Jesse's Room

[Jesse]

Post Timeskip

Jesse stood looking out his small window. His mind blurred - the fog easier to navigate when the moon was not so close. He had memories, but he refused to admit they were there. The ideas were gone, the ability to feel for them a lifetime vanished. This life he was in was simply a time to fit. To follow Lucian whereever he meant to lead.. then move on.

He'd left two sandwiches on his small table - one stuffed with rare roast beef, the other half as full. His door was open a little bit, and he had hoped Micah would risk the short hall to his door. Why he cared for Micah when he barely cared if he drew another breath... he wouldn't have analyzed it - but it probably harkened back to his time with the wolf pack. Micah was more entirely wolf than any of the others.

He lit a cigarette in the dim room. His lighter snked. He played with it - staring at the wall. Til someone required him - Jesse would simply float in the fog.

[Micah]

As a general rule, Micah avoided moving out and about beyond the boundaries of his small, private bedroom as much as possible. It was best to avoid the pack, particularly when the moon was close to being full; the closer it got, the more tense and therefore more vicious the pack became. Micah could judge time that way, knew when he would have to lope miserably downstairs and close himself away in a cramped little cage so he didn't attack anyone. But it wasn't just the moon that dictated Micah's temperament. The Omega himself didn't truly understand it, wasn't really capable of comprehending the ins and outs of his own condition. He simply knew when he was angry, and when he was not.

It was the smell of that roast beef that had him stalking silently in the direction of Jesse's door, and it wasn't until the white wolf was close to the frame that he realised it was ajar. Was it intentional? Jesse, Micah knew -- or rather, had had come to learn -- was one of the rare few in the pack who did not lash out blindly or toss angry, spiteful words in his direction. Jesse was safe. But did Micah have any right to sniff around the older male's doorway? Part of him said yes, the fighter wolf would not be angry, but the other part said no, he should leave, go back to his own room and leave well enough alone.

With the two sides debating the matter, there was little Micah could do but drop his hind quarters down with a near-silent thump against the carpet and wait until one side won out and, in turn, told him what to do.

[Jesse]

The thump of course was completely audible to Jesse - by no means loud, he heard it - and Micah's smell touched his nostrils. So Micah had followed his nose. Jesse's wolf approved silently and he blew out the cigarette smoke through his nostrils. He let out a low pitched whistle, then quietly - "Micah." His voice was level, even. It held no invitation nor rebuttal, but acknowledgement.

Acknowledgement that Micah sat outside his door. Acknowledgement that he, Jesse, knew Micah's name and who he was - that his name did not always come with a rebuff. He picked up the half full sandwich and bit into it, idly waving the meat so the smell would waft out to the door. He knew Micah had eaten very little lately, thanks to others - Lucian should see to them, there was no sense in a weak pack - but Jesse's mind fogged over again. Lucian was busy. There were things to do, things that he although senior fighter had no business needing to know.

So he would take care of Micah. And keep the pack strong.

[Micah]

In many ways, Micah was very much like a domesticated dog, albeit something of an abused one; he cowered and flinched, ducked his head and cringed in anticipation of a blow that might not even drop down on him, but he responded to whistles and clicks of the fingers just as well as he would spoken instruction. It made him seem weak to so many, and Micah was hardly the strongest member of any pack at any given time, but he was still a wolf, and it just so happened that he was more in tune with his wolf side than he was the human, despite the fact that he had been bitten and not born into lycanthropy. It was the wolf, the animal, that responded to the simpler signals, and that was why they worked so well with Micah.

Jesse had acknowledged him, and when the scent became stronger, Micah lifted his hind quarters from the ground and padded forward slowly, just enough to nudge the door with his nose. It swung inward softly, permitting him a view of one half of the room, the half in which Jesse resided, holding a sandwich with the cooked meat inside the bread. Micah's stomach did a little flip and growled, and his ears twitched back in response to the sound, his body stilling as though fearing he might be reprimanded for being so bold as to assume some of the sandwich, at least, might be for him.

[Jesse]

"Come on Micah." He placed the meat laden half on the floor at his feet. "In. Close it behind you." He finished the rest of his half and lit a cigarette. He dragged a breath and felt the smoke curl through his lungs, unable to hurt him, simply blowing through him. He blew two smoke rings and watched them break apart in the dim light, his eyes the full color of his wolf.

He didn't look at Micah as the other wolf came in, waiting until he'd finished eating. He'd make sure the Omega wasn't injured if he allowed it. If he didn't, he would check him anyway. Micah couldn't withstand Jesse's will, but he'd give the animal a choice at least. Force him to think.

Jesse's own mind fogged over - he saw laughing eyes and trees - smelled the forest. It should have made him sad. But they just made him feel empty. The buildings were helping him to forget.

[Micah]

Instruction gave Micah's life a sense of order, and that was a big part of why he responded so well to being given instructions and directions, orders and commands, even if they were simply sounds rather than words. Without those guidelines and specific commands from others, his life was just a scattered confusion of signals and Micah was not a wolf well-suited to that kind of disarray and chaos. It confused him, unnerved and unsettled him, and while he might have been an Omega, Micah still knew that he was capable of being a danger, if only to himself. There was something wrong with him, something not right inside, and it made him unpredictable, especially when he was confused.

He was able to close the door with a nudge of his nose once he was inside, and after several long seconds of waiting for a rebuke or a denial as he approached the sandwich, he finally settled himself down on his belly and gnawed his way through the stuffed bread quietly, doing his best not to swallow it down in a desperate, greedy rush. Once the half a sandwich was gone, he snuffled over the carpet, as though searching for crumbs; it was one of those moments that made him seem so domesticated, so basic and simple like a dog, but they were actions Micah performed without thinking, the young werewolf letting the animal side take control, seeing no reason not to.

[Jesse]

Jesse watched as Micah snuffled along the carpet, analyzing the way he moved to see if he favoured a leg, or if his back were stiff. The way an animal moved was absolutely vital in the wild – don’t look sick, don’t seem weak, move strong, and survive. Jesse found that in his human form he could project strength well enough to be left alone – but he could also use that strength to bring prey to him. He huffed with a bark of laughter. How stupidly complex humanity was. Some part of his mind screamed that it was better that way, but Jesse paid it no mind. His eyes flared into his wolf’s color and he shook his head.

The second half of Micah’s sandwich lay next to Jesse’s second and he finished his, wiping the grease on his jeans. He stood, picking up the other meatier sandwich and held it in Micah’s direction. He needed to see more. Micah was moving with his usual stilted movements, and Jesse didn’t want to wait to see. “Micah. Over here. Now.” And he moved to the other side of the room. “Move it, Micah. Now.” The last word was a growl of command, and Jesse waited. If Micah didn’t obey, well, he’d take care of it. That, at least, would also answer his questions. Wolves didn’t say please.

[Micah]

With the smell of meat still hanging heavily in the air, Micah heard and felt his stomach growl again, eyes lifting to Jesse's legs as the older, more dominant male sat in the chair to see whether or not the other wolf had noticed, and if he had, whether or not he had taken offence. No blows rained down, there was no snarl of reproach, and Micah felt a little of the tension ebb from his frame, finally taking his nose from the carpet when it became obvious there were no morsels to be salvaged.

Micah might have been Omega, but he was still a wolf, and though he was underweight and one of the weakest members of the pack, he was still careful about how he carried himself. He had learned long ago not to make himself an easier target than he already was, and due to the generous amount of time he spent in wolf form, he had become especially adept at hiding aches and pains that could be abused by other members of the pack if they got it into their heads to target him and vent some of their pent-up aggression.

Jesse's command had him rising from the carpet without hesitation, following the other male's movement with his eyes while still keeping them down from his face, at the same time making sure not to stare at the sandwich presumptuously. He moved across the room in a steady, slightly cautious lope, approaching Jesse without rushing and without crawling too slowly, his tail dropped down low and his ears poised at such an angle atop his head so as not to seem too bold or eager.

[Jesse]

Jesse put the sandwich on the floor at Micah's feet and grabbed the wolf by his scruff. One powerful hand held Micah's head up while the other ran over his back, checking the ribs, and moving through the fur, checking for matted clumps or blood. Of course there was no whimper, not that Jesse would have paid attention to it..

Satisfying himself that the wolf's ribs were intact, he checked the legs, and lifted each paw, checking the pads. An open sore on one of the back claws was visible - Jesse turned wolf - and cleaned the pad with his tongue, snarling when the paw nearly moved to be placed down on the ground. Finishing that task, he sniffed all over Micah, near his mouth and by his ears. Finally, he turned back to his human form and put a small amount of a cream on the paw.

"There." He thumped his hand on Micah's back, hard enough to have it be a very solid thump, and nodded to himself when the Omega kept his feet. He took hold of Micah's muzzle and forced eye contact. "When you are hungry, come to me. When you are hurt, come to me. I will keep you strong enough to live."

Whether Micah understood or not, Jesse wouldn't know. But he'd done his duty by the pack.

"Eat."

[Micah]

Micah understood. He stood, silent and still, let himself be examined, and when all was said and done, he understood. Jesse had been taking care of him for a long time now, longer than Micah could put into months and years, and while it hadn't allowed him to grow comfortable or lax in his wariness and natural, instinctual skittishness with the wolf so powerful and present at the surface, the Omega had known that the old male would watch out for him, that he would help him, give him food, check his injuries. It wouldn't change anything else in his life, but Micah understood what he was told, and deep down beneath all the fog and the tumble of disorganised thought and emotion, he was grateful.

To serve his place within the pack, do as he was told by a dominant, Micah would obey Jesse; he would go to Jesse when he was hungry, when he was hurt. Jesse would help him, would keep him moving forward, keep him living, keep him in the pack. With Jesse, things would be all right; things would make sense and everything had a place and a purpose. Micah gave a single wag of his tail to show he understood and then lowered his head to snag the sandwich from the carpet and begin chewing, obeying another command, not just from the old wolf standing close but also from his growling, demanding stomach.