the sensation, both mentally and physically and let out a low warning growl. If it didn't move, instinct reminded him softly, then it was probably already half dead or too stupid to live, either way it would be a mercy to snuff it out and a blessing of food on the pack!<br/><br/>For a moment he squinted through the darkness, trying to will a recognizable figure out.<br/><br/>He hunkered down on his haunches and crept forwards.<br/><br/>What he saw shocked him.<br/><br/>It was first of all human, his nose had yet to lie to him, but... it was thin, legs like a sparrows, face carved down to cheek bones and pair of huge headlamp eyes, soft, slightly dirty skin strewn across a thin line of lithe muscle, like that you'd see on a cat or a deer, heartbeat battering against it's ribcage, but only half as strong as something so young should be. Then his breath caught in his throat. It was a woman.<br/><br/>Not a young gallivanting animal trapper gone astray, not one of the violent tree burning teenagers you often saw in these parts, clutching bottles, cigarettes bobbing from their lips... just... just a girl...<br/><br/>No, perhaps not... this was too unusual, maybe she DID present a threat, maybe this was a trap set up by a rival pack...<br/><br/>Atticus snorted a warm mist of breath into the cold air around them and surveyed the territory quickly, padding towards her ONLY when he was certain it was empty...