ACHING PROPHETS | joining

[drachen]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 350px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"] The arid air of the desert was something the German had forced himself to get used to within the past day or two, already missing the cold, snowy climate of Germany. The blond wasn’t particularly interested in living in a stifling hot by day then colder than a yeti’s ballsack by night type of location, but. . . It was. . . An ideal place to hide out from the other groaning, volatile mafia bosses constantly crawling up his ass. Wolfram had a gut instinct that they wouldn’t assume him to come here of all place– not saying the lot of them were idiots, but in a way he was insinuating it. Hey, they had all the insults coming at them. First, they disrespected his home, then his best friend and brother by choice, and finally, him. It wouldn’t have been too much of a deal if they made nasty, cruel comments at him. Now, his home? It’s a low blow. Making snide remarks and threatening glares at the one he cared most about? Not on his watch.

And then there was bloodshed. Lots of it.

While Wolfram wasn’t the squeamish type, it didn’t mean he was on board with slaughtering many, many individuals. If only they left him in peace then he wouldn’t have retaliated. If they didn’t stick their noses in his business and riled him up. If only they didn’t go after. . . At the end of the day, they won, he lost, and now he was on their hit list. The lonesome days without his best friend was difficult yet pushed on, knowing he would want Wolf to go on and forget about them. Get a better life. Do something good. . . . He didn’t have the heart to forgive, forget, and move on. The German clutched his anger, grief, and pain with a tight grip, refusing to let go. No, he wanted revenge. The best way to get back was a plan. Not half assed or see-where-it-goes. A fully calculated, thought out plan to get finally wipe them off of this plan.

Cold blue eyes squinted as the morning rays appeared over the horizon, the chill of the night slowly fading away as the Australian kelpie trudged through the ever shifting sands, having catch wind of some group named the Pitt living here. In his opinion, the name was stupid and needed some work, but it wasn’t like some stranger’s view on the name mattered much. Pointed ears twitched as the scarred canine kept a steady pace as keen eyes spotted something in the distance. Lips twitched and nostrils flared as he released a long exhale followed by a dragged out inhale. Yep. Nothing like the smell of piss to mark the border in the morning. It’s great. Lovely.

( Sometimes he wonders when this life of being an animal will end and if he’ll ever be human again. )

"Hallo? Ich heibe Wolfram." Gruff and low was the tone of voice, neither excited nor disappointed– for now.

[EROS]

[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; width: 55%; font-family: georgia; font-size: 11pt; letter-spacing: -1px; color: black"]On the wind the smell of blood, pungent and sharp in it's metal tang that clogged the nostrils. To say he had made a mess was an understatement but it felt so good. He sighed softly as he parted his jaws, a low yawn expanding his rib cage that was quite visible against the flesh of his body. It looked like he had not eaten in days but he was well kept. Fur clean and not thinning, short with a light gloss to it. To be sure he kept himself in working condition. The male still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he wasn't a slave anymore. It didn't make much sense to give property the ability to bite their handlers. He was a dweller now, a normal member of the Pitt and now he had access to do what he pleased without backlash. The thick scabs on his back spoke of the times he had tried to go against his leash, a whip that had scarred him and forced him back into submission. Oh, he knew that place well and he blinked pink marble colored eyes before he pushed up from where he had been resting.

There was someone there, his senses so in tuned had picked up faint steps. The light thudding of a heart that was unknown to him. Shifting he pushed the body away from him as it was already dead and the chest having been ripped into. Hmm, he was messy and he couldn't go to greet someone looking like this so he made his way to a near by watering hole, something that would most likely dry up in a few days and he cleaned himself up. The water quickly tinged with red as he splashed a little here and there, rubbing his paws together and dunking his face to relieve himself of the blood that he had gotten on himself. But a meal was a meal. Turning now made his way to the border, eyes falling on the canine and he tilted his head. That want surged through him and his jaws parted, tongue pressing against sharp teeth that curved slightly backwards. Can't eat everyone at the border but then again he only had eyes for canines. "Good evening...." His voice was low, even and a little quite as he dipped his head to him. "Welcome to the Pitt. Do you need any help settling in?" Seemed old habits died hard and he had also forgotten to introduce himself. Slaves didn't need names and he never gave his own when talking to those that he one considered his betters.

[DANTE NORTHWEST.]

♛ SMOKED A PACK OR TWO, IT NEVER WAS A PROBLEM —

Honestly, Dante was quite peeved at the fact Valkyr was no longer a slave and therefore, was no longer under his control. Due to the Crusaders being a secret rank, the hybrid was (to the eyes of the other Dwellers), a normal-ranking member and therefore had no control over anybody else. A frustrating thing and something that Dante almost slipped up about but he wanted to keep his position and therefore, couldn't really push around Dwellers of The Pitt. Didn't really stop him from being somewhat bossy, though.

The scent of blood lured the shark-cat towards the scene, his lips drawn back as he tried to taste the tang of blood. Unfortunately, that wasn't entirely possible but it did help him figure out where the smell was coming from. Dante strode up to stand next to Valkyr, casting his former slave a brief glare before looking at the stranger at the border. "Your name Wolfram?" The Crusader asked for clarification, his shark-like tail flicking. "Welcome to The Pitt, I guess. I'm Dante Northwest."
[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px darkorange; font-size: 24px;"]— DANTE♛

#psychosocial.