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.
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
you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you
