Bo
Rogue Werewolf
Pickpocket
I can't grant your every wish, I'm not your knight in shining armour.
Posts: 177
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Post by Bo on Dec 20, 2006 0:26:53 GMT
The night was young yet, and there was lots to do. Places to go, people to see… hell, maybe even flirtations to be had. His ears twitched playfully at the thought, and a little murmur of an anxious whine slipped from his throat. His thick near-black fur rippled softly in the night time breeze, and his tongue lolled for a moment. His blocky forepaws were rested up on the ledge of the rooftop of one of the neighbouring buildings in the three-strong complex as his bright, deep blue eyes looked down from above.
It wasn’t necessarily in his nature to spy on his friends, but when it came to Skid… well, that was a whole different story. After finding his scent nearby, he’d tracked it quickly, finding his way here, and the rooftop had been as good a place as any to get himself a good view. Of course, there was only so much he wanted to see, and thankfully, he hadn’t had a good view for that, but he knew where Skid had been going. He’d smelt a female on his companion more than once in the past week, and not just in the ‘she stood near me’ kind of way.
Bo was no fool pup, after all, and he knew all about proximity. His canines glinted in something of a grin, and he tilted his black nose to the wind, his tail sweeping from one side to the other as he tried to find a tantalising treat of his own. The moon called to him, telling him to find his own fun, and with a little howl to the sky, he hopped down from his perch, and trotted to the other side of the roof, ready to make his way down, into the big, bad city.
Time to play…
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Bo
Rogue Werewolf
Pickpocket
I can't grant your every wish, I'm not your knight in shining armour.
Posts: 177
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Post by Bo on Dec 20, 2006 21:06:29 GMT
Bounding towards the fire escape that had given his strictly-quadruped wolfen form such easy access to the roof — he loved those old buildings without the vertical access ladders — he let his tail swish energetically from side to side, his claws rattling on the metal as he sprang with practised ease onto the grates that made up the base of his route.
Where to first? his mind chattered as he trotted and zigzagged his way down, almost amused at the prospect of some old dear looking out her window and catching sight of a big ‘dog-thing’ that she would no doubt use as a conversation piece at her next tea party. He gave a feral little snort at the mental picture. Over to one of the clubs to see what the pickings are like? Hmm… maybe. Or, ooh, maybe the outskirts… maybe some of Skid’s guys are still lurking.
Mind made up, he continued bounding down, on his merry way to what he hoped would prove to be some fun.
Continued at: Alleys and Streets; The Outskirts.
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Connor
Rogue Werewolf
Searcher
There is no love here and there is no pain...
Posts: 84
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Post by Connor on Aug 29, 2009 0:23:42 GMT
POST TIMESKIP.
Maybe he had a thing for standing on rooftops. It was unusual for him to spend a second, constructive night in a similar place, even if this was the roof of his own apartment complex. There was nothing to see here, nobody to watch and hope about. The walls of Connor O’Malley’s apartment had seemed to close in on him as he had paced restlessly through the rooms, almost climbing the walls in his impatience. He didn’t want to be trapped in that area, didn’t want to be in the building at all but it was too soon. Connor had to keep telling himself that it was too soon to return to that old hotel and stake out the pack again, not now everything was suddenly that much more important. The male couldn’t risk being detected by allowing his scent to pool.
It didn’t stop that itch, logic warring with the desire to make things right, to risk it all. So he had made his way up to the roof, standing near the edge and looking down over the city as a whole, in the hope the cool night air and the view would somehow help calm him down. At the very least, he could keep an eye on his own home, his own tiny patch of territory and make sure that there were no invaders. An Englishman’s home might be his castle, but what did the English know? The Irish knew that home was more than bricks and a place of power, a home was everything but nothing without the people.
Dipping his head a little, Connor drew his long dark jacket tighter around him. It promised to be a long night once again, tormented by his knowledge and the fact he couldn’t do a think about it.
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Aug 29, 2009 1:19:01 GMT
Last night had been a bust. Well no, Elena had given her some good information and had been paid accordingly, like she always was, theirs being one relationship that Tess actually gave a rat’s ass about. Apart from that though the night had been a bust. Olsen was somewhere in the city of Los Angeles and the brunette wanted desperately to know where that somewhere was so that she could break down his door and then break down his body and maybe paint a mural with his blood or something dynamic and show stopping that would get the attention of the rest of the Contego fuckers who wanted a piece of her. Let them come, she thought to herself bitterly as she climbed the stairs slowly towards the roof. Let them come and I’ll burn them alive.
Progress was slow to get to the roof largely because she had left the club the night before and gotten herself into a scuffle with a couple of vampires. Nothing too troublesome but she was no supernatural being and when she was bounced off a brick wall she felt it. Knuckles scuffed, the right side of her ribcage bruised to all hell and her neck sporting some very fetching finger shaped bruises from where the vamps had tried to throttle her, Teresa all but limped up to the roof. Usually she kept to herself in the aftermath of a fight like the one she’d had the night before, the rest of the tenants would start to think she was the victim of domestic abuse if she traipsed around like this the whole damn time, but she was dying for a smoke and to get some fresh air, or as fresh as it ever got in Los Angeles. It was better than nothing with a hangover like the one she was cradling.
After the fight had come pain and after the pain had set in came the bourbon.
Pushing her way out onto the roof, she was surprised to see someone already out there, though her expression didn’t shift in the slightest, she just made her way to the edge of the roof and tapped a cigarette out of the packet, fishing her lighter out of one of the pockets of her dark jeans.
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Connor
Rogue Werewolf
Searcher
There is no love here and there is no pain...
Posts: 84
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Post by Connor on Sept 3, 2009 0:50:46 GMT
He noted her arrival without moving from his spot, simply waiting until she stepped up against the edge of the roof. Only then did Connor’s eyes slant a little to the side, taking in the appearance of this newcomer, this intruder in his solitude. Whatever had happened to her, had clearly been a fight to remember.
Discreetly, Connor inhaled as deeply as he felt he could get away with, tracing her scent under the layers of cool night air, thick smoke and his own recognizable mixture of steel cleaner and leather. Alcohol swirled in the mix of the girl along the roof from him, along with the instantly familiar tang of gun oil and gunpowder. Someone had been fighting recently, the sickening scent of decay mixed in there too. For the smallest of seconds, he tensed subtly, recognizing that stench of death for the sign it was; vampire. Under even that however, bringing the concoction to a close was a warmer, more positive scent. Human, which that part far stronger. Now that he could think about it, Connor realised that the scent of vampire clung to her skin instead of being a part of her very being.
Just a girl then. And yet at the same time, clearly not ‘just’ anything if she got into fights with vampires. Some kind of hunter perhaps, clearly messed up in her own way. Welcome to the world, he thought roughly, Connor knowing that anyone who chose to do this was not all there in the head. He was a prime example of that but at least he had the excuse of his race. The morbidly curious part of him – the part that was likely to get him put on many a hunter’s death lists – made him wonder what her excuse was.
“You win?” Connor asked suddenly, eyes still on the skyline. He had no doubt that victory was the case in this respect – the girl carried herself too proudly to have taken such a beating and then crawled away the victim.
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Dec 27, 2009 23:42:40 GMT
It was an unending source of annoyance for the young hunter that her senses were not a patch on those of a werewolf or even a vampire when they bothered to push air. It was fucking unfair. She was good at what she did, great even and if she had the ability to smell the finest traces in the air she knew she would be so much better. Not to mention the healing factor and the long life that would be a big aid in her cause to rid the world first of the Contego assholes and then of vampires if she had her way. Big mission for such a little girl.
Teresa scoffed, apparently genuinely amused for a change. Languidly she pinched her cigarette between her lips and flipped her lighter open, catching the end of the little white stick with the flame behind her hand and sucking in air through it. Away went the lighter and she captured the cigarette between her pointer and middle finger, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling it in a rush. Much better. "I always win," she stated coolly. It wasn’t all that big of an exaggeration, she was still standing after all. Most human hunters snuffed it early on, they didn’t have the chops for the business but Teresa was something different, something more. Raised to be a warrior, a scourge upon the darkness – supposedly – she had youth and experience on her side and for a human that was nothing if not rare.
"You live here, right?" A roll of her shoulders, tension bleeding out of them at the rush of nicotine accompanied her words and she turned dark eyes on him. "I never forget a face." True. That’s what caning early and often did for the memory, made it into a tool.
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