Charlotte
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack: Historian
Hold on tight, wait for tomorrow, you'll be all right.
Posts: 47
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Post by Charlotte on Oct 13, 2008 0:40:51 GMT
The historian smiled at Adalina, genuinely appreciating that the other female not only acknowledged what she had said but agreed, and sincerely too. It might seem like such a small thing, especially to a werewolf, arguably one of the most powerful creatures on the entire planet, but Charlotte Brooks was not like most werewolves. She had absolutely no interest in fight, in combat of any kind, physical and verbal alike, and was much more likely to be found admiring a bed of flowers than chasing prey of any kind while in her wolf form. She was well aware that she was something of a contradiction, and sometimes, she had to wonder if the others picked up on it and wondered about it. But then, that had to be her paranoia talking, that small voice that always told her, wearily, that she was an outsider, and not really one of them.
Her eyes too wandered in the direction of Mateo and Figaro, and her smile grew as she saw her cat continuing to receive attention from the fighter, someone usually so stoic and battle-hardened. It was nice, refreshing, to see him softening up, if only for a short while, and Charlie actually felt something not unlike satisfaction that it was her cat who had gotten Mateo to open up that little bit.
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Mikhail
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
I hear the voices when I?m dreaming, I can hear them say
Posts: 16
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Post by Mikhail on Oct 26, 2008 19:16:54 GMT
Mikhail and Charlotte were more alike than either of them seemed to realise, both happy with where they were as pack mates, both happy to make others happy and both content with the simpler things in life. He just didn’t have it in his make-up to spend too long analysing this behaviour of his and comparing it to others; even if he did, Mikhail was no good at reading signs and would have been completely lost and confused at the suggestion it made him anything less than the rest of the pack, anything less than a wolf. He was who he was and while some might scorn the idea of not wanting more from your life, Mikhail honestly didn’t. Unless, of course, more meant making more of the pack happy.
It took a lot of effort not to break out into the start of a quiet ‘aww’ chorus at the sight still playing out in front of everyone in the kitchen, Mateo’s actions drawing not only his own attention but that of Charlotte’s as well. It was just cute and warmed him to know that there were such fighters like Mateo to look up to in the pack, to respect and obey. It didn’t occur to him to wonder why he couldn’t add the Alpha’s of the pack to that list, or even the fact that they weren’t on the list at all, the majority of the tense mood when the subject of their leaders came up passing right over his head.
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Charlotte
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack: Historian
Hold on tight, wait for tomorrow, you'll be all right.
Posts: 47
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Post by Charlotte on Dec 29, 2008 14:52:31 GMT
To be fair to both of them, the whole idea of werewolves needing or wanting to fight was a cliché brought about by so many books and movies that portrayed them as vicious beasts that were all too ready to launch not only at one another but any unsuspecting victim with their claws outstretched and fangs bared. It was a stereotype that had given them a bad name as a whole, and led them to a time where vampires seemed so romantic and mysterious, and as a result, more appealing. Even without experiencing anything overly negative at the hands of vampires personally, Charlie knew they were dangerous, and as such, the state of affairs — regardless of the fact that most humans either didn’t believe in the supernatural or were completely ignorant of the reality unfolding around them — saddened her.
Coming from some of the other fighters, the petting of a fluffy, attention-hungry cat might not have seemed so strange. Then again, they were all rather grim, at the best of times; there was only one or two of them who smiled or laughed freely, and that was even more upsetting than ‘vampires over werewolves’. Their jobs were serious, a matter of life and death sometimes, literally, but just a smile here and there, a laugh when someone like Samson or Guinevere or Cooper went out of their way to entertain and lift the spirits of everyone living under the roof of The Four Seasons.
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Mikhail
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
I hear the voices when I?m dreaming, I can hear them say
Posts: 16
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Post by Mikhail on Jan 21, 2009 5:00:37 GMT
Mikhail had never quite understood where that stereotype of werewolves as little more than vicious beasts had come from. Yes, they could become them, during the three nights of the full moon but so few of the stories about them tended to cover that angle. It wasn’t even as though humans could argue they were better than werewolves – emphasis on the second part of the name, the animal – because humans too were creatures of the earth, descended from apes or pigs or… something. They seemed to change their minds all the time about what sort of ‘wild’ animal they closest resembled and he couldn’t keep up with it all. It was only during those odd nights that he lost control of himself that Mikhail ever displayed any violent tendencies and it was hard to image himself ever changing.
It was nice to see a fighter – and more importantly, a fighter he truly respected and admired as much as he did Mateo – have a moment or two when he was relaxed and casual. To know that life wasn’t a constant battle for the fighters, that they could be happy made Mikhail happy. A lot of things however, made the Russian born wolf happy. He was happy for example, to be right where he was, with the people he was with and he was happy in the pack, even if he was completely oblivious to the tensions that were all conspiring to ensure that the fighters were feeling the strain more than usual.
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Mateo
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack: Senior Fighter
Life is a journey during which we all stumble at times.
Posts: 72
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Post by Mateo on Jan 21, 2009 20:12:14 GMT
Mateo had seen enough to understand where the stereotype had come from, and, while it wasn’t fair to say that all werewolves were nothing but vicious creatures that thirsted for flesh and destruction, there would always be some somewhere that made the old legends seem true. They were the troublemakers, the one who didn’t care about anyone or anything outside of themselves and, occasionally, their packs. He knew that for a fact. Something else he knew for a fact was that seeing him giving what probably seemed to be his rather undivided attention to Figaro might have changed the minds of some of those who believed the old stories about werewolves. After all, the werewolves of myth would have probably eaten the cat by that point rather than continuing to stand there, right in the kitchen where anyone walking in would have a clear view, petting said cat.
While his full attention might have seemed to be on the cat, those who knew him well enough would realize that he was also listening to what was going on around him. Just because he was actually relaxing didn’t mean that he could turn off his instinct to make sure he knew what was going on around him. Still, Figaro was cute and needed all of the attention she wanted. That, however, was something that Mateo would rather eat his keyboard than admit.
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Charlotte
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack: Historian
Hold on tight, wait for tomorrow, you'll be all right.
Posts: 47
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Post by Charlotte on Jan 22, 2009 22:33:41 GMT
Myth, legend, Hollywood. It was all down to the individual to pick their favourite reason when it came to the origin of the stereotype. Clearly the writers of those campfire stories had only ever met the worst werewolves, the crazed ones who either couldn’t or didn’t want to control their feral sides, moon-maddened or just bloodthirsty, driven wild by their power. There were countless explanations, another popular one being that they had never actually seen a real werewolf, and it had all just been made up on a whim. There was no way of really knowing, and perhaps it was better that way. Whoever had originally said ‘ignorance is bliss’ had the right idea, clearly.
Thoroughly enjoying the seemingly undivided attention from the male werewolf, Figaro was purring loudly, before she fixed him with a focused gaze and opened her mouth to release a squeak of a mew that made Charlie smile and have to suppress a laugh. No matter how many times she heard the cat make that sound, it always made her smile. With a glance back at Mikhail, she finished the treat that the young male had fished out for her, and went about folding the wrapper neatly over and over before moving to drop it in the trash can.
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Heather
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
Between the lines of fear and blame, you begin to wonder why you came
Posts: 33
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Post by Heather on Jan 25, 2009 5:35:35 GMT
In France, there had been so many tales of bloodthirsty beings who could shape shift, who would sneak into your home and attack a loved one or even be a loved one in the worst case. Heather had heard all the tales, and eventually she had seen what happened when people were allowed to brood on those tales and embellish them until they were so over the top and the people telling them so maddened by what they had heard and what they now believed that it brought out the worst in people and led to mob mentality. Nothing good came out of the mob, only pain and suffering.
She was more than content to watch those in the kitchen mill about quietly, the focus of which appeared to be Mateo and the cat. Heather hadn’t been with them long enough to know if such an event was really out of the ordinary, but she did know it looked somewhat odd, for such an apparently stoic fighter to be petting a tiny cat. Nothing wrong with it of course, if anything Heather thought it all looked rather cute. There was something reassuring somehow, about a cat being made fuss of from someone who was basically a predator by nature, as all werewolves.
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Heather
Pack Werewolf
Deceased
Between the lines of fear and blame, you begin to wonder why you came
Posts: 33
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Post by Heather on Sept 9, 2010 19:42:48 GMT
POST TIMESKIP
Living with such a large pack meant a large kitchen, with ample space and ample amounts of food. It also meant plenty of food she could practise with, space to test her cooking skills and try and improve on them a little. Heather wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, something her family had always been more than a little surprised by – she was French, she had access to some of the greatest cuisine and ingredients available in the world, how could she be anything less than a brilliant cook? She wasn’t the worst though, something which had often become her defence over the years, reminding them that there were some in her birth pack so much worse than her, those that burned water. Living alone had taught her the need to learn to cook better, her pallet refusing to let her live off microwave food and things that came out of packets every single night. It ruined her wine when a quality bottle, a blessed treat, was paired with sub par food. And so Heather practised, trying to improve whenever she found the chance, and seeing the kitchen as empty as it had been was simply too good a chance to pass up.
She had perhaps, been a little too adventurous with her attempt this time however, nose wrinkling up a little in distaste as the food refused to work as it should, didn’t turn lightly golden brown in the pan as the book had promised, no delicious scents but rather only a dark black that crackled over the meat, unpleasant looking and foreboding. Heather let out a soft little squeak as the pan caught fire, quickly grabbing at a nearby tea towel and flapping at the pan, for a moment only feeding the flames, giving them more oxygen before she flung it completely over the flames, dampening them down, removing their food and putting the tiny fire disaster out. The dark haired wolf panted slightly, hand against her chest, above her heart, listening to the frantic beating of it, waiting for the faint scent of smoke and fire to die down. If anything though it only appeared to get stronger, Heather risking a peak under the towel, frown on her face when she realised it was out. But if it wasn’t her food that was causing that smell then what could it be? She stepped away from the cooker after turning it off, trying to track down the scent, suddenly aware of panic in the hotel, thick and so obvious now she was actually taking it in. It wasn’t just her food – her new home was on fire.
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