Ishara
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
The shattered surface, so imperfect, is all that you believe
Posts: 19
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Post by Ishara on Dec 11, 2007 0:26:29 GMT
Continued from: Hallways
The spacious room she stepped into was one of the throwbacks to the Seasons old life and its original function as a real hotel for paid guests. Having a communal bathroom on the lobby floor was actually useful in a way that might not have been apparent at first, at least it certainly was for Ishara right now. Personal bathrooms connected to their own rooms were a blessing for each and every member of the pack, and she dreaded to think how quickly tempers would fray without that kind of privacy now they were used to it but there were times when even for an ageless beast with increased stamina, that the personal bathroom was just too far away to walk to.
She looked around the subtly toned room as she headed towards one of the sinks, taking the time as she always did when she entered the room to admire the décor. It was one of the less used rooms in the hotel and so she felt it deserved that extra second or two to make up for the lack of people actually using it.
Ishara gave a soft sigh as she finally took in her appearance in the mirror above the sink, noticing that despite her best efforts she had managed to get a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She only hoped she’d managed to have better luck in her attempt to keep her bangle clean but Ishara wasn’t going to check that over until after she had washed her hands, face and scrubbed out all the dirt from under her nails. The Japanese she-wolf wasn’t going to take any chance that she might accidentally transfer soil to the ornate piece of jewellery if she could help it.
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Oscar
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
Say a prayer but let the good time roll, in case God doesn?t show
Posts: 8
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Post by Oscar on Aug 28, 2009 20:37:28 GMT
POST TIMESKIP.
The porcelain sink was pristine bar for the few smudged finger marks from around the edge where other wolves had rested their hands against it in the course of using the bathroom. The brown haired werewolf currently in the room wasn’t merely leaning against the sink however but gripping at either side tightly, fingers pressing into the bowl so tightly that his fingers were pale, almost white to match the colour of the sink he was currently leaning against and putting almost his whole weight onto. Slowly, his head rocked forward, forehead touching against the mirror on the wall. Oscar Palladino didn’t feel so good – he probably didn’t look so good either if he was being honest with himself.
Lifting his head away from the cooling sensation of glass, he gazed blearily into the mirror, taking in the red rimmed eyes, the pale skin and the sickly expression. To human eyes it would have been easy to believe Oscar was hung-over; he only wished that was true because in that case he would at least had the joy of being drunk the night before. No matter how hard he had tried over the years, that elusive feeling of being so strong, powerful and able to do anything managed to elude him, hovering tantalizingly just out of reach.
It hadn’t stopped him from trying of course, wasting the pervious night and early morning away by steadily working through some bottles of brandy and whisky. Near the end of his binge, Oscar had felt something, just the softest of light-headed feeling; tipsy almost. It hadn’t lasted of course, alcohol already being absorbed harmlessly into his blood without that delightful feeling of loosing control – there were times when being a Lycanthrope sucked. Oscar missed being drunk, he even missed the pain the next day; now all he got was a faint headache and the tell tale signs of having stayed up for the past forty-eight odd hours. Sighing in frustration, he gingerly prised a hand away from the sink to turn on the cold tap, letting the water run for a few seconds before scooping up some and splashing it on his face. Maybe cold water would freshen him up a little.
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Kyla
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack: Fighter
Don't know when to stop, or where to start, you're just so caught up in who you are.
Posts: 24
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Post by Kyla on Sept 4, 2009 2:54:12 GMT
Kyla Shepherd had been born a lycanthrope, and as such, had never experienced the sensation of being drunk. Therefore, she didn’t know what she was missing, so to speak, or more to the point, she didn’t know what one Oscar Palladino told himself he was missing. Either way, it didn’t matter; alcohol was all well and good, it had a strong flavour and made her feel something, which was a rare treat nowadays, but other than that it was without purpose and as such, not something she was fond of. Why waste the time in drinking something humans held so much faith in if it couldn’t even effect you in the same way? All that money and effort for nothing.
Alcohol was the last thing on her mind as she went from the lobby into the unisex bathroom on the ground floor of The Four Seasons, a feature the pack had obviously decided to keep for its practical uses; it saved the wolves from having to bolt up the stairs to their own rooms if the need for such facilities arose. Useful and sensible. The kitchen was too busy for her liking at that point in time, almost a full dozen wolves occupying the space and making it feel cramped and awkward, but the sticky, sugary residue she had somehow managed to get on her fingers wouldn’t be fading away of its own accord, nor would she be sucking or licking it off. For one thing, she didn’t know what the hell it was, and for another, she just wasn’t the type. That was why taps and wipes, whether they be antibacterial or something else, had been invented. So it was into the general bathroom that she stepped, eyes turned down to her sticky fingers, her other hand shoving the door inward and out of her way.
She paused just inside, the door swinging back behind her and coming to a quiet stop in the frame where it belonged. Alcohol may have been the last thing on her mind, but she knew the stink of it when it hit her nostrils, causing her nose to wrinkle visibly. Her vibrantly-dyed hair hung at either side of her face, layers chopped into it to give it body and texture, and with her naturally dark lashes, the overall effect was almost gothic.
Kyla Shepherd was not fond of males, not as a general rule, and Oscar Palladino was between her dirty hand and the cleanliness the sink would provide. That presented a problem.
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Oscar
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
Say a prayer but let the good time roll, in case God doesn?t show
Posts: 8
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Post by Oscar on Sept 9, 2009 19:12:44 GMT
Pure born werewolves were missing out; it was near impossible for Oscar to imagine a life where you had never enjoyed the pleasant burn of warm alcohol slipping down your throat knowing that everything was about to change given the chance, or the giddy feeling of invincibility that came with having too much. Even the unpleasant hangover that you were graced with as the effects wore off was a gift in its own right, a lesson of what over indulgence could do to the body. Then again he’d never been very good at learning those kind of lessons, as evidenced by his repeated efforts to feel that way again, to pretend for a few hours that his life hadn’t turned out the way it had. Even if he could never quite achieve the state of being Oscar was aiming for, there was always the familiar burn of brandy to remind him.
He lifted his eyes a fraction at the sound and scent of another person in the bathroom, no longer gazing at his own pale reflection but instead that of Kyla Shepherd, one of the last people he wanted to encounter at any time of day, let alone when he was not at his best. If Kyla had a problem with the male gender as a whole, then Oscar had just the same type of problem, but with the females of the species; any species. They tended to cause him nothing but trouble and of course pain – lots and lots of pain. Oscar wasn’t a big fan of pain, of any sort.
Speaking of pain, Kyla was a trained fighter and thus fully capable of causing said pain if he got in her way and from the way she was standing it appeared he already had, which just made his evening better and better. Giving a soft huff of disapproval, Oscar prised his fingers off the sink and pushed himself away, taking a few unsteady steps to the side, giving her a clear route if she wanted to take it.
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Kyla
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack: Fighter
Don't know when to stop, or where to start, you're just so caught up in who you are.
Posts: 24
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Post by Kyla on Sept 10, 2009 1:29:27 GMT
Kyla would disagree, and vehemently. Pureborn werewolves were lucky, they didn’t have to get used to being wolves because they had always been that way, the animal had always been inside of them just as it always would be inside of them, until the day they died; the animal would die with them, ride alongside them into the yawning chasm of death. That thought comforted Kyla, the idea that she would never truly be alone. She would always have the wolf inside, and for that she was grateful. Her wolf would never betray her, never lie to her, never lead her astray and ultimately abandon her. In her wolf she had a friend for eternity, a being close to her heart that she could trust completely, without question or doubt. It was reassuring to have that inside of herself when everything in the outside world beyond her small corner was uncertain and so difficult to trust.
As Oscar moved, one of Kyla’s brows rose steadily upward and then the other, a silent show of acknowledgement. Not gratitude exactly, he shouldn’t really have been crowding the sink when he wasn’t even using it, not from what she could tell, but it was enough for her to hold back a sniping, scathing remark or sarcastic stab at his vanity or the fact that he shouldn’t bother trying to hide that he had obviously attempted to intoxicate himself, only to fail miserably. Miserably being the key word; the stink was bad enough, but he looked wretched on top of that, and as she moved for the basin, clean hand already extended for the hot tap, she shook her head, not even bothering to try and hide her disapproval. As if the pack wasn’t weak enough without males like Oscar trying to pointlessly drown themselves in liquor.
“You should use your own bathroom next time,” she advised -- if it could even be taken as advice; it was a little too coolly and rigidly spoken to be advice, really -- as she ran her dirty hand under the steady flow of warming water, pumping the soap container to get some in her other palm before bringing the two together swiftly and methodically, working the sticky residue from her skin.
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Oscar
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
Say a prayer but let the good time roll, in case God doesn?t show
Posts: 8
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Post by Oscar on Oct 7, 2009 1:49:12 GMT
Perhaps they would never have to adjust but they would also never know what they were missing, by never having been human. In the end, Oscar supposed it was just everyone’s personal point of view, to believe that their fated way was the best way, the only real way from birth all the way up to death whenever it chose to come. Not that Oscar had any intention of dying anytime soon. He didn’t want to test the theory of the wolf coming with him or find out what – if anything – was past the last sleep. So long as il Sommo Poeta had been wrong about what awaited those who had been less than perfect during their waking life, and there was no level of hell at the end of Oscar’s road then he would be content enough.
He leant against one of the walls now, arms folded across his body, still needing a little support although feeling and strength was rapidly returning to his body. Another example of the futility of drink but it hadn’t stopped Oscar in the past and wouldn’t stop him the next time he turned to the bottles for company and solace.
“And miss out on the pleasure of your company?” Oscar replied after a beat, voice low but tinted with sarcasm nevertheless. As far as he was concerned, Kyla had no right to offer advice or opinion on anything to do with him. It wasn’t as though he had been planning to take a stumbling detour into the bathroom after all. When Oscar had finally left his room earlier in the evening, he had felt normal enough and it had only been after descending flight after flight of stairs that the queasy feeling had stirred, enough to make him enter the bathroom just in case.
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Kyla
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack: Fighter
Don't know when to stop, or where to start, you're just so caught up in who you are.
Posts: 24
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Post by Kyla on Oct 7, 2009 14:18:17 GMT
As far as Kyla was concerned, there was nothing to miss. Nothing whatsoever. Humans were short-lived, flawed and easily defeated, nothing compared to the wolves around them, walking amongst them. Their ignorance was yet another mark against them. It was no wonder they fell so easily when their senses and reflexes were so much poorer, when they couldn't leap to safety or overcome physical strain and injury like the wolves could. Frankly, Kyla considered herself lucky for her heritage, despite not knowing where she had come from or who her family really was, or had been, as the case may be. She simply couldn't imagine being human. Being mortal.
That sarcasm was far from welcome, and it quickly showed on Kyla's face, her features twisting into a less than subtle scorn of disapproval, her head turning in Oscar's direction, one hand, still damp though it was from being run under the flow from the faucet, settling at her hip with the other calmly, cooly gripping the edge of the sink. "You smell like a brewery," she informed him bluntly. "So next time--" because she knew his habits, his tastes, and that there would most certainly be a next time -- "maybe you should think of everyone else's nose and stick to your own room." She wasn't going to be the first to look away now either. To hell with that. Kyla was a fighter, heart and mind, and she would be damned if she was sacrificing the challenge of direct eye-contact to someone like Oscar Palladino.
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Oscar
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
Say a prayer but let the good time roll, in case God doesn?t show
Posts: 8
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Post by Oscar on Jan 10, 2010 14:13:03 GMT
“I do so apologise Kyla,” he assured her, sarcastic twist of his lips as he spoke. Just as she had no business giving him advice, she had no business remarking on how he chose to spend his time. It was rare enough for people to use the communal bathroom and the dark haired male hadn’t expected to run into anyone else, not when it was possible now to get through a whole day without seeing any other so called pack members. Yes, Oscar was playing with fire but a sudden recklessness had overtaken him, a burst of energy that was most unlike the usual lazy and slow to react male. It burnt though his body, perhaps a last burst of energy from the alcohol, an Indian summer of that glorious few moments when the drink had actually taken effect.
Still, Kyla was a fighter and while Oscar might not necessarily respect her as a female or a person – just as he was sure she didn’t respect him – he did respect what she did for the pack. It was because of people like her that the rest of them could live without having to worry too much about enemy wolves trying to kill them. His sarcastic scowl changed into a somewhat bitter grin, Oscar spending his arms out to the side, dropping into a graceful bow and breaking the eye contact, admitting defeat. “I shall endeavour to do better next time.”
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Kyla
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack: Fighter
Don't know when to stop, or where to start, you're just so caught up in who you are.
Posts: 24
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Post by Kyla on May 18, 2010 15:53:49 GMT
His sarcasm was only pushing more buttons, Oscar pushing his luck, and if he didn't wake up and cut himself off soon, activate his brain-mouth filter -- if he even possessed one, something that she seriously doubted, given how he usually behaved -- then she would have to show him the error of his ways, and physically if necessary. It would be a throwback to their wild descendants, something feral and basic, but she didn't care. Wolves like Oscar were just asking for that kind of reminder, something bestial and forceful.
Thankfully Oscar did seem capable of using his brain sometimes, as evidenced by his drop of the eye-contact, a submission to a more senior wolf, a fighter such as herself. Kyla lifted her chin, begrudgingly accepting the gesture. As much as she disliked males like Oscar -- males in general, but there were those who went beyond her general displeasure surrounding them -- it just wouldn't be worth it to let the situation escalate any further. The pack was in enough trouble as it was, and Kyla certainly wasn't about to be responsible for even more turmoil.
"I'll believe that when I see it," she remarked grimly with a bitter smile all of her own, grabbing some paper towels on which to dry her hands, hurriedly without seeming like she was rushing; she didn't want to give him any kind of upper hand, not even with something so simple as being in a hurry to get out of his presence, but the sooner she finished up and got out of the bathroom, the sooner she could forget about the whole thing. Without saying another word, she tossed the used towels in the garbage and moved past him at a steady, proud pace and right on out the door, not even realising she had been holding her breath in the process until she was out of the room.
CONTINUED IN: Kyla's Bedroom.
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Ishara
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
The shattered surface, so imperfect, is all that you believe
Posts: 19
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Post by Ishara on Sept 9, 2010 15:11:37 GMT
POST TIMESKIP
She had grown fond of the downstairs bathroom in recent weeks, grown to appreciate its muted tones and the calming presence it seemed to provide her. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t still love her own bathroom, able to hide in there when even her bedroom wasn’t private enough. The communal bathroom though was some kind of stepping stone between the private life and the public life, a step she could use along with her breathing exercises. Sometimes there were just so many people in the pack, so many in one place and she never knew what to do in those types of situations. These moments she allowed herself before moving into another room were needed, treasured and so she remained in the bathroom, practising her breathing and preparing to move.
Ishara was just about to step back into the lobby and then onward into the rest of the hotel when the sound of someone entering came to her ears, loud and abrasive, not the sound of a friend or other pack mate entering from outside. There was a menace to the noise, something that made her wolf fearful, made it want to run, nails digging into the skin of her palm as fingers curled into little fists, unsure of what to do. There were other noises too now, she realised, shouts carried through the air, panic and the clogging scent of fire.
Cowardice kept her from moving, shrinking back further into the bathroom, hardly able to breathe through her fear, trying to make herself as small as possible, fear spiking further through her the longer she stood there, almost inching into one of the stalls. A soft whimper slipped out through frozen lips, hands slapping against her mouth in a futile bid to try and stop the noise from escaping. Ishara had seen the odd horror movie in her time although they weren’t her favourite, she knew actually investigating the odd and scary noises without each some kind of weapon or powerful fighter to back you up was stupid. Her legs refused to work anyway, trapping her in place, dark eyes fixed on the door as she mutely waited and hoped.
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