Oscar Palladino

[Oscar]

NAME: Oscar Palladino.
NICKNAMES: He doesn’t really go into nicknames as a whole, Oscar being a name that cannot be easily shortened and although he is pretty sure people sometimes use other names for him, he lacks the interest to care or remember them.
RACE: Werewolf – bitten.
OCCUPATION: Pack Member.
GENDER: Male.
SKIN COLOUR: Caucasian.
NATIONALITY: Italian.
AGE: 288, but he appears to be in his early twenties.
CLOTHING: Oscar enjoys a wide range of clothing and outfits although they all tend to have a few things in common such as being expensive and well made. Sometimes he wears two shirts at a time, a light colour under the larger one which is typically darker. More often than not however he will be seen in some silk, button up shirt which fall past his waist length wise, sometimes plain and sometimes with patterns on. He prefers wearing dark coloured pants in either jean style or more suit like pants. He likes heavy fabric dusters that go down past his knees, typically in greys and blacks. On warmer days he will wear shorter, thinner jackets, again in muted tones such as browns, in a huge range of material from leather to a crushed velvet style, these ones normally stopping just below his hips. Oscar is often seen with some kind of long scarf around his neck, the two sides falling down around his neck. Of course, Oscar also likes to look flash and almost over the top now and then, wanting to create an impression and so he has a couple of more outrageous items of clothing, the most striking being a light purple glitter leather jacket. Shoe-wise, he tends to just stick to black boots although he owns some sneakers.
HEIGHT: 5’11”
WEIGHT: 157lbs.
TATTOOS: None.
PIERCINGS: He has his left ear pierced once, and he occasionally wears a gold stud in it, typically just long enough to keep the hole from healing completely.
JEWELLERY: Aside from his earring stud, Oscar wears a steel ring on his right hand’s middle finger as well as an identical one on his left thumb. He tends to have a necklace on at all times, varying them constantly although his current favourite is a steel and ebony round pendant on a cord.

BODY MODIFICATIONS: He tries his best to avoid injuries that would leave long term marks and so there are only two sets of any note. On the underside of his right arm he has a series of red splash like marks stretching along from his elbow to a little way under his wrist. There are fainter, less visible red spots around the base of his neck both the result of some acid although his neck healed better due to less hitting it. He also has a small scar on the inside of his bottom lip which is only visible when he pulls his lip down.

WOLF FORM

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BUILD: More suited to two legged movement instead of four, as a wolf Oscar is nevertheless capable of travelling in either form of transport. Upright he roughly resembles a normal human in terms of limbs although there is no chance of him being mistaken for anything other than he is. His hind legs are long are wiry, perfect for long distance running and leaping as opposed to brute strength. His paws are thicker and larger than the legs themselves, spreading out into separated toes that are capped off with very sharp and deadly looking claws, capable of gouging metal and stone and proving him perfect grip. Oscar’s front legs are similar in style although they are slightly shorter and thinner. His paws are all but double jointed and capable of great dexterity. Again he has strong and heavy claws to dig through hard surfaces. As his torso rises up away from his lower legs it becomes more thickset and wide, strong and broad, leading up to a short neck. His whole head is rather narrow and triangular in shape with sharp, long pointy ears sticking upright on either side.
HEIGHT: Bipedal-4’4”; Quadruped- 7’2”
WEIGHT: 311lbs
HAIR: His pelt is made up of a series of three colours, cream, a light brown and a darker brown, almost black, the three blending together to make an subtle colouring. The most prominent is the lighter brown and from a distance he looks wholly that. The length of his hair is even throughout most of his limbs, no more than an inch or two long, with rather coarse and wiry fur. At the joints of his body the hair becomes longer and thicker by a couple of inches, still remaining coarse and heavy, offering not only protection but added warmth as well.
EYES: A washed out, near translucent brown.
DEFINING MARKS: His long sweeping tail and hand like front paws.

PACK[/u]
PACK: Rayne’s Pack.
POSITION: Pack Member.
TERRITORY: Rayne’s half of L.A.

HAIR[/u]
LENGTH: Oscar’s hair has been grown out in recent years, longest at the back of his head, where it passes the nape of his neck and stops just shy above his shoulders. It decreases in length as it goes round his head, never longer than just past the bottom part of his ear. His fringe has been grown longer as well, reaching past his eyes and just slightly shorter than the rest of his hair. Although he has short and faint sideburns, the length of his hair covers them all but completely.
STYLE: Although it may not look it, Oscar’s hair is carefully styled to create the current look he has. Mostly it curls around his head’s natural shape, curling inwards at the tips although at the base of his neck the hair flicks outward. Normally Oscar keeps it ever so slightly messy and scruffy, giving the appearance of having just rolled out of bed. He has a side parting for his fringe, with most of it falling onto his left side although a few locks hang on the right.
COLOUR: Medium brown.

FACIAL HAIR[/u]
LENGTH: Never more than a day’s worth of stubble.
STYLE: None when possible, he prefers to be clean shaven although on rare occasions he won’t shave in the morning.

EYES[/u]
COLOUR: Hazel/Green
ODDITIES: Like all werewolves, whenever Oscar is feeling any particularly intense emotion, such as fear, surprise, excitement, etc. they will change to the colour of his wolf’s eyes, as they will when he feels pain. Oscar can also will them to change colour whenever he wants, to playfully tease or if he is feeling mischievous.

PERSONALITY: Oscar will be the first to admit that he can often be considered a bit of a waster when compared to other’s in the pack and that the negative aspects of his personality far outweigh any positive traits but he doesn’t really care about be thought of as a bit of a bad boy or a waste of space within the pack. There is little ambition in him, no real desire to improve himself or to be more productive. He’s simply never known any other way to live or act, having grown up being treated as though this is how he would end up, and in his more whimsical moments, Oscar likes to refer to himself as a self-fulfilling prophecy. On the occasions when he puts his mind to it, he can be rather charming and witty, a direct contrast to his bored default behaviour, knowing what to say to a person and when to listen and act as though they are the full focus of his attention. As a young adult he was taught how to ‘court’ and now and then this will show in his behaviour, although it rarely lasts for long, as he doesn’t see the point in pretending to be something he isn’t.

He does not have the best focus in the world and indeed, his attention span is rather short, always flittering from one thing to another and is at once both a blessing and a curse. On the positive side, his inability to focus on anything for any great length of time means that whenever he grows bored, the moment passes soon enough and he quickly moves on to something new, however as a result of this he needs constant stimulus to keep his interest as his attention moves constantly on and on, giving the end impression of just finding everything dull. Not only does he appear perpetually bored with the world, he can be rather jaded and cynical at times, always ready to assume and believe the worst of people and events. Oscar often acts as though he knows everything, has seen everything despite his relative young age as a werewolf and as a result can come off arrogant and condescending on his bad days and simply world weary on his good ones.

Rather lazy when faced with anything resembling ‘honest work’, the few times he appears truly alive is when faced with one of his passions in life; most of the so called vices of the human world. He loves to gamble, drink, and smoke although it is the former which is the most important thing to him. Gambling is more than a pastime with Oscar; it is a way of life and something he truly enjoys, not least because he has a talent when it comes to playing card games, born out of centuries of practise. His skill and experience means that more often than not he is winning money instead of loosing it and the repeated good streaks have turned him into something of an addict. In most cases he plays online, against other faceless people and on the days when he starts to loose, so far at least he has been able to cut himself off after a set amount of money and just walk away.

Every now and then, Oscar has the irresistible urge to take part in a game where the cards and stakes are more physical, wanting the social aspect of the whole thing as well as using his experience to read people and their tells. To a lesser degree, he also adores the other vices and likes to drink with the aim to feel at least a little bit tipsy, and the inability to get drunk is one of the things that he truly dislikes about being a werewolf. He’s always been a social drinker, enjoying the company that comes with going out for drinks, but on the other side, he will happily drink alone if he has to.

When faced with women Oscar becomes rather wary as a whole and prefers to keep some kind of emotional distance with them whenever possible. He has no problem with physical intimacy and indeed enjoys it, even if it means he has something of a reputation of a serial womaniser and complete flirt. At the hint of any deeper connection he will instantly pull away and end it, not wanting any complications in his relationships. Oscar is reluctant to tell anyone as to why he refuses to even entertain the possibly of any kind of serious connection to a woman, even as a simple friendship because he refuses to accept that his past has changed or hurt him in any emotional way. If possible he would rather people didn’t know he had any emotions to hurt. Under it all, he is far more vulnerable than most people would suspect, but it is hidden by his cocksure nature and rebuff behaviour.

WEAKNESSES: As with all werewolves, Oscar is allergic to the metal silver; it can make him feel nauseous, burn him, poison and in extreme cases even kill him, depending on the proximity, quantity and the length of contact. Should it reach his lungs, heart or brain, not even his abilities would be able to heal it and he would eventually die. He’s never been particularly apt at learning how to fight beyond the most basic of moves and in a situation against someone with any kind of skill he would quickly find himself over powered and in a dangerous, possibly even fatal situation.

His personality and overall behaviour around women could be considered a weakness, as it could easily be twisted into something worse than it is, his mistrust easily being able to be used against him. Although his scars on his arm and neck don’t hurt him or cause him much discomfort on their own, he cannot stand to have any real weight pressed against them, which can restrict his arm movement and what he carries without feeling pain. The very smell of olives invokes bad memories in Oscar and he simply can’t be near them, in worst cases he will actually throw up, or feel faint. If it possible to be scared of a fruit then he is.

ABILITIES: Oscar had all of the benefits that comes with being a werewolf, shared with all his kind; all five of his senses are enhanced, along with increased speed, strength, agility, endurance, stamina, balance and reflexes. He has a higher pain threshold than humans, and on the flip side, he heals at an advanced rate, along with the obvious skill to change from human to wolf and back again at will. His age means he is able to control his wolf during all three nights of the full moon, can stop himself from changing as well as retaining his mind at those times.

He is exceptionally fluent in both his native tongue Italian, and also English. Due to his privileged upbringing he can read and write Latin, Hebrew and Ancient Greek as well as speaking the latter. His greatest skill however lies in his gambling abilities and his skill at poker and other card games, from traditional gambling ones to more obscure games including ones which only use a 40 card deck to ones that use five suits. Oscar also knows a number of card related tricks as well, such as magic tricks, and the ability to toss cards and hit intended targets.

WEAPONS: Aside from his natural werewolf ones, the closest thing Oscar has to a weapon is his pack of playing cards which he can throw in a manner similar to knives although the overall effect is of course far weaker.

PRIZED POSSESSIONS: Although not overly expensive or a sentimental piece, he treasures the copper hip flask with a wolf on the side, the item coming almost everywhere with him. Oscar also carries an old pack of playing cards that he bought near the middle of the eighteen hundred’s, a pack he now considers to be ‘lucky’ for him. Perhaps his most prized item however is an illustrated copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy in Italian which was given to him by his father and is the only part of his old life left.

HOME(S) The Four Seasons with the rest of Rayne’s pack.

HISTORY: Oscar Palladino was born in the heartland of Italy, Rome in the year 1718. His family had long held desires to move up in the ranks of nobility, and to earn more and more power, the desire a trademark of the Palladino knights, the generations all serving the kings of the area faithfully and being rewarded for their services in the manner they had always hoped for. By the early 1700’s the family had cultivated a number of links between the royal families throughout Europe, through marriages and other blood bonds and proudly showed off their numerous connections with all the different families, including the most recent and one of the most desirable, to the royal family of England, a ‘superpower’ of the time. Keen to attract more links with the nobility of England, the Palladino family had started a tradition a mere two generations previously, to name the second child an English name in the hope that it would make the child a more attractive partner in the intricate marriage links. It was to this power hungry and relentless social climbing environment into which Oscar was born, the second child and second son, only two years younger than his brother.

From birth his brother was groomed as the first son should be; the warrior and fighter of the family and for the second son, European tradition had his role defined as either a man of the cloth or a scholar and while his father had little time for someone who used words to defend themselves compared to the sword, he was determined to uphold that tradition, if only so that if they couldn’t marry Oscar off he could join a monastery and thus be prevented from splitting the family estate after his death. Always a practical man, the elder Palladino held little love for his two sons and single daughter, thinking them of little more than items to be bargained with and used as he saw fit.

Oscar was only one when his mother sent him to live with his uncle, a formable man who held a high position within the Church and was the perfect person to ensure that he received all the necessary teaching and grooming that a son of a noble man required right from the start of life. His brother was sent to live with them during the winter months of the year when his focus could be spent on books instead of learning the ways of the battlefield. The arrival of Orazio was always a welcome relief to Oscar, who was otherwise the only child in the monastery, hardly a place for a young boy to feel relaxed and at home.

Although he took to learning when in the cloisters and with one of the ‘brothers’ instructing him, right from the start Oscar had more interest in the more simple pleasures of life and was often told off for sneaking away from his home in order to play in the fields. He had no desire to spend any more time than he had learning about dead people and while he found it a little bit interesting he couldn’t understand how it would help in the real world, Oscar naively pointing his views out once or twice and being whipped as punishment for such ungodly thoughts.

The years passed slowly and without any real incident aside from his punishments, Oscar marking the time by the many religious festivals he had to help take part in as the ward of his uncle and the few months of winter when his brother visited. Being forced to take part in ceremonies that were designed for not only older people but for followers of the cloth that had spent years training for quickly installed in him a deep dislike of the church as a whole, the lonely young boy vowing to do whatever he had to in order to make sure he didn’t spend his life in a place like this.

The night before his eighth birthday he was called into his uncle’s study, the young boy nervously trying to think what he had done wrong to warrant such a change in routine. Standing in front of the desk, his uncle glaring down at him, Oscar couldn’t help but let his mouth drop open in surprise as he was told that his father and mother were going to be visiting the monastery the next day. It was the first time he could remember them coming to visit. All night he was unable to sleep, waiting for what he considered to be the best birthday present in the world, to finally meet his parents.

The day did not go as he would have hoped, Oscar watching from the door as his parents exited the carriage, the couple strangers to him. They remained cold and distant throughout the meeting, avoiding any sort of contact with their son and interested only in hearing examples of what he had learnt, to see how well their investment had paid off. He did the best he could, trying to hide the hurt he felt at having his dreams crushed, trying to find any hint in his father’s face as he recited speeches and showed off his talents that he had gained some kind of approval from him.

As evening fell, the adults left Oscar alone, returning to his uncle’s study in order to talk. Although he knew he wasn’t allowed to listen, he was unable to resist the temptation. Hiding out in the hallway, Oscar listened as his father and uncle talked, most of the conversation passing over his head although one part of the conversation stuck in his mind. His father grudgingly accepted that his son was showing good intelligence but he made it clear with his words how little he thought of a boy raised solely in this manner, and spoke of Oscar ending up like his uncle, his father’s younger brother. Although only eight, even Oscar could tell from his hidden spot that he was a disappointment.

The next morning his parents left before Oscar could even say goodbye, reaching the door of the monastery in time to see their carriage disappear down the hill. He stood silently with his uncle, the man resting his hand on his shoulder in some kind of awkward gesture of comfort, the first time he had ever touched Oscar in a way that hadn’t been a punishment. He seemed to know somehow that his nephew had been listening and there grew a greater understanding between the two over the next few months and years, his uncle finally seemingly to grow fond of him, perhaps to spite his father.

Despite the more relaxed behaviour of his uncle and the fact that as he grew older he was able to learn the more interesting topics that wavered dangerously close to heresy at some point, all Oscar could obsess on was the fear that he would become as cold as his uncle and end up exactly where he had promised to himself he never would. Slowly, he started to act out, skipping more of his lessons, vanishing down to the local village and being rude to the brothers.

Somehow, despite his uncle’s attempts to keep Oscar’s behaviour a secret, news reached his father as to the way he had fallen off the rails and not long after he turned fourteen a letter was sent to his uncle, demanding the full time return of Oscar to Rome. Having no other choice, his uncle agreed to send him back, although he worried what would happen to his charge once out of the safety of the monastery.

Oscar on the other hand was delighted at the news, having never seen his city of birth and looking forward to meeting his family properly, including his younger sister who he had yet to see. His first sight of Rome instantly cast a spell over the impressionable boy, and he fell in love with his native home. His actual homecoming to the grand mansion that he now lived in was less pleasant, his father making it clear from the start what he thought of his younger son, his mother and brother distant and detached. The only bright spot of his family was his sister, Mabelle the young girl still cheerful and happy despite the way in which their father was scheming to marry her off and soon brother and sister were as thick as thieves.

Away from the sober attitude of the monastery it didn’t take long for Oscar to fall in with the wrong crowds, becoming friends with other dissatisfied youths from noble families who were more interested in gambling and women than books and learning. Happy to finally have companions his own age he started to join in, finding he enjoyed gambling both with the cards and the dice. His father had given up on Oscar before he had even returned, speaking only to his son when he had to but always paying for his gambling debts and cleaning up after him. He started to expand his list of vices and as soon as he was old enough, he and his friends were regulars at the local taverns and often brought home women for the night; for Oscar his looks and his family’s money ensured that there was always a stream of pretty young ladies willing to be on his arm.

The last of his teenage years were wasted away in this manner, Oscar never looking ahead or planning past the current party, drugs, gambling or woman of the moment. At twenty-three he was still living at home, partying through the night and sleeping most of the day, even though both Orazio and Mabelle were married by this point, his sister still living in the household while her new husband set up a home for them. One night at a masked dance he found himself partnered opposite a woman with striking eyes and blond hair, a woman who introduced herself as Ilaria.

Oscar was instantly transfixed by the attractive stranger and it didn’t take long for the pair of them to plunge headfirst into a torrid romance, the woman unlike anyone he had ever known before. For a few weeks he honestly thought he was in love for the very first time although he knew nothing about Ilaria beside her name, not her past or where she came from. His lack of knowledge about her only served to fuel his passion, making her that much more mysterious and therefore more alluring. Oscar was so transfixed by the woman that he accidentally revealed to her just how well off he truly was.

His sister had always known which of his friends were really bad news instead of simply the kind their father did not approve of, sensing something in them that Oscar himself had always been loath to admit and after the woman had left, Mabelle tried to warn him that there was something about his current obsession that unsettled her although she couldn’t pinpoint any one particular thing. For the first time since he had returned to Rome, Oscar didn’t listen; at least not directly. Her words continued to eat away at him as the days faded past and with them so did his passion, slowly growing bored of Ilaria and wanting to move on. He had never had any problems with telling women why he had grown tired of them in the past but faced with making her angry he realised that Mabelle was right to be unsettled and so he tried to soften it as best he could, the woman apparently taking it well enough although she wanted one final time with him. During the course of that night, Ilaria caught at his bottom lip with her teeth, eyes dark before biting into the kiss, hard enough to draw blood from the inside of his lip and a startled cry from Oscar. She apologised at once, kissing away the faint sting and ensuring that the night was one of the best ones the couple had ever had. The next morning they said goodbye but Oscar couldn’t shake the strange feeling he had felt upon seeing her face.

The next few weeks passed quietly enough for him, the young man trying to get back into the swing of his pervious nights but somehow unable to muster up the enthusiasm. He felt lethargic and unsettled, jumping at any sound, almost haunted during the night by dreams he couldn’t remember during the day and always half aware of someone watching him.

And then the full moon came.

All the day before Oscar had been tense and irritable, and even his beloved Mabelle was not immune to his temper. Darkness came and with it came the moon, pain sweeping over Oscar as he lay sulking on his bed, his body breaking and shifting beyond his control.

When he came too it was to find himself in a strange room he had never seen before, Ilaria sitting a few feet away from him, silently watching. Almost as soon as Oscar became aware of her, he simultaneously became aware of the pile of bloody clothes by her feet and the fact he was naked. Smirking at his confused and horrified expression she tossed him a pair of clean clothes, remarking causally that the bloody ones were the ones he had been wearing the night before and that he had been ‘bad’. Bit by bit the story came out, Ilaria identifying herself as a werewolf and his sire to Oscar, as well as saying that although she came to stop him it was to late to save his family and that by the time she had arrived, they had been killed by Oscar himself. It was an impossible story to hear, even though he was hurting in all manner of strange places and had no memory of the night before. He fled the room and house, making his way back to his home.

Even from a distance he could see that something was wrong with the elegant house the Palladino family owned as he made his way around to the back. He stopped a few feet away from the ruined door to the kitchen, not wanting to go any further but knowing he had too. Reluctantly, Oscar reached the entrance, being hit by the overwhelming scents of olives and blood, a large jar smashed right by the door, the green fruit being crunched underfoot as Oscar moved deeper.

As he rounded the heavy table of the kitchen his eyes fell on the ground. Amid the broken items and smashed glass lay his beloved sister, a look of terror on her face, her eyes wide open and unseeing, body below her neck horribly mangled although perversely her head had been left intact and perfect, a stark contrast to the rest of her. Oscar stumbled backwards with a curse, only just reaching the door before throwing up, unable to stomach what he had seen and knowing there was no way he could check for the rest of his family. Compared to the loss of Mabelle he didn’t care.

In a daze he was hardly aware of Ilaria coming up beside him and leading him away from the house, remaining stunned as she alerted the rest of the city as to the horrific accident that had befallen the family, saying that Oscar had been with her that night and luckily escaped the strange dog that had attacked. When the fog cleared it was mere minutes before the moon again, Ilaria telling him that he belonged to her now and that if he misbehaved she would not only change her story about him being with her but show them the bloody clothes, laying the blame at his door.

The guilt at killing his sister was overwhelming, the pain almost worse than the physical agony of the transformation, Ilaria on hand to ensure that he was kept under control. The third night was similar to the second, Oscar feeling the pain as his body broke but unable to remember anything the next day as he slowly came to terms with what he had become and what it had cost his family. She promised that they would be together forever now, as they were meant to be, that she had turned him out of love.

Oscar knew however that she had changed him because of the family wealth, money that now solely belonged to him. Although there were now no restrictions on his spending, Oscar didn’t enjoy his new wealth, solemnly burying his parents and siblings, grieving the most at the death of his sister. With the funerals over, Ilaria returned as promised, always holding the threat of the truth over his head to ensure that he behaved, and although she started to teach him about his new side there was nothing she could do for the nightmares where he imagined killing his family.

Almost a whole year passed in this same miserable way, Oscar letting Ilaria have free run of his money, while he tried to hide from the world. With nobody else to talk to aside from Ilaria and plenty of free time on his hands, Oscar had started to brood on the events of that night, on where he had been told the rest of his family had been found and where he last remembered being in the house. Some of the facts didn’t make sense, such as the door to the kitchen which had been smashed by some kind of beast from the outside and some part of him started to wonder if he was truly the one who had killed his family. When Ilaria confronted him about getting married so she would have a proper link to him and his money forever, he responded by demanding to know what had really happened that night, and who had really killed his family. A year had taught Oscar how to read her and the slight hesitation in her eyes was all he needed to realise that he wasn’t the only one who had transformed that night and that perhaps he wasn’t wholly responsible for the tragedy. Ilaria stormed out of the house, telling him that nothing had changed, and she still could destroy his life.

His realisation had managed to lift a little of the guilt and finally spurred him into action. Oscar was determined that Ilaria wouldn’t enjoy his money any longer, that he would get his revenge for the death of his sister. It was the thought of her that kept him planning, thinking, although he was careful to present a docile front to the woman when she returned, even agreeing to her idea of marriage. With his sire distracted by the preparations for the wedding, Oscar carefully began to funnel his money bit by bit into other sources, even going so far as to donate large chunks to churches and other charitable funds. More than his dislike of religion or his own desire for money, he wasn’t leaving anything for Ilaria to get her hands on and when the day of the wedding finally arrived, Oscar felt as though he was ready.

The young man simply didn’t go to the church, gaining some savage satisfaction from imagining how she looked, alone and jilted at the alter. He fled the city, well aware that she would carry out her threat to report him once she returned home and found it locked up and stripped of all its possessions, the land and money all out of her reach. Despite everything that had happened, everything she had done, he couldn’t bring himself to kill her as he wanted to, shying away from taking a life, even someone he hated more than he had hated anyone else.

With the sizable amount of his fortune that he had kept for himself, Oscar was easily able to settle in Europe, spending most of the first few decades in England. He found it a disgusting cold and miserable country, the sort he would never willingly choose to spend any time in and so perfect for his purposes, hiding away there in the hope of evading his sire. He knew if Ilaria was looking for him, she wouldn’t think to look in England. The years slowly rolled by, Oscar trying to make his existence as pleasant as possible, keeping a good house and slowly learning to enjoy life and society again. No matter where he went, there was always a club, always gambling, alcohol, drugs and women.

To his disgust he realised that his new werewolf status meant it was almost next to impossible to really high or drunk, never really having taken the time in the first year to explore what he could and couldn’t do. The heightened senses were a bonus, as was the healing factor, something he learnt about after being beaten up after a particularly sloppy attempt at cheating at cards. Realising that he potentially had forever, Oscar began to really hone his talents; he gambled the decades away, working as hard as he could to get drunk and see how many narcotics his body could actually take. He lost count of the amount of times he took enough that would have killed a human, only to wake up unharmed, albeit with headaches or some other side effect.

Every month, he would lock himself away, although there were a few close shaves when he would be simply too drunk or too distracted to remember what night it was. Thankfully however, his behaviour caused nothing more than scandals within the area he lived and many disapproving glares from more respectable members of the community. As the years passed and people began to grow suspicious about the fact he wasn’t aging, Oscar would simply move on. And after forty years he finally felt safe enough to return to Rome. Visiting his sister’s grave was just as painful as it had always been and seeing the city for the first time in so many years was painful as well.

He’d never got over his love for his place of birth and so even when he left once more to wander through Europe, he would find himself returning again and again to his beloved Rome, although it was rapidly becoming something other than ‘his’. Seeing the city change and the people who ruled it become even more corrupt than those he had known in his ‘mortal’ life was extremely distressing and as the city changed, Oscar found that he wasn’t, that his memories were becoming more and more out of step with the rest of the world. The final straw came when the city fathers decided to build on the piece of land that had once been a graveyard, now overgrown and filled with markers of families that had long since died out. The choice was made to turn it into a garden, a pleasant spot in the city and although Oscar tried to tell himself that his family would have wanted that, it was far too painful to see the graves of his parents and siblings, most of all, his beloved sister transformed into a walkway for courting couples. After that, there was nothing left of the Rome he knew and once more, he tried to get out of the cycle he had somehow managed to find himself in.

A couple of decades after the turn of the twentieth century therefore found Oscar in America, the male werewolf hoping that the great distance between himself and Rome would somehow manage to break the urge he had to return there, knowing how much of a torture it was to see. America was even worse than England had been, warmer in parts but vulgar and lacking any sort of cultural history or understanding. It did however, come with the same enjoyments that he had invariably sought out in Europe and so, while hardly a place he considered home, it had enough of a familiar feeling for Oscar to at least try and settle in.

His decades living decadently meant that he could no longer afford to splash out on the type of home that he was accustomed too, not that there was anything he considered suitable in the cities he passed through. Everything was so new and ugly, but his money continued to dwindle and reluctantly, Oscar finally settled in a city, renting out the best apartment he could afford with his money. Luckily by now, his gambling skills made him something of an expert, and although it was getting harder and harder to find places that still catered to true gambling where he could go and expect to not be threatened by organized crime.

Winning at cards had for many years now been his only source of income, Oscar’s inbred laziness and lack of self worth all conspiring to make sure that he didn’t even try and learn any other type of skill or gain some proper job. He seemed more than happy to keep to the same sort of lifestyle that he had had all his life, sleeping late into the day and then gambling and drinking the night away, never looking beyond the next moment of pleasure.

He also began to seriously date once more, having pretty much a different woman on his arm every night and ever club. None of the women really appealed to him, not in the same way as in his early life and although he enjoyed their company and was usually a gentleman towards them, there was never any flash of anything more. The women were simple diversions, entertaining and empty.

One afternoon found Oscar brooding in a small café, the rain having driven him inside as he had walked back from home from the bed of his latest conquest. As he ordered his hot drink he noticed a woman standing a few feet away, just as wet, if not more so than him. Moved by a sudden flash of pity for the human who resembled more a drowned rat than anything else, when he paid for his drink, he paid for hers as well, enjoying the surprised expression on her face. She seemed too shy to do anything though, Oscar finally walking over to her table and chatting quietly to the woman who introduced herself as Aria Pakulski. They talked until the rain ended and when Oscar moved to leave, so did Aria.

The gentleman in Oscar made him move forward a little as they reached the exit and with a smile he held the door open for her, watching for a few seconds as she began to walk down the street before turning and heading in the opposite direction, mentally dismissing her as too shy, too innocent and too naive to really be the sort of woman he now associated with although some part of Oscar had enjoyed talking to a woman without attempting to sleep with her. As quickly as the woman had entered his mind and thoughts, she had left it, and he turned his mind back towards his planned evening, oblivious to the rest of the world around him.

It was only weeks later that he began to notice the change in his life. It was subtle at first, Oscar occasionally feeling as though he was being watched but a look around would reveal nobody. Then flowers started to appear at his apartment, much to his bemusement, all anonymously sent. Cards and other small gifts followed, Oscar eventually deciding that they were just gifts – strange ones – from the women he had spent the night with. He tried to put it out of his mind, drinking more and more, just trying to regain some of the carefree attitude.

Even he had to admit however that something was seriously wrong one day when he returned home to find his door unlocked. Nothing looked out of place or appeared to have been taken, and with the amount of people he had had over in the pervious day it was impossible for Oscar to pick out a scent and know it belonged to someone who shouldn’t have been there. He couldn’t even be sure he hadn’t left the door unlocked himself but it set him on edge, making him more paranoid and more aware of the prickling feeling that he was being watched, wherever he went and whatever he did.

Things took an even more sinister turn when the people around him began to be affected. Women he had flirted with began to receive strange phone calls warning them off him before they could actually go out together. People he had argued with began to be threatened. The most striking event happened early one morning, as Oscar headed home to get some sleep, bumping into the owner of the building, a man who had taken a dislike to him and his behaviour. They started to argue, Oscar far too tired to really remember what the cause was, with the upshot being a threat to have him thrown out of the building. Refusing to listen anymore, Oscar headed inside, easily loosing the rather portly human as he climbed the many flights of steps to his apartment. He exchanged pleasantries with the woman next door as he reached home, the woman offered a sympathetic ear to his grievances when a scream and crashing sounds came to them both. Oscar turned and ran back the way he had come, skidding to a stop at the sight of his landlord crumpled at the bottom of the flight of steps, unmoving. Gingerly, Oscar descended as a crowd slowly began to appear. Luckily the man was alive although unconscious, being taken to the hospital for treatment. When he woke, he couldn’t say what had happened and without any witnesses it was eventually decided that it had been an unfortunate accident.

Whatever had really happened, Oscar decided he didn’t want to stay there any longer, finally having had enough of all the weird events. It didn’t take him long to make his plans and pack up his life once more. Oscar allowed himself to relax, convincing himself that nothing was going to happen before he left and it was in that mood that he left his bedroom to find a stranger in his living room. He stumbled back a little in shock, staring at the woman who very clearly didn’t belong in his apartment, his brain struggling to cope with the sudden appearance. She was familiar to him and after a few seconds of frantic mental searching he came up with a name; Aria.

The woman from the café.

She told him that every since that day she had known they were supposed to be together, that she had watched out for him, protected him from people who weren’t good enough for him or wanted to do him harm. As she spoke, the pieces fell into place in Oscar’s mind with a sickening thud and he realised it was Aria who had threatened the people he knew, who had sent him the gifts and even tried to kill his landlord. He tried to explain that she was confused, that they didn’t know each other, that they certainly didn’t belong together and that he was leaving anyway. It was the worst thing he could have said, Aria shifting from the pleasant, over eager woman to one physically shaking with rage as she removed her hands from behind her back, showing him the bottle she held there. Oscar didn’t know what was in the clear liquid but every part of him was screaming to get away even as she threw the liquid over him, Oscar throwing up his arm to try and protect his face.

As it made contact with his skin, it burned, Oscar screaming in pain as his very skin sizzled, the acid – he could only assume acid – ate through his flesh. While he had achieved control over his wolf years and years ago, the control was still shaky as a result of lack of effort on his part. The confusion, fear and finally pain was enough to push him over the edge, Oscar transforming before Aria’s very eyes. He was desperate to get away, not thinking of getting his own back, but only safely. With a snarl, he leapt, colliding with Aria for a second, claws pushing her aside before bounding past her and out of the apartment building.

It was a whole day before he finally mustered up the courage to slink back. There was no sign of Aria in his apartment and no sign of blood, making him hope; perhaps naively; that his claws hadn’t actually done any real damage. Whatever had actually happened to her, she wasn’t there now and so after grabbing his most precious items, Oscar moved on, not prepared to wait and take the bulk of his items. Aimlessly, he moved from city to city, paranoia kicking in every time he stayed in one place for too long, constantly fearing that he might run into Aria or his sire.

By chance, as he moved though Los Angeles with the intention of simply passing though, he met some fighters from the pack that controlled half the city. Oscar had heard about werewolf packs throughout his travels but this was the first time he had actually met someone in one and at once he was intrigued. There was safety in numbers and after a little while, he asked to join, deciding to stay at least as long as a human life span, to make sure Aria was gone.

He settled in easily enough, Oscar making a point to keep some kind of distance between himself and the women in the pack, if only for his own sanity. The tensions within the pack don’t really bother him right now, although they are starting to impact on his own life and his activates. He isn’t sure what is going to happen, although the cynical part of him is already trying to prepare himself for the worse. Whatever happens, he knows he’ll get through it, on his own if need be.