Finally Meeting a Stranger [Skoll]

[Angelus in Cord]

It was a gorgeous day. I’m serious. This was one of those days you see only rarely, with the sun shining and no clouds in the sky, and open plains with only a few trees scattered about. The sun glittered and shone on Angelus’ pelt, her tongue lolling out in a display of pleasure, her expression dopey and unconcerned with the world around her. If a dragon had landed, and a horde of white stag trotted out of the trees to do the tango around her, she wouldn’t have noticed.

Her eyes, a dark blue like the ocean at sunset, were majorly unfocussed, her face crinkled up in a smile, the blue butterfly wings on her black fluttering in a vain attempt to float her off the grass. Angelus’ silver and blue coat stood out in the landscape, and there was a small herd of deer nearby, unafraid of her—she was too small and obviously alone, no threat to them or their half-grown fawns.

Her small tail whipped around in the wind, the antennae flicking around and cataloging the ozone in the air, predicting the next rainfall—tomorrow. But that didn’t matter, she’d be fine in the rain or in a small little den, borrowed and given back to its owner very quickly. The Sennyo trotted along the still snow-pocked earth, the tussocks flowing in the breeze. She danced slightly, the joy and giddy expression obvious.

((Oh how this fails.))

[[ sköll ]]

His pelt rippled with tiny flashes of light, chameleon textures of green and yellow and white shifting with the open, rolling landscape. Pink eyes surveyed the prairie, and quickly settled on the rich blue smudge that was undoubtedly another wolf making its way across towards him. Skoll sighed, contemplating fading into invisibility and slinking away –

But: Were those wings upon its back? A sennyo, then? He’d met one before; fragile things, much more so than he. (It made him feel good to know he was stronger than some, at least.)

He twisted the light about him, whispering to stray strands and painting his fur a molten, vibrant gold, tempered by bloody orange-red – burning like the sunset and standing out just as much as the sennyo’s own gorgeous coat.

He puffed out his chest, taking on a new personality as easily as he took on the new shield of light. Today he was “Rue”, a young, handsome, chivalrous wolf – it was one of his favorite guises: He very much relished making friends with it, only to shatter their expectations of him by turning on them afterwards. He thought it his duty, to teach others not to trust – he was doing them a kindness, really, to instill a sense of cynicism.

”Hello!” he barked, tone light and wagging tail held high as he loped across the soft incline separating them. ”Wonderful day, no?”

Soft laughter escaped his lips, and as he neared the female, he dipped one paw and bowed.

”It’s been so lonely out here; it’s nice to find someone else to talk to, isn’t it?” He beamed at her, tail still wagging, before taking a cautious step backwards. "Oh, oh, forgive my manners, I'm sorry. My name is Rue. And what might I call mi'lady?"

[Angelus in Cord]

The Sennyo was foreign to these lands, her tongue different and her mouth used to forming foreign words. These lands were magnificent, she’d spent much of the past few months—so little time, it seemed—touring and learning the native’s words. It was all wolf-speak, yes, but different forms and therefore it was some time before she’d become partially able to understand them. She’d returned to this beautiful place a few days previous, and once again was acquainting herself with this heartbreaking beauty.

Her blue pelt was a rather stark contrast to the greens, browns, and other colors of this place; a perfectly fine change, in her opinion. The Sennyo, Angelus, was not paying much attention to her surroundings; the only thing alerting her to another wolf was the sudden flash of red, gold, and other warm colors. This wolf was smaller than her by quite a bit, but what he had was more muscle and less bone. He was charmingly handsome, though not a Sennyo, something that sent a pang through her. What a short life he would live as a Lupus, perhaps a fire or other such element. In the big scheme of things, though, it wasn’t as if he was going to be the father of her children, right?

He wagged his tail, the perfect loner. And then he spoke.


Of course, he was a native. It deterred her, frankly, since his language was such a strange and more guttural tongue, compared to her flowing own. A smile replaced the sudden flash of confusion, the grass became defined and his pelt hardened from softly hazy to sharp and clear, the haze clearing from her mind. She responded, using her native tongue and the tongue of the wolf before her in a strange wolvish mix. Her tail wagged in response, her ears benevolently forward and no harsh part of her exposed.

“Hello, Rué,”

[/color] Accenting the ‘e,’ something she did accidentally in her voice, “Isiben nufarthia, aú ressicene! Cíon por ti’ska? Yi tuné Isíbel.”[/color] ‘The day is beautiful and clear, it is, you are right! How are you, friend? I am Isíbel.’ The words wouldn’t make any sense to the other wolf, she knew, but he would perhaps get the gentle and benevolent tone she used in her melodic and beautiful voice. She only lied about her name, Isíbel, because she often used that name—a friend from her natal tribe who had died—to prevent herself from being tracked by her father, if he still existed.

“Ti’ska, c’sra tíon for conlota?” ‘Friend, have you traveled far?’

Of course, the world was natural now, heartbreakingly beautiful and in focus. The only thing marring the perfect moment—a new friend—was her language barrier. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break the habit of speaking Tribulunta, her native tongue. Clearing her throat delicately, she tried again, with long pauses between the words.

“How…is…you…friend?” She tried again, cocking her head, oblivious to her horrific grammar. Angelus was proud to speak a sentence in this tongue, difficult as it was, and reveled in her achievement for a moment as she waited for his response patiently.[/blockquote]

[[ sköll ]]

She looked upon him with kindness and mild confusion, and Skoll twisted the malicious, plotting grin into the soft smile she was no doubt expecting. She was beautiful and happy, and he couldn’t help the excited pounding of his heart at the promise of a chance to ruin this perfect thing. He wanted to watch the smile fall from her face; wanted to watch it crumple into dejection and depression; wanted to wrench tears from her pretty eyes and watch pain cross her visage as she understood the depths of his sadism.

At her words, however, his ears flicked back with surprise – what had she just said? He let Rue’s eyes go a bit wide with surprise and wonder, leaning forward as though hanging to the lilting tone of her words. He shook his head, soft rust-red fur rippling in the soft breeze.

”I’m sorry, I don’t understand…”

She spoke again, this time slowly, and in his language. It was obviously awkward for her, and she struggle to form the familiar sounds of his tongue – not nearly as enthralling or mysterious as her own.

”Ah! I am well,” he replied with a lying smile, eyes happy and tail wagging softly. He slowed his words in response, not wanting to confuse her – not yet – and gave her a quick once-over. ”You… can understand me, though?”

He paused and glanced down at his paws -- bloody red-black at the toes and fading upward into the rich golden-rust -- wonderign what his next move ought to be. He could string her along, a happy new friend, pull out bits of her past and try to use them against her -- or perhaps he could leech some of her energy and flee, which would certainly be the easier (if more boring) of options.

With a quiet sigh, he decided to bide his time as Rue for a bit longer, if only to decide what to do. "Ti'ska," he muttered, copying one of the sounds he still remembered, letting it roll around on his tongue, awkward and new.

"What is your name?" he asked finally, oblivious to the fact that she had already provided him with a handle, "Where are you from?"

(In whatever form he donned, Skoll found, he could never quite quell the curiousity that seemed inseparably woven to his soul.)

[Angelus in Cord]

There was always something amazing about meeting someone new—not a stranger, no, because how could one resist the temptation to glimpse into the two-century long life of a Sennyo? Especially one who was as friendly, charming, kind, and diplomatic as she? It was nearly impossible, there were few who despised her, mostly jealous females who lived barely long enough to see any of the world that existed here, in this utopian paradise. They had been jealous, and that was only understandable because of their distaste for strangers who intrigued their mates. But of course, Angelus could understand their upset, for it had happened to her not long ago. The fear that the love of your life would be plucked from your grasp to become the lover of a wolf who outlived you and your pups and your pups’ pups was not something easily forgotten.

Angelus smiled kindly at him, her teeth not showing, as a sign of her friendliness. He seemed taken aback by her strange words; understandable because of the oddities they were. This Rue was taken aback, certainly, and he was responding quite simply with an ‘I’m not understanding.’ Then he heard her speak in his language, and he then answered again.

“You… can understand me, though?”

“Yes,” Angelus answered simply, not wanting to lapse back into her language she waited for him to continue. He muttered one word in her tongue, and suddenly she wondered if he could speak to her in her much easier to understand (in Angelus’ opinion, anyway) language. But almost immediately she discarded the idea, for all he said was ‘friend,’ and he hadn’t understood her first greeting.

“What is your name? Where are you from?” He questioned, and for a moment it bothered her that he hadn’t heard her ‘name,’ but she put this out of her mind—Angelus had spoken to him with foreign words, and he couldn’t be expected to understand it.

“Isíbel, I am Isíbel,” She almost mentioned her past, but it was a long, complicated story—she was the equivalent of an extremely long-lived elder. Plus, the telling of her tale was always so saddening, depressing, and violent. Most were surprised that she was so gentle and loving, instead of brutal and merciless.

“You like song?” She asked, a memory from her childhood coming forth. It was one of the few that were gentle and beautiful, one from her early months in the den with her mother and brother. It was a lullaby, one about a little butterfly and a sunny day, and how the butterfly loved the sun and the sun loved the butterfly—a very sentimental song about innocent love and the power of friendship—normal morals their mother tried to instill in them before they were under the sway of their uncle/father. It was in her own speaking tongue, and it was heartbreakingly sweet when you didn’t try to dissect and analyze it, but just listened to the flow of the words.

Like honey.

[[ sköll ]]

Rue’s face contorted into an expression of relief when the Sennyo affirmed that yes, she could understand his language – Rue was a wolf very much concerned with the happiness of others, after all. Rue was the type to make friends and cuddle under the stars; of course he would be relieved that the language barrier was not impassable.

Skoll, on the other hand.

Skoll couldn’t really any care less, save for the promise of destroying Isibel’s happiness. Perhaps, he pondered, this driving need to bring pain to others stemmed from his Lumen blood. To feed, he must draw life-energy off his prey – perhaps, to be happy, he must draw off bliss and joy from others, if only to soothe his own broken heart. He grimaced ever-so-slightly at the thought, and let Rue’s ears flick forward to pick up the Sennyo’s soft voice.


”Isibel,” Rue mimicked, a soft smile pulling at his lip. ”That is a beautiful name, for a beautiful wolf.” And, Skoll mused, Rue would have liked the way his own name sounded on Isibel’s lips, with the slight and exotic accent on the e, pulling the word up almost like a question. Rue very much would have liked to court this stranger, to bring yet another smile to her lips and perhaps even run with her. Hunt, maybe – but definitely run, unbound and free across the rolling landscape.

Skoll supposed that was in the blood of all wolves, though – for even he enjoyed a good trek; the burning of his legs and the wind at his face, even if he was relatively weak.

A thought burst, unbidden, into his mind, and he wondered how long Isibel had been alive. He measured almost exactly a century old, and he found that always tainted his view of other, more shortly-lived species. Was she now looking at Rue the same way – like one might view a child, stupid and naïve?

His ears flicked forward, happy and curious, and he fervently hoped his unspoken question was true, for that would certainly work to his advantage.

Rue finally nodded at her question: Yes, he very much did like song. ”I’ve not got much of a voice myself, but… yes. Do- Do you sing?”

Rue’s tongue stumbled over the words, letting a hint of nervousness into his tone; an apprehension that spoke of Rue’s desire to please his new friend. Skoll pulled it off quite well, if he might say that, and he stepped ever-so-subtly closer to Isibel. He drank in her scent, soft and foreign, and brushed his nose against hers, moving around to rest by her side.

He flopped into the still-green grass, long limbs crossed in front of him as he lowered his chin to his paws, bright eyes raised to meet the Sennyo’s gaze. ”Would you teach me your song?”

Rue continued to gawk up at her, and Skoll found himself wondering for the briefest of moments if her lullaby would be anything like his mother's. The pang of guilt, of loss and betrayal and gritty anger, roared through him with more strength than he thought possible, and he had to turn Rue's face away as the bewildered pain crossed his visage.

He did not care about his family, not anymore -- and he would not let stray memories bother him any longer. With a sour taste in his mouth, for he had once assumed he was long past such wistful remorse, he half-rolled to his side and playfully nudged at one of Isibel's legs with an outstretched paw.

[/font]

[Angelus in Cord]

The fur upon Angelus’ cheeks warmed as blood rushed up, embarrassment making her look away. The fur seemed to darken for a moment, the mention of her beauty was always a point that embarrassed her, making her self-conscious and making her act clumsily. Scraping at the earth with her eyes fixed on it, she smiled gently to the young red Lupus.

“Me? No beautiful,” She responded, her eyes averted as she tried to keep herself from acting like a foolish pup. Even thought, in the eyes of other Sennyo’s, she was one. Her age was always a sore point—she’d lived long enough to outlive wolves born at her time, but not long enough to be considered more than a child—naïve and innocent. Most wolves wondered at her ageless face, appearing both youthful and centuries old—holding much history, but appearing to never have aged at all. Of course, the one wolf she cared about was already quite well passed, and there was yet to be anything in her that was willing to keep on living this life.

Only one knew of the agony and despair she carried—herself. No one, no matter what species, no matter if they had been through the same thing, would ever get the idea and feelings she carried.

The feeling was too powerful for one to comprehend. But she was getting ahead of herself, thinking of things like this. He was a lupus, a short-life, and she was not going through that again, if she felt something even close to what she felt before.

Angelus smiled radiantly, her expression peaceful as she recalled the song and its music. Nodding her head in silent assent, she cleared her throat and hummed gently, cleared her throat again and then began…

“Li me conin le tor,
Du bist qú le sol queti fluén queti czór!
Stree go fur, zom shckor queti
Mor zon! Mor zon! Mor zon!
Le fluén czór le sol;
Arró con futi le non…
Trei le fluén czór le sol,
Trei le fluén czór le sol,
Trei…le fluén…czór le so-o-l…”

‘Let me tell you a story,
Of the sun and the butterfly’s love!
And the time they spent, oh the time spent
Tell again! Tell again! Tell again!
The butterfly loved the sun;
And they loved each other…
How the butterfly loved the sun,
How the butterfly loved the sun,
How… the butterfly… loved the su-u-un…’

Angel sang, her voice magnificent and powerful, nearly as glorious as a Cael’s, and it flowed and danced into the ears of the beasts nearby, calming even the most jumpy first-year mother doe; and several birds stopped to listen, the forest going quiet as if it held its breath for the Sennyo female. For a moment, once she was done, it was quite, then the birds picked up again—this time the ones like mockingbirds began to imitate her voices song and tone.

“As’ofin?” Beautiful? The way he was acting was making her self-conciuous, playing with her, flirting and acting so adorable... He nudged her paw and she smiled with kindness, about to tell him not to do that, when she caught something in his eyes... pain? Remorse? Anger? It was gone in a flash, and it gummed her up for a moment, and in an attempt to comfort him, she gently nuzzled the top of his head, between the ears, not realizing how it could be connotated.

[[ sköll ]]

Rue would have liked this far too much, Skoll mused, perhaps more than a normal wolf might. (Of course, Skoll's idea of "normal" was his copyrighted brand of self-loathing and general hatred and mistrust of all.) Rue would have reciprocated Isibel's blush, would have wagged his tail to encourage the tentative feeling of trust and happiness between them -- wolves like Rue lived on that sort of thing. The sort of emotions that fed Rue's good mood, however, sat heavily in Skoll's stomach. It was all too much -- the contentment and elation was too bright, even Isibel's soft movements too harsh like sudden sunlight (and Skoll's eyes far too used to darkness and a grey-washed world). It made him bitter and resentful and angry, and he carefully schooled his expression of contempt into close-eyed reverie.

He pretended to nod along to Isibel's song, sickly eyes closed tight. The song, he found he had to admit, was rather beautiful. Perhaps because he couldn't understand the meaning behind the words -- it was all noise to him, foreign syllables that graced his ears as gently as the Sennyo had paced the plains.

The words tapered off and Skoll peered up at her, shaking his head when she spoke again in her native tongue. He didn't understand -- in fact, in all his hundred years' existence, he'd never come across a similar dialect. He was about to comment on the melody when the Sennyo peered down at him with some unreadable expression, bent down, and nuzzled her maw against the top of his head.

Skoll froze. Why? She was too nice -- it was nauseating, really, it was, he was going to vomit if he kept Rue up much longer. Maybe she had seen the twist of unease in his expression, or maybe she was just the sickly-sweet affectionate type -- Rue certainly was.

After a moment's pause, Skoll withdrew as though branded, the vibrancy of his fur paling ever-so-slightly as the false gaiety of his ruse bled from him. "Don't touch me," he hissed, trembling in an attempt to stave off the unwanted emotions roiling up from his chest.

Stiff-legged, he turned to stalk off, game forgotten... when another idea sprang to his mind. He whirled around, lithe frame bending in a feline manner as he lurched towards her. "Or maybe that wouldn't be so bad," he growled, snapping his jaws at her delicate, gossamer wings.

[Angelus in Cord]

Suddenly, the wolf was up and snarling, his color fading. Fear gripped her as she recognized the reason his pelt seemed to be bleeding off. He wasn’t a lupus at all, was he? His harsh comment made her stumble back, the moment broken. What was wrong with him? Rué was so nice just a moment ago, had she offended him in some way? The customs of this strange land were often too confusing; she was used to the rigidness of the Outer Lands, the Unclaimed, and the Outside, the names varied but they all referred to the place she called home. Or used to, anyway. Long before now, actually, months previous… Rusharka, her father, had always gasconaded on about his trips to this 'other world' and the wolves who relied on instinct and spoke in grunts and growls and less body language then them; and as a cub at a sorasora, or campfire, Angelus had often imagined these lands, barren and desolate and empty, with broad slabs of wolves who grunted and squealed like newborns.

Her intellect had allowed her to begin to understand this new language; but she had learned that it was always prudent to keep some things to yourself, and keeping others from knowing how much you knew about a topic was always great. But nothing—no words—could help her, and her long legs trembled as she stepped several steps back, her eyes widening.

“W—what?” She gasped as she stumbled back, the stench of fear rolling off her pelt in waves. Her posture indicated her confusion and fear, her body reverting between something like a cross between the stance you might carry yourself with when you want to bite someone’s head, and when you want to sink into the earth and never come back up. Her right foreleg was raised as she stumbled back another step, his teeth missing her wings but centimeters, the breath from his mouth and the harsh snapping movement making them flutter and tap his red and gold face. “Keién! Obscúrun gore—,” Great Spirit! Demonic beast— She swiped at his face with her sharp claws, aiming to snap his head away from her body and scratch his cheek. Her silver and blue body trembled slightly, a soft screaming noise echoing from her as the fear broke through her carefully mastered wall of emotions she never had. “Keién! Keién! Keién‼” Great Spirit! Great Spirit! Great Spirit‼

The small herd of deer looked up at her shout, and in a swift movement, they fled from the two predators, slipping off and melting into the forest.

[Cy]

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