any stranger I choose
Mercutio Kingston
Medic

Age: 37 | Height: 6’3” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Nomadic
Level: 0 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 12 - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Laine Offline
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Posts: 10 | Total: 66
MP: 0
#1
A week was a long time to go without a proper meal. Mercutio had snagged a few bites here and there in his brief foray into the settlement but it felt strange to linger too long in the human populated area. He’d received more than one look that told him people still saw wolf and thought wolf. Returning to the woodland, however presented the entirely new challenge, he’d never been a predator before. A man, yes, but that had come with the delightful perk of being able to buy game from other humans; even in this strange place Mercutio wasn’t placing his bet on running into any wolf merchants.

Hunting, it turns out, is not all that easy. Harder still when one was still struggling to feel fully at ease in a new skin. He’d been able to track down a few deer throughout the day but his attempts at catching them had been frankly ludicrous and left him exhausted and hunkered down as the base of one of the larger trees. There had to be easier game, he thought as sundown approached. When learning from their parents wolf pups surely had a few steps before they graduated to taking down elk, right? Yes, but they also had a pack to teach them, said the entirely unwelcome and unhelpful bit of Mercutio’s brain. It was the part that kept pulling up images of emeralds and sand dunes and splashes of water.

With an exasperated huff, the wolf flopped his head down onto his paws and tried to concentrate. Rabbits? Squirrels? He eyed one stumpy little mushroom dubiously and thought better of it. Nightfall, he knew, would bring a whole to swath of creatures to the surface. He could wait until then.
Mercutio
go take this the wrong way
you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you
Cera Novik
Metalsmith / Medic

Age: 29 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 1 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 12 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 79 | Total: 6,168
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#2
-CERA-

An idea has been bouncing around in Cera's head the past few moons, and he can't seem to shake it. After meeting Granger, seeing the general dilapidation of the Settlement, the general nomadic lives of those around him he couldn't hold back the idea. Humans had such fickle notions about land and loyalty, he'd never before seen such a lone-wolf ideology and it bothered him. Yes, he hadn't always been human, but even his personality alone left him hungering for skinship, attachment, love...

Even so, it doesn't change the fact that other things must be put in motion first before it can be accomplished. He does not want to put a hasty or careless claim on the crumbling abodes available to him. It feels wrong to do so when he knows his end goal is a glorious, beautiful house that can be shared with any and everyone. So he still returns to the forest as the sun begins to sink, walking on two feet instead of four as he enjoys the last few rays of sunshine against his bare skin. Without his fur it was cooler than the desert-child preferred, but it was worth it to feel it so intimately on his skin.

So drawn into turning his face to the sun like a starving sunflower, he nearly stumbles when he finally turns his head and finds a massive wolf splayed out at the base of a tree on the way to his own little den. For a moment he remains frozen, still unsure of the differences between Attuned and wild. "Ah...hello there friend," Cera calls softly, careful not to move any closer until he can figure it out. "You're rather close to my den," he laughs a little nervously. He sincerely hopes their territories don't overlap or he'll have to find another place to sleep. Not great when he was so fond of his current den, especially with winter drawing close. One hand drifts to his satchel, glad to have a wrapped pack of meat still remaining. If he needed to draw the wolf away, it would certainly come in handy. "Are you hungry, hun?" Oh Gods please don't let this be an Attuned or his nervous rambling would embarrass him to actual death.
Mercutio Kingston
Medic

Age: 37 | Height: 6’3” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Nomadic
Level: 0 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 12 - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Laine Offline
Change author:
Posts: 10 | Total: 66
MP: 0
#3
Waiting for nightfall had its own drawbacks. It afforded the wolf much too much time to let his mind wander and when he did it kept drifting back to the horrid flare of emotion that his conversation with Ashe had sparked.

He wan’t the only soul brought here.

The more he tried not to think on it the more insistently it asserted itself in his brain and that unacknowledged hope he’d had in previous realms made itself home in his heart again, the unwelcome git. Last time he’d met an old woman who’d said that Mercutio had arrived from nowhere “…just like that nice young man…” and that had been all his stupid fucking imagination had needed to conjure images of chasing green eyes and angel smiles across stars and universes; souls torn asunder and reunited.

It was bullshit, he told himself; good things like that only happened to heroes and Mercutio didn’t deserve that kind of story. If anything he deserved to chase vain hopes for eternity and even that was kind of bullshit. He decided (repeatedly) to not let him self think about such things and focus on the here and now, namely food.

Because food and his distinct lack of it had held a firm grip on his mind all day, Mercutio’s first thought at noticing the approach of the young man was a half-hearted Hmmm…Wonder if I could eat him? It’s hypothetical, of course, for even as the thought forms Mercutio knows he’s not desperate enough to try. Perhaps because he’d been a human briefly the thought of eating one seems repulsively cannibalistic. Cannibalism-adjacent perhaps? Amber eyes watch the strolling blonde with frank appraisal and there’s no shortage of petulance in his conclusion that he could eat this person if he wanted.

The man’s appearance is salt in a wound that Mercutio is steadfastly denying the existence of. He had most certainly never allowed himself to imagine the translation of features that might match what his human form had been and this man certainly did not tick ANY of those boxes. A low rumble of annoyed growl just barely starts in the back of his throat at the approach but is cut off immediately as the man stumbles.

Had to be a little clumsy, didn’t you, you son of a bitch.

At the sound of the man’s voice, the wolf lifts its head from its paws, ears alert. And to Mercutio’s mounting indignation this human has the absolute nerve to laugh! The wolf lurches to its feet, actually taking a step back. His features are not angry, at least not in wolf terms, indeed the furrowed brow and cocked head look a little comical on the ma ssive canine. And now you’re babbling, you fucking tease and- and-

No. No fucking way.
Mercutio
go take this the wrong way
you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you
Cera Novik
Metalsmith / Medic

Age: 29 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 1 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 12 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Brit Offline
Change author:
Posts: 79 | Total: 6,168
MP: 0
#4
-CERA-

No reply is forthcoming from the mental bond of an Attuned, but there's an intelligence behind the warm eyes pinned on his face. He - or so Cera assumes - certainly doesn't act like a wild wolf, and lone wolves were a scarcity at best. When it lurches to its mighty paws, Cera freezes, turning his head to the side to watch from his peripheral vision - showing the skin of his neck and not being too bold and forward with his eye contact. If it is a wild wolf, he needs to show the proper submission so as not to frighten it. Perhaps it was injured?

Still, there's no apparent blood on its coat. Had it caught the sickness he'd been hearing about in the Settlement? The one that seemingly had no cure...

Mentally shaking that frightening thought from his mind, Cera hums softly in his throat and slowly - ever so slowly - removes the meat from his little pouch. The crinkling of the covering is grating, but his hands are steady. Unafraid. Hoping the wolf will catch the scent of the raw meat within, he slowly squats and leans as far out as his arms can reach to set the meat on the ground, then retreats. He doesn't expect trust, from an Attuned or a wild wolf.

From a distance he keeps up the soft-voiced rambling, unsure what else to do to assure the wolf that it's safe. Both so it won't attack him if it is injured, and so it will feel comfortable enough to approach the food he'd offered. "It's okay, I promise I won't hurt you. Can you understand me?" Cera has no idea if Attuneds can somehow get stuck in their forms, Smith hadn't clarified it, but he supposes it's a possibility. If it can nod or respond...well at least that would be a starting point. "If you can, my name is Cera. I have a den not far from here to rest in, and if you're injured I have medical training." Perhaps his heart had always been too big for his chest, but he found it was often worth his while.
Mercutio Kingston
Medic

Age: 37 | Height: 6’3” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Nomadic
Level: 0 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 12 - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Laine Offline
Change author:
Posts: 10 | Total: 66
MP: 0
#5
The man is careful, deferential making himself clear to be no threat as he offers the package of meat to the first hungry wolf he stumbles upon in the woods. It’s so stupidly endearing that every denial that Mercutio tries to summon falls flat in an instant. Who fucking does that? The same adorable fucking idiots who invite strangers back to their home and play tour-guide to self-professed scoundrels, that’s who!

When Cera speaks his own name, Mercutio tries to fathom how one can fly and fall all at once. The handful of months in the desert had been like a fever dream; the fleeting pleasures of a  lighthearted flirtation set against the backdrop of a war waged by gods and still Mercutio had no idea how he’d let himself become caught up in it… Caught up in him. And here again—same eyes, same attitude, same voice—is the Golden Prince.

The wolf stalks forward, ignoring the meat laid in offering, and his posture prominently displays his state of high dudgeon. His ears are pinned back and tail straight but instead of a wolfy growl, his grumbles are more doglike, annoyed, as he internally begs the universe for this to be some sort of mistake. He shoves his nose into the man’s hip snuffling furiously and makes a circuit of him smelling anywhere within his reach. When his circuit brings him around to Cera’s front he nips out and takes a hold of the man’s shirt front to give it a sharp tug and a shake. Then for a moment the wolf, shirt-in-mouth, just stares of at Cera. How fucking dare you?

Then let us mock with ancient mirth this comic, cosmic plan;
The stars are laughing at the earth; God’s greatest joke is man.


The lines of the old poem trip through his mind; surely this is the stars are laughing at him now. Because here, now, was that same sunshine-bright spark in human form and Mercutio WAS A FUCKING WOLF?!

He’s never been above dramatics and he lets the moment break, giving into the most outrageous doggy tantrum. He flops heavily onto his back at Cera’s feet, and, because it doesn’t once occur that the mind-speech Ashe taught him might work on anything but other wolves, Mercutio whines so heinously out of his canine mouth that it’s as if he can just about form human speech again.
Mercutio
go take this the wrong way
you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you
Cera Novik
Metalsmith / Medic

Age: 29 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 1 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 12 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 79 | Total: 6,168
MP: 0
#6
-CERA-

For a moment, fate herself holds her breath, though Cera is clueless as to why. He can't fathom the intensity of the wolf's stare, the intelligence that sharpens a gaze that sinks a hook into his gut and pulls. It's unnerving, but he can't look away. Like he is being forced to bear witness to the achingly human turmoil in the creature's eyes. He finds his own breath stuttering in his chest, feet planted to the earth as if magnetized by some powerful force. He should be leaving, slowly backing away even if it wasn't a wild wolf. Leave the creature to its free meal and circle back to his den to sleep away this strange encounter. But he can't.

Massive paws strike against the earth to the beat of his thundering heart, and Cera is almost relieved that it's going for the offered food. Except he's storming right past it, advancing upon Cera with the intensity of a creature possessed. Cera freezes, every muscle locking into place, but the posture of the wolf is...confusing. It's not aggressive, no growls or bristling nape, and it's so unbearably human that Cera's original assumption that he's simply a stuck Attuned comes back to the forefront of his mind.

Only to be immediately wiped away in a haze of senseless noise as a cool snout is pressed firmly against his hip, snuffling about in as proprietary a manner as a wolf can manage. Cera is struck through with trepidation and fear for half a moment, but the wolf goes no farther, circling around him almost angrily. But not? His shirt is grasped in sharp teeth, and a shock of laughter escapes as he's wrenched about by the hem, a human ragdoll for the beast to play with. Complacent and oddly trusting as the wolf wrests him about.

And then he drops limply to the earth, howling and squealing in the most horrendously human way, and Cera startles right out of his skin. Drops immediately to his knees and tentatively runs his hands over the wiry topcoat of the wolf, checking for any kind of injury that would prompt such a horrible gut-wrenching noise. When he finds none, he listens and can't help but stare in disbelief at the creature beneath his hands. What was it doing?! "It's okay! It's okay, I've got you, hush," he begs over the raucous noise. He certainly didn't think his name was that awful.
Mercutio Kingston
Medic

Age: 37 | Height: 6’3” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Nomadic
Level: 0 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 12 - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Laine Offline
Change author:
Posts: 10 | Total: 66
MP: 0
#7
For as much a Mercutio likes to think he doesn’t care, there’s been a certain level of constant control he’s wielded over himself ever since making the rash decision to stay a while in the desert. Emotions, impulses, all held on ruthlessly short leashes because the thought of caring was such a weight on his mind. All his life he’d easily avoided attachments and all that hard work crumbled at the pretty Forger’s feet. Dammit he’d cared and just as soon as that emotion had taken root its source had been ripped away and Mercutio had been sent reeling. It all comes out now as the wolfs griping tapers off to pitiful little whines. You scared me, Sunshine. You had me worried sick!

The hand in is fur is the best thing he’s felt in this or any lifetime. He lets himself quiet for a moment, lets himself be soothed because even with all his own surging frustrations is the overwhelming sense of relief.

Cera is alive.

That truth comes to life within him and takes over, stronger than the thrum of his own wretched heart. Cera the Funny, Cera the Sweet, Cera the Good, Cera the Living. Cera the Living! It would never have made sense if Mercutio had survived the tearing of the world and Cera had not. In what reality could that have been justified? It was the sunny one who deserved a chance to live and thrive and be happy. And here he is, through starscapes and lifetimes, Cera is here.

Mercutio pushes himself into a sitting position, plastering his side against Cera and lets himself lean. With a great doggy sigh, he lets himself take in his scent again, letting it be a comfort and not a torment. And it is a ‘letting’; a surrender for a while to all the emotion he’s kept shoved deep down where he can pretend to ignore it all. There’s a soft thump on the ground as his fluffy tail gives a first heavy wag and even that is too much admission for Mercutio to handle. He hides his face, burying the massive grey head into to crook of Cera’s neck. There’s another little whine even as his tail gives another couple little thumps. He'd never been so happy to be so completely fucked over.
Mercutio
go take this the wrong way
you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you
Cera Novik
Metalsmith / Medic

Age: 29 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 1 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 12 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Brit Offline
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Posts: 79 | Total: 6,168
MP: 0
#8
-CERA-

Panic and helplessness are not emotions Cera is particularly comfortable or experienced with. Not since he was a tiny babe, words like fumbling cotton in his mouth, hiding beneath his adopted father's shadow had he experienced such a mixture of emotion. There were so many things he'd learned, skills he'd mastered, that eventually very little managed to take him off guard. Still, he can't comprehend the wolf's behavior, the way he goes absolutely still - meek and quiet at last - at the touch of his hand.

It's like cradling a star in his palm, wrestling a giant to the earth with no more than a single finger, to create such a reaction from his mere touch. Even in his confusion he is awed by the trust the wolf has in him, Attuned or not. So he continues to run his fingers past the guard hairs into the soft, downy undercoat beneath. Soothingly runs his hands from shoulder to hip and back again, gentle but repetitive. Whatever keeps him calm and quiet, Cera will do.

When he rises, Cera still, only to be knocked flat to his ass when the behemoth leans its weight almost entirely against him. His arms fling forth at the change in gravity, gripping around the wolf's torso in a scrambling hug until they both come to a stop. The contentment in the wolf's body language is still just as baffling, but Cera sits and lets himself be cuddled. Wraps his arms around the body of this strange, vexing creature and sifts his fingers through fur once more. A heavy thump of a tail brings a boyish giggle to Cera's tongue, recognizing the emotion behind it from his own wolf form. Only to give a huff of surprise as the wolf - and truly he needs a name, it's driving Cera crazy not to have one to call him by - leans even more of his body against the man and shoves his giant face into the crook of Cera's neck.

Admittedly it's a terrifying position in many ways, but he is not afraid. Merely tucks his chin to keep the wolf's muzzle where it has landed, returning the embrace. Surely he looks like a lunatic, sitting cuddling a giant wolf in the middle of the woods at dusk, but if he's giving the beast any kind of comfort then he has nowhere better to be. Mother earth had worked in stranger ways in the past, and every creature great and small deserved to feel safe and loved in Cera's opinion.

"As warm as you are my dear we'll have to get back to my den soon, night is falling." The slim man would surely freeze without his furs to keep him warm, and even that was a risk without the enclosed, padded walls of his den. Cera doesn't have precise confirmation that the wolf can understand him, but speaking aloud is a comfort to him nonetheless. "Do you have a home? Somewhere I can take you?" Unspoken, lingering in the air, is the question: do you need to come home with me? Because Cera would never think twice about welcoming a soul in need into his home.
Mercutio Kingston
Medic

Age: 37 | Height: 6’3” | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Nomadic
Level: 0 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 8 - Endr: 12 - Luck: - Int:
Played by: Laine Offline
Change author:
Posts: 10 | Total: 66
MP: 0
#9
When Cera laughs, Mercutio can feel it with everything that he is. With his face pressed against it, he can feel the movement of Cera’s throat. With Cera’s mouth so close to his ear he can feel the breath shift his fur, feel the vibrations of sound. And it really is the best sound; the same now as it was when they met, so youthful and wretchedly endearing. Mercutio can feel that laugh in his own awful little heart and it holds him there.

Mercutio sighs, as fondly as a wolf can when Cera invites him home because of course he does! If he’d had any doubts that this really was the one he’d known they vanished at the words. He simply wouldn’t be Cera if he didn’t try to take in every stray he met. The wolf pulls back to fix the man with his amber stare and for a moment holds there, marveling at the absolute fuckery of the universe that could make two forms so different and yet so the same as this green-eyed sweetheart.

He gives a soft woof in response, tail swinging madly in an attempt to confirm that yes, he would be following Cera home—wouldn’t let him out of his sight for the next hundred years if he could help it. Alas, despite the revelations his keen nose can still smell that food and it makes the wolf’s belly rumble. He trots back to retrieve the package, picking it up gingerly and looking back at Cera in an expectant manner. Lead the way, Sunshine.
Mercutio
go take this the wrong way
you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you
Cera Novik
Metalsmith / Medic

Age: 29 | Height: 5'5 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 1 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 12 - Luck: 6 - Int:
Played by: Brit Offline
Change author:
Posts: 79 | Total: 6,168
MP: 0
#10
-CERA-

The wolf is complacent, and though a part of Cera has enough sense to be cautious about how close it is to his neck, the other is aware that the wolf is far too intelligent to be a normal feral creature. With that in mind, he allows himself to be leaned against; perhaps selfishly taking the warmth offered to him as well through the thick fur. It is coarse on top, the guard hairs more like bristles, but beneath is soft as a dream. Cera briefly wonders how his own coat feels, but it's not as if he'll ever really know.

He's dragged from his meaningless musings when the wolf withdraws, gazing steadily into Cera's eyes. The prince tries to remain still, but the stare is just so intense! It brings a shade of pink to his cheeks that he can't explain without losing his pride. The beautiful hazel eyes bore into his own for an untold amount of time, seeing something in Cera that he can't say he's sure exists. Still, there's nothing more to do than allow the wolf to drink in his fill.

His words are only confirmed to be able to be understood when the wolf eagerly responds. Cera can't help his laughter as it spills out uncontrollably, absolutely enamored. "You little charmer," he laughs, shaking his head and forcing himself to his tired feet. Especially when he swiftly returns with the packaged meat, the little rascal. Cera grins and sweeps his arm in a flourish towards his den. "I'm offering you a great den, hand made you know! The least you can do is wait to scarf down my food until we're closer," he teases. The smell of blood near his den wasn't the best idea, but it was a small enough morsel that would be consumed speedily. Plus, who would really disturb the den of a pair of wolves?

Cera leads the way, the path well-worn in his mind even if the trail itself is scarcely noticeable from his comings and goings. When they arrive he pulls off the evergreen boughs he fashioned to keep the rain and elements out - not that it mattered as much with the way he'd shaped the entrance, but it was still a nice deterrent. Then he slips into his fur, as easy as you please. His den was more than large enough for his human form, well aware of the fact that he could shift back if he was injured and didn't want to struggle getting out. He's a little taller than the other wolf, but was roughly half the mass. Cera barks at him, too tired to try and parse the mystery of the other wolf's intelligence. They could try the Attuned link in the morning. Cera turns and slips down into his den, curling up immediately on the furs he had piled inside. Wrapping his tail around himself until it tickles against his nose, peering over it to the entrance, awaiting his night-companion's arrival.


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