[ P ] Y.O.U.

being vague about his wounds since I'm not sure which he has yet <3 The muscles in his jaw ached as he stretched his maw. Blood, his own, still tainted his saliva with the taste of iron. It congealed on his brow as well and several other spots that were attempting to scab over. Pain throbbed over his body now that the soreness had settled in and yet he refused to scavange poppy seeds to manage it. That was a medicine he'd never touch... which left alcohol. Fermented grapes weren't what most doctors would order, but Dr. Bel wasn't afraid to self-perscribe in a pinch. He glared down at the table as a loud group to his right caused his ear to flick, stretching a wound along his brow. Ideally, he'd be holed up somewhere familiar. In reality, he didn't have anywhere to go. Alphonse's old apothecary was a decrepit shithole that'd take too long to clean up for habitation. He didn't want to risk being in Yorkshire for fear of running into Xandria and plucking at her heart strings with sympathy. That left... Rionna. Relaxing his jaw, he leaned forward to lap up more wine from his chipped cup. Little did he know that, in that moment, he looked more like his father than he ever had before. “my sin, my soul.”

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@Odysseus

WARNING : Potential Language

my demons come to play

He was on edge. Ever since the protest and his brief stay in the dungeon, his patience was thinner than usual. He couldn't quite put a finger on why, though he had his suspicions that he chose to ignore. It was only a matter of time before he snapped. It had happened before and it would happen again. He almost craved it. The knowledge followed him like a shadow, ever present and waiting.

When he stepped foot into the bar that night, the air around him seemed to crackle. He met a few familiar stares, his chin inclining ever so slightly in greeting. Amethyst hues swept the crowd before landing on one wolf who looked worse for wear. Blood mated his dark fur and his shoulders were hunched in discomfort. He looked like he just got his ass handed to him.

The ebon wolf would grab a drink from the bartender, feeling the burn of alcohol down his throat before it warmed his stomach. Walking to his seat, his chosen path took him right past the battered man. "You look like shit." Deep baritones rumbled in his chest as a sneer stretched its way across his muzzle. Odysseus felt the familiar itch, the need for a good brawl. But he knew a beaten wolf when he saw one, he wasn't capable of the violence Odysseus craved.

@Belfast

@Mutt

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Belfast glanced up when a ebon' furred stranger approached the bar, the stranger's comment earning a dry laugh from the newly drafted medic. “You should see the other guy,” came his dry reply, although it wasn't readily apparent if he truly had fucked up the other wolf or if he'd spoken sarcastically. In truth, Belfast wasn't going to elaborate. It was no secret that he'd been not obvious victor, the wounds on him added that transparency. He didn't need to let some random bastard in a bar know whether he was weak to begin with or not. A little ambiguity might save his skin should this conversation turn sour. “You don't look one hundred percent either,” Bel remarked, noting a few dark scabs on the stranger. Of course, they were largely ornamental compared to the throbbing wounds Belfast nursed. But that was a minor point. Turning, he returned to his drink. In truth, he somewhat liked the soreness. Not the biting pain whenever he stretched his torn skin too much, but the bruising was a welcome reminder of that bastard's face. Maybe Bel had lost. But he'd bit him real good at least once. And that was enough to curve a small smile on his mouth. Talk shit, get hit. “my sin, my soul.”

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@Odysseus

WARNING : Potential Language

my demons come to play

Like a twitchy trigger finger, he had hoped to rile this stranger with his words, to goan him into a good old fashion bar brawl. But instead, he was met with dry laugher and an equally dry retort. It had a brief ha parting dark lips. A cliche reply, not that that stopped him from uttering the exact same words. "You should see the other guy." He paused, almost thoughtfully. "Or gal I should say." He shook his head, as if he were amused with himself. She wasn't the first woman to leave her mark on him and he was certain she wouldn't be the last.

Taking a drink, he let the booze burn a slow path down his throat as he consider what had actually gotten him to this point. News of the draft spread like wildfire. As well as what rolls prisoners would be filling. The black wolf had no intentions of being drafter or being shipped off to some work camp. That knowledge should have him keeping a low profile. But he felt reckless this evening. He had never done well with frustration, is always boiled over.

@Belfast

@Mutt

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The corner of Bel's maw quirked up in a lopsided smile as the stranger echoed his sentiment. It was a dark sort of humor, but he'd grown used to it since Alphonse took him in. There was something oddly bonding about it, for one's dry wit rarely earned friends. But, when there was a kindred spirit of sorts, the understanding that came from it was almost immediate. Bel had never liked the assassins and drug dealers that had come to him in the dead of night, all jumpy or violent. Rather, he'd enjoyed the quiet, wry ones. Those that seemed to take little pleasure in their work or, if they did, hid that well enough. There were rules that governed their monstrous impulses or orders. Perhaps those rules were fucked up, ruthless little things, but they made for a more reasonable man than some kill-all lunatic. Not that this man was a criminal by any definition but, then again, what wolf in a bar hadn't committed a crime? “Gal?” Bel's brow quirked. That was uncommon around here. The women were more demure down south. “Tell me the story and I'll tell you mine,” he mused, a twinkle in his turqoise eyes as he took another sip of his drink. Wasn't that what long nights were for? Forming friendships that one would never encounter again, especially not during the day. “my sin, my soul.”

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@Odysseus

my demons come to play

The mention of a woman inflicting damage seemed to catch the strangers attention. An offer was made, a story for a story. The last thing he wanted to do was swap war stories, he was restless, dangerously so. Odysseus was after a good old fashion bar fight. Blowing a breath out of his nose, he attempt to self soothe. But Isolde's word still echoed in his skull. Find a whore or a ditch. The memory poured gasoline on the fire.

Its not much of a story. He shrugged, ready to leave this man to his drink and find someone else willing to entertain him. "Some bitch at the protest attacked me. He shook his head before taking another drink. "I had one soldier by the face." A sneer crossed his lips then as he dove head first back into the memory. "Left her a little something to remember me by." He chuckled, the sound dry. "She won't be so pretty with one eye." There was a casualness to the way he spoke, as if he was discussing the weather.

Finishing his drink, he glanced around the bar once more. I don't care... It made his jaws clench. It wasn't her rejection that stung, she had rejected him a hundred times before. The dark wolf stood in the unknown and he didn't like it. For once, Odysseus was at a loss, for words, for what to do. Like poison in his veins, it was slow to spread but no less potent.

@Belfast

@Mutt

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"Some bitch at the protest attacked me." A dark ear flicked as the story started, Belfast's eyes narrowing for a moment before he quickly tucked his worries away. The bastard that bit Xandria was deep down in the dungeon, unable to touch the sunshine or hear the waves. This man must have been a conscientious bystander like him. "I had one soldier by the face." Belfast's pulse quickened, eyes dilating at he continued to stare at the man in front of him. Was the man's scent familiar? Had Bel smelled it on Xan's body when he'd found her there on the ground? Or was he just imagining impossible things because he had had one too many already and was feeling tipsy? "Left her a little something to remember me by. She won't be so pretty with one eye." The man's words bounced around Bel's skull relentlessly, echoing each time it slapped against the bone with a dull thud. One eye. Soldier. It could be anyone, it could. But it could also have been Xandria. The memory of her in the hospital bed, anxiously asking him how she looked and if she would be okay... but caused a growl to rumble within his throat before he could stop himself. Snagging the man's shoulder, he tried to roughly shove the stranger back so that they were face to face again. “What the fuck did she look like?” Belfast demanded, rage in his bright, turquoise eyes. “my sin, my soul.”

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WARNING! Trigger warning: language, violence, gor

my demons come to play

When Belfast grew angry, Odysseus never saw it. With his gaze fixated elsewhere, he didn't see the first wave of anger wash over the battered mans features. Though honestly, even if he had seen it, he likely wouldn't have said anything different. It wasn't until the stranger brazenly put hands on the darker wolf that he would look at Belfast. It was such a surprise that there was no resistance in his body when the man shoved him so they were facing each other. However, Belfast now had his full attention. Amethyst hues seemed to grow brighter as fury filled them. A sneer stretched across his lips, full of cruel promises. "She looked liked someone I might have fucked..." He drawled. "But now she's a little too scarred for my tastes." Never did he pull punches, so why start now?

All it took was a little prodding and shit hit the fan. When his newly found opponent struck, he was waiting with open arms. Adrenaline would collide with the harsh sting of pain. A heady cocktail for the brute. One that he was greedy for. But when he returned fire, he threw his weight behind it, intending to destroy the smaller man. By standers scurried out of the way when Odysseus would take his own hold on Belfast and use it along with Belfasts fangs in his skin to drag him across the bar floor. But, to his credit, Bel wasn't without his own skill. Odysseus was met with some resistance and would grunt when a particularly heavy hit managed to land. Somewhere behind them, someone called out for the guards.

Odysseus was already a wanted man. He didn't have much time and if he got caught now, there would be hell to pay. Grabbing Belfast in a vice like grip, he would sweep the mans feet out from under him, letting his body slam to the floor with a thud. "How about a matching scar?" Came his taunt before parted jaws aimed for this losers face. But his prey struggled in his grasp, he moved. The rush of blood in his mouth was his first sign that he had missed Fangs brutally tore into Belfasts neck, tearing through more than just skin. Releasing him, blood and saliva dripped from parted jaws as his tongue lolled out in a heavy pant. His eyes were wild as he watched the blood stain grow too fast, matting earthen fur. Odysseus looked feral.

The dying wolf struggled, his eyes widening with a fearful realization. Death was coming for him. "I guess you'll never get to see if your bitch gets to keep her eye." Parting words were murmured in Belfasts ear. Stepping away from his body, Odysseus staggered, but wasted no time in diving out the open door. He didn't loiter, he vanished into the night, the shadows swallowing up his dark pelt. He narrowly avoided a group of guards rushing towards the tavern, chaos unfolding as medics were summoned. They would be too late, he was sure of it. The mans blood was still thick in his mouth, the coppery taste coating his tongue. It was the first time in a long time that he had killed for the sport of it instead of his job. It was an even sweeter hit. But it was still soured by the whole reason he was even here.

exit

@Belfast

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The man's lewd mention of Xandria fanned the fire of rage within Belfast's stomach. There was no confirmation—nothing that would stand up in court—but he knew that they spoke of the same soldier. Of the fiery wolf with blazing, gold eyes and a smile that could make you forget that she'd ever rolled her eyes at you. As he thought of her, the fur along his nape ruffled and rage peeled his lips back from his teeth. The memory of her concern over her eye, the way she had anxiously asked if it would ever recover, drove him to snap the tension between him and the brute. It was a mistake. An act of violence that Belfast initiated but could not finish. He had not expected the man's strength, skill, or savagery. But, even if he had been able to see it all laid out on paper, he wouldn't have cared. The thought of this man's teeth sinking into Xandria's face and potentially robbing her of her eye drew Belfast to irrational violence. ... Dying stung less than he would have thought. The fierce burning sensation of having his throat opened seemed to dissipate in a manner inversely proportional to the blood pooling beneath his head. With each gush of crimson, so too did his pulse begin to thin. His heart, desperate and naive, fluttered within his chest. Numbness began to smooth over him like a blanket as a cold sensation gripped his paws and climbed up his legs. All the while, profound fear bloomed within his head. Fear. Regret. Terror. Sorrow. "I guess you'll never get to see if your bitch gets to keep her eye." The man was above him and yet sounded as if he was across the bar. Belfast felt tears sting the corners of his eyes, the rage lost as he thought of Xandria again. Already, he could barely keep her face in his mind's eye, his focus draining as rapidly as his veins. But, each time he lost it, he forced it to come back. If he was going to die, he wanted to at least die thinking of her. - fade exit - “my sin, my soul.”

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