Cruise Control

[Nico]

Nico hated many things. He hated the way his fur felt when wet. He hated waking up early and hunting for his food. He hated when the day turned to night and the darkness swept across the earth, leaving nothing but the tiny glow of the moon to light his step. But most of all, he was beginning to hate walking the most.

His paws had carried him through valleys and mountain ranges, plains and forests, and still they did not stop. He carried on, pushing forward from days on end—and he was bored. Tired and exhausted, sure, but so fucking bored.

He didn’t quite know what he was looking for, but Nico was sure that when he ultimately found it, he’d know. But that logic only got him so far.

Far enough to ‘here’. Wherever here was.

Through the jagged peaks of the mountain range behind him, he followed the twisting curves of the river. Following its crested pathway as though it were breadcrumbs leading him to something great. But with each long and boring step came the assault of sharp rocks between his toes, and the god awful spray of water and snow above him.

In short, his fur was also getting wet. Another tick to the list of things he hated.

Nico grumbled through clenched teeth as he followed the river’s carved out path. All up until he had caught the sight of a large rock, and beneath its looming perch, the valley beneath.

He couldn’t help himself. The boredom was nearly tangible, like a rope around his throat. He leapt towards it, paws fumbling against a thin sheet of ice that lied atop. But when his limbs had settled and his balance was found, the boy shook out a howl.

One loud enough for the valley to hear.

Nico had arrived.

[Yukon]

The burden of his decisions — those made and those yet to pass — rested heavily upon his mind, their weight like many mountains; their reality like jagged peaks, towering, rasping, frigid. He would have shivered beneath their judgement alone, if the cold autumn air hadn't already made stake to that claim over him.

Despite it being midday, Yukon hadn't moved much. Despite him being an early riser, a go-getter, an over-achiever, he hadn't the will to rise. To unfurl, to expose his soft underbelly to the wind, the rain, the snow that beat gently at his back. Since the night before, he'd been tucked against the same stone outcropping, shielding his face, the thick fur along his shoulders and his spine whipping painfully each time a gust of mountainous air passed him by on its way into the valley.

He couldn't fathom why he'd decided to leave, to drop all of those possibilities, all of that potential, all of that anger and flee — flee, like a coward, from the one wolf in his life that had ever given him a chance. That had ever truly, openly seen him. But he'd done it regardless, stripped himself of his own past, soiled his future, because maybe deep down, he knew he didn't deserve it. He deserved to have nothing, know nothing, love nothing. Or, perhaps he was just afraid.

But he'd never admit that to himself.

The howl came from above him, deep and piercing over the crashing sound of the nearby river. For a moment he assumed it was meant for him; perhaps it was a killer, or a mother, or a lover turned to rage. But as the other's breath ended and Yukon twisted to cast ice blue eyes upward, it dawned on him that the voice was unrecognizable. A stranger, perhaps with the same intentions as he but half the self loathing.

Curious, he listened for any other sounds. An answering call, perhaps, because he was unable to pick apart the messenger from the landscape whence he came.

[Nico]

Lips smacked and a tongue slithered against his nose as his howl tapered off into the wind. The tune none other than a fading memory as it echoed distantly behind him. Nico waited for a short minute, expecting to hear a song back. But while ears twitched against the cold breeze, the blue-toned boy was met with abandoned silence.

It seemed as though the valley was empty, or more likely no one was around him. No matter, it did not deter the boy away--in fact, it encouraged him to push on forward. If the valley was empty, there was no one to challenge him. He could make this place a home without resistance.

A smirk settled across the curve of his lips as he leapt from his perch; paws confident in their balance against the winter season. His nails gripped lightly at the ice beneath his feet, each paw crunching soundlessly against the frozen layer of dirt and brush beneath him.

He walked with purpose and unadulterated confidence, still mildly annoyed by the falling sleet but pleased with his most recent prognosis of the current population. There was no one tell him ‘no’ or ‘you can’t do that’ or even ‘go find somewhere else to live, punk’, and really, that was all that mattered to Nico.

The shrewd rules and restrictions that plagued an adult’s life were null and void here. There was no pack, no group of wolves to tell him what to do; it was a lawless land and Nico had suddenly become the sheriff. His domain. His home. His land.

He pushed forward with an unexpected bounce to his step as he made his way down towards the valley below.

[Yukon]

Movement — there, among the grays and whites of a mountain turned to snow. A being of blue emerged from a world of grayscale, his eyes set forward, his step full of confidence. Yukon watched him as he neared, fully aware that he likely blended into the landscape as long as he didn't move.

But something compelled him to do just that. Something deep, hungry, an opportunist given the chance to strike. So he moved, twisted further until he could gather his limbs beneath him and emerge — just as the other boy had — from the snow that had gathered around him.

In the tense moments that followed, Yukon couldn't think of what to do or say. So he stood there, at ease, the sharpness of his gaze rested lightly upon the stranger. Whatever this kid had, he wanted in on it. He wanted that confidence, the balls to venture to a new land and howl to announce his arrival.

He gave a small boof by way of greeting, the movement sloughing some of the more powdery snow off his back.

[Nico]

Despite the chill that crept along his flesh, the cold sinking deeper into his bones, Nico moved with a ferocity that battled kings. His chin remained tilted up, his tail arching its way across his back, and his steps were purposeful in their descent. It did not matter that Nico was none of the things he pretended to be. Neither did it matter that Nico was no king or god, or a man with any previous authority. In this new world, in this land, he was sure he could be anything he damn well pleased.

There was clearly no one around to say differently.

A starlit gaze peered down devilishly and hungrily at the world beneath him, watching as the tiny tips of trees came into view with each meaningful step. Here, he could reinvent himself. Here, he could be anything he wanted to be. Here, a new Nico could finally arrive—

A bark.

Piqued ears swiveled against the sound, a starlit gaze following in suit. Beyond the snowy terrain and nestled between an outcrop of stone stood a man, white in nature, with a coat that resembled the looming frost and eyes that challenged the bluest of skies.

Was it not for the stranger’s voice, Nico may’ve thought twice about his own sanity.

But alas, it was a living man, one that had forgone his assumption of the current populace of the valley. Shit.

Briefly, a clouded look of sealed judgement flashed across his expression before Nico came to a pause, shoulders rolling in an effort to release some unwanted tension. “Who are you?” He asked.

[Yukon]

Yukon stood motionless as the attention of the other man snapped onto him. For what felt like a long time, his only movement came from within; from the muscle buried in his chest, beating rapidly, swaying him gently back and forth as its power coursed through every one of his veins. Or perhaps it was just the wind, pushing up against him in a seductive embrace, its touch painful as it alighted the nerves of his wetted nose.

The other man seemed to pause as well, rolled his shoulders to ward off the stiffness that came, for free, alongside the mountainous air. Who are you, he asked, and Yukon merely blinked, for he wished he could answer that question for himself.

He'd never had the chance to bounce his ideas off another soul, to tell whether he had the right to change his identity or if he were crazy for it. If he were always meant to be Yukon Veryn, son of Maes Veryn and very much his clone in every way. Down to the color of his coat, the glitter of his eyes — and, most painfully, the way he abandoned his family when they needed him most.

Yukon expelled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding onto. "It hardly matters who I am, does it?" he returned. He was a nobody, a coward with a pretty face and plenty of ambition but nothing to show for it.

But this man, he was different. Whether or not he had anything to back him up meant very little — he acted like he did, and that was all one really needed. So, taking a single step forward, his head lowering, tilting as though weighted down by curiosity, "But you — you look like a man with a plan, regardless if you have any name." A name, a pack, a lover. None of it mattered out here, where the snow would swallow you whole without a second thought to whether you mattered to anyone.

"So, what is it?"

[Hephaestus]

A blue wolf with silver eyes and a white wolf with blue eyes walk into a bar. Then, a third wolf comes crashing it with his brash red fur and dual-colored eyes.

Or something like that. I forgot the punchline.

Hephaestus was surprised to hear a howl rattling the snow off the peaks of the hills around him; more surprising was a nearby bark in response.

The leviathan found himself straightening up, his nose wrinkling in thought, an ear rotating in the direction of the commotion. The pair sounded like they were just behind him, somewhere obscured from his vision amidst the vertebrae of the Spine.

Was it worth his energy to seek them out? Possibly.

Or, possibly not. Hephaestus wasn’t feeling all too social. He turned to lazily pad in their direction, wondering if he might spot them somewhere nearby if he just found a vantage point.

//probably not visible, could be scented vaguely? Not skippable; he’ll probably see them next round

[Nico]

There was a tightness that ruminated in his bones, a sensation of unwanted tension the lined the muscles of his back, a rigidity that no shoulder rolling could fix. Nico stiffened further, despite the yearning desire to relax. The man of white merely stared, eyes blinking against the harshness of the winter season.

Nico knew nothing about the situation at hand. His confidence, that he so desperately tried to hold, was fleeting. The certainty in his actions now felt questionable, and the feelings of assurance he felt not moments ago were now vanishing from his grip. This stranger, with wants and desires unbeknownst to Nico, now stood before him. He was the messenger of fate, of life and death, where any subsequent moves could seal the blue man’s fate.

Could he be a friend or was he a foe?

Would he stand in his way or step aside?

The answer was simple, and yet so far from being known.

Despite the feelings of insecurity and self-doubt magnifying within his chest, Nico stood strong; posture straightened, ears tipped forward, and a chin held high as he waited for the stranger to answer.

He would not break, he reminded himself.

The stranger responded with stoic cryptisism, in such a way that left Nico questioning the situation further. Those were either the words one said before a quick and sudden death occurred or the words shared from a man who battled with his own self-worth. The latter Nico could work with, the former…well…

What Nico hadn’t expected was the subsequent questions afterwards. The stranger had taken a step forward, head tilting with unadulterated curiosity with eyes locked against his own. It took everything from the Nightshade man to not stumble backwards.

”I uh—“ He fumbled, taken aback by the suddenness of the inquiry and the boldness in the man's actions. A plan, did he have one? Not a well thought out one, that was for sure. But it would be a lie to say that Nico wasn’t at least flattered by his supposed first impression. And as such, the Nightshade man was quick to use that brief burst of confidence to his advantage. He cleared his throat and nodded, ”I do have a plan. In fact, one day I will rule this valley." It was said with a shockingly confident grin, “But why should I tell you the details of it? What can you offer me?”

[Nico]

Charisma roll[roll=1d20+2]

Roll to see if he successfully looks like a confident young man, failure he does not

[Yukon]

// content warning for disturbing thoughts, mention of child abuse (?)

Yukon's ears twitched, the scrutiny of his gaze turning sharp as he searched for a chink in this man's armored façade — but aside from a slight pause, an utterance, a moment of breath where he might've doubted himself, there seemed to be nothing. It was replaced instead by the nodding of his head, his throat clear as he confirmed that he did, in fact, have a plan. A plan to rule the very valley that sprawled at Yukon's back. Slowly his head rose, his posture straightening to match that of the stranger before him.

But why should I tell you the details of it? What can you offer me?

Briefly Yukon's mind wandered back to a time when he'd almost killed a starving little girl for trying to take the bird he'd caught. Fast-forwarded to when he'd watched idly, almost disinterested as another wolf attacked his little brother. Again to a time when he'd tried, desperately, to fling a small child off the precipice of a deadly cliff.

And to recently, when he'd deserted it all because he thought himself a coward. Was he, though?

Easily he returned the man's grin with a friendly one of his own. Then, matter-of-factly, "Well, because I can help you, of course. Two bodies is always better than one."