<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/DvHFcGz.jpg)</div><strong>NAME:</strong>Nelson 'Dark Claw' Wilson<br/>(Optional)<strong>WEARING:</strong>Hawaiian shirt (aggressively colourful), grey tank top (with five distinct mustard stains of varying shades), cream cargo shorts (with an old relish stain on the left leg), white socks, sandals, sunglasses<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Beach<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>Noon | Thursday July 6th 2023<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>Grilling, chilling, being a certified alpha wolf and bona fide giga chad<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Dove of Winter "Kerr," Open<br/><hr/><br/>Nelson 'Dark Claw' Wilson may not have had a lot of things going for him like other facgime - a portmanteau of faction and regime - heads had going for him. He did not have seemingly endless bank accounts that the Vampires, Warlocks, and Shadowhunters had, with the associated black lamborghinis, gold chains, and penthouse apartments. But his pack was a family of like-minded individuals and there was, in the main, very little friction. And when there was a problem, they settled the matter in the manliest manner possible: 1v1 beach ball games. Or, if the weather was like, really bad and horrible - as it often could be in Vancouver - they figured out something else, like extreme Jenga. Which was just like, normal Jenga. But it was winner take all. A lot better than that fighting to the death toxic bullshit of traditional packs.<br/><br/>As head of the pack it fell to Dark Claw to tend to the grill. It was a nice little portable model with a small propane canister on the side that made things quick and easy. Some people said that charcoal was better - and maybe it was, Hank Hill! - but nobody wanted to be arsed to drag one of those sons of bitches out to the beach, set it up, get the charcoal in and going, and then clean it up to take it home at the end of the day. So. Propane it was. And sizzling away on the grill were several Johnsonville bratwursts. There were more in a cooler nearby, and another cooler had some Molsons chilling. Dark Claw had one in his hand that was pretty lukewarm right now, because it was warmed by his hand. It was okay, though. It was a trial that Dark Claw suffered for his pack.<br/><br/>After giving the bratwursts a few experimental prods with a grill fork, Dark Claw seemed satisfied that they were being grilled apace, and settled down in a nearby beach chair. He settled in to watch a game of frisbee that was taking place between some members of the pack - shirts and skins. How, exactly, it was competitive Dark Claw was not 100% sure but everyone was having fun so he was happy.<br/><br/>"Hey, uh, Nelson." One wolf said. Dark Claw looked up, sunglasses hiding his eyes. "Look, I know you're the Alpha and you wanna be called 'Dark Claw' but man it sounds dorky AF."<br/><br/>"That hurts my feelings, Craig. It really does." Dark Claw responded, genuinely. Craig looked contrite.<br/><br/>"Um, I'm sorry, really. I will respect your preferred name." Craig said respectfully.<br/><br/>"I accept your apology, Craig. Thank you." Dark Claw replied, inclining his head in acknowledgement.<br/><br/>"Anyway, um, the chick over there. She's uh, she kinda smells." There was a beat where Dark Claw looks impassively at Craig, who shifted uncomfortably. "I don't mean her hygiene, bro. I mean, like, she smells like a Downworlder." Awareness dawned on Dark Claw, and he made an 'oh' look. He shifted and looked over towards where Dove was wandering about near the water line and closer to where the pack was fooling around.<br/><br/>"Guess, I uh, better go talk to her." Dark Claw said. He looked at the grill, and pursed his lips. He held out the grill fork to Craig. "Keep a close eye on these brats, my dude. I don't want them burned, alright? You have my utmost trust."<br/><br/>Craig looked at the grill dubiously, but accepted the fork with one hand and saluted it with the other. "I will strive to be worthy of your trust and show its not misplaced, mon commandant!" Dark Claw nodded with the seriousness and sagacity that made him the Pack Alpha.<br/><br/>He straightened his shirt, and noted that there were a few mustard stains on his gray tank. It was too late now. He did not notice that there was also an old relish stain on his shorts on the left leg. This was simply how Dark Claw rolled.<br/><br/>Of course, Reginald would not be caught dead - undead - greeting a new Vampire or other Downworlder at less than his best. But Dark Claw was not Reginald.<br/><br/>It was for the best, really.<br/><br/>Everyone knew that.<br/><br/>Everyone.<br/><br/>Dark Claw head over towards Dove and waved with his free hand. He smiled at the young Downworlder. His body language communicated openness and friendliness. "Hey there, buddy!" Dark Claw said once he got closer and did not have to speak too loudly to be heard. He stopped once he was about arm's length from her. "My name's Dark Claw." He said, in a voice full of what he imagined was mysteriousness and suaveness, utterly confident - in his own mind at least - that he was the coolest wolf in all of Vancouver.