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Saving Face [prp: Zeke]
Topic Started: Jun 30 2013, 12:21 AM (124 Views)
Vianne
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Newborn
It takes the seething animal time to cool down. She had only wanted to rip some holes into Giles. Is that too much to ask? Out of respect for Billy, she won't kill him, right? Nah, only bop him around a little, maul him here and there... Not like he needs two hands anyway. She'll be merciful; he can even keep the one he writes with!

Once the wolf calms, Vianne ventures back to her room and shifts. Snippets of events stick in the woman's mind. While Giles is a lost cause, the other wizard is most certainly not. Not yet.

Her own uncertainty has kept her largely away before now. Vianne's been scared of jinxing the good fortune and the hard work she's put into getting him a couch to sleep on. One false move, and Billy might just throw him out yet. The youngest has pulled strings and buttered up Billy as only Vianne can. It works, and she'd hate to have it fall through only a week into the deal. He's no responsibility of hers, yet she feels obligated to see to his concerns. Cain't be easy, adjusting to living with The Fates breathing down his back.

He's hurting, that much she can tell. No man deserves to get thrown to the wolves, heh, for falling in love. Or rather, the fae. His situation reminds her of one she had once handled on her own. See here, he's a prime example of what goes wrong with supernaturals and humans- even a human with magic talents.

Their world is kind to no one.
Vianne can't help but feel... Sorry for him.

She tugs on clothes and laces up boots before heading outside. Glancing at charred ground, the woman shakes her head. Giles has never been a favorite. He's too volatile, and Vianne can't trust him as far as she can throw him. Today serves as a prime example as to why. He's got wicked bad juju vibes. Zeke does not.

A concerned whine echoes in her core, but Vi stuffs it down and ignores the beast. Sometimes it talks too much, and it's had her fun hounding for Giles' throat. Now the woman will see to the other man.

Quiet, she enters the woods she knows so well. Hands cram into the pockets of her shorts. Attentive eyes see the subtle signs made by an earlier trek: a snapped stick, patterned leaves, and dents in the dirt.

Zeke has traveled a safe ways from the cabin. Vianne can't blame him. As she nears, she's careful to ensure that he feet drag a little, to sound her approach in the rustling leaves. While the spy could be dead silent if she wished, she's no sneaking threat.

The wolf sees him then, partially shielded by brush and brambles. "Hey." Cautious in her approach, the woman sidles up next to a tall pine. Leaning, she crosses her arms and tries not to appear overly concerned. The tilt to her brows and the look in her eyes betray her nonchalant stance.

The wolf had seen tears. She'd heard a mewling cry that had rebounded like a scream for help in her mind.

Eyes glance upwards to look at the heavens peaking through the skyward branches. It's easier to think here, beyond the shadow of their cabin. "Air ain't so thick out here." A lone bird trills from deeper within the woodlands.

"You alright?" The woman scratches her head. "If'n you wanna talk..." Bark digs into her spine as she shrugs to signify that it's fine if he doesn't. He looks... Sort of okay, but appearances are deceiving.

Vianne knows that all too well.
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Zeke
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Arnve would be sad that he burnt the garden. He remembers tilling their own garden, a monolithic thing longer than the farmhouse they lived in. Each row had been just so, neat and straight as could be and then Arnve, several months pregnant, belly round and feet bare, dashing through everyone one of the beds. Vegetables and herbs of every kind sprouted where she stepped, green erupting from the dark Montana soil, blossoms opening up and taking in the sun. She had laughed at his astonished expression and throw her arms around his neck.

It's a good memory. Zeke clutches his chest and sucks in another harsh breath, willing away the pain and the twitch of his muscles. Whatever the slick-haired man had done to him wasn't going to elongate his life span, that was for sure.

Clutching the staff in one hand he heads deeper into the woods, past the birch tree with it's bullet splintered bark, away from the worn paths. The wolves could sort out their own mess, he doubts they want his help.

His long legs have given him a lot of trouble in life, but if there's one thing they're good for it's walking. He can walk and walk and walk some more. The cabin turns to a pin prick in the distance and then vanishes completely behind a hill. Once content, Zeke finds a good tree and sits beneath it's shade, the staff struck in the ground before him, long crossed. Trying his best to mull the events of the day over and make some sense of what happened.

But he finds, as he often does when he tries to make sense of the world that there's none to be found and looking for it only brings hurt.

Magic could really take it out of a man. A few hours pass without incident, only the occasional bout of shouting from the cabin and even that dies down eventually, but his solitude comes to an end with the soft crush of leaves under foot and a pretty face peering at him through the under growth.

It's Vianne, her wolf registers in his mind, a fuzzy creature, but he can't seem to recall much more than that.

He manages something of a smile for the young girl and her freckles, wild hair spilling over her shoulders. Vianne's kind nature is just one of the many mysteries of this new world he has stumbled into--tripped into, more likes. "I'm fine. Just," Zeke gestures to the woods around them, the crows the caw above them and the pine needles on the ground, sap fragrant and strong, almost enough to chase the scent of smoke away. "Wanted to take a walk." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

Explanations weren't really his thing, even at the best of times.

"What was with that guy?" That sounds too abrupt, and it's probably asking too much for a new comer like himself. "I'm sorry for burning the tomatoes...and the rest of the garden. I didn't mean to." It sounds half-assed and Zeke frowns, trying to think of something better to tell the woman who secured him safe haven. He owes her an explanation at the very least and he doesn't want her to think badly of him. "My magic is...and after...everything it,"

He clears his throat and grips the staff, pulling himself upwards. The phoenix feather stirs in the breeze and Zeke runs an absent minded finger over it's soft contours. "Thanks for coming all this way. Did you track me by your nose?" Who needed a bloodhound when you had a werewolf? The ends of his sleeves are scorched and he looks up, a missing piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

"Are you alright? It looked like you took a pretty good hit there." The wind picks up slightly and his sleeves smolder a bit, wisps of smoke trailing in spirals about him. People hurt him all the time. It was becoming a bit of a regular thing, but he can't abide by the idea that his presence might bring the sisters trouble. Although they seemed to know Giles, he could still be a wizard sent from the Council. Sent to punish him for his wrongdoings, for escaping.

He reaches in his pocket and touches a worn skeleton key, wondering if he should have listened to Arnve. Being alive seemed to put everyone into such a damned fix.
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Vianne
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Silent, the woman nods. He's found himself a comfortable walking place, despite the distant sounds of their Blackwater, Tennessee. It's not an easy place to escape through any means. At least he had a nice walking stick, complete with a pretty feather that's unlike any she's ever seen.

Poor man, he needs answers. Since he's so keen on gravitating to the corners, Zeke has been flat out ignored and neglected. Today's upset swerves to wheedle guilt into her head. It's through her reasonings and persuasions, that he's been allowed to stay here. It ain't good hospitality to throw a guest inside and walk away.

She offers a name while shaking her head, "Giles." He's a whole different ball game to explain. "Nobody knows. He's, ah, just like that." Impulsive. Brash… Ahem, overprotective of that which has never really belonged to him.

He sounds like he had been going to say more, but when it doesn't come, she accepts a humble apology. "S'alright, the garden wasn't all your fault, and Sulla sorta fixed it, I think," she shrugs. If magically regrown vegetables were edible, the garden would be fine. "He grew it back with his-" She casually lifts a hand and wiggles her fingers (because that's totally how magicians grow tomatoes), "-magic... So long as it tastes good, right?"

The wolf doesn't recall what Zeke had been doing there in the first place, but Giles is the instigator, and always starting fires. It ain't enough for the wizard to sit back and watch 'em burn either. This one might smoke a while yet.

He knows what she is, so there's no point in lying, but there's more to it than that. "Hm, yeah, you smell like smoke, and you step sorta heavy too. On your heel." A finger flicks out to point at his feet. Reciting observations, the woman relies on more than a keen sense of smell. He does well, but he could do a better job of covering his tracks; Zeke might want to work on that.

The breeze sends hair into her eyes, which soon stare at the tendrils of smoke emanating from his sleeves. The werewolf does not understand; had his coat been singed in the flames? Had he been burnt by the fire, or the electricity?

He asked about the hit she had taken for Billy. It was tender, yes, but little pains seldom lasted forever. A head tilts, "naw, I'm fine. It's just a bruise?" Werewolves see worse, much worse, more often. There's no reason to be concerned by a bruise, but smoke? "But, um, are your clothes on fire or something?" She pointed at the smoky haze lifting from his sleeves. Where there's smoke, there's fire.

A nervous smile finds her lips, "I dunno how well a visit from Smokey Bear would go over right now, so you might wanna... Put that out?" She thinks he can control fire; the wolf had seen, but she had also seen him cry. It's enough to make her wary, but insatiably curious.

"You're not burning, are ya?" She cannot comprehend how his smoke and fire act works. Is he still burning things? Himself? Don't be a Giles, man, don't be a Giles. Gonna get burnt.
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Zeke
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There's a lot to learn if you're willing to listen. He's hardly a subtle figure, having to duck under every doorway, walking through one shoulder at a time, but even the Fates had learned to ignore him after a while. They were more concerned with the politics surrounding territory and keeping the population of werewolves under their command away from the attention of the public. Zeke didn't like eavesdropping, but it was a strange world he had landed himself in and the idea of being caught unawares terrified him. Ignorance could get a man killed.

As reluctant as he is to ask questions, Vianne doesn't seem have any problems answering them. She tells him the witch's name and doesn't berate him for burning the garden. Aside from his first night at the cabin, they hadn't spoken except in the brief, necessary bits of talk that come about from sharing the same house. "A healer?" The farmer smiles at her wiggling fingers, faintly recalling the second figure who had arrived, much smaller than the lightning wielding man. From what he had heard, it was rare magic. Why would someone blessed with such an ability be traveling in the company of a mad wizard like Giles? It didn't seem right.

She mentions tracking and curiosity gets the better of him. "Does everyone have an individual scent?" He's been wondering about that and more since he arrived; Zeke has an endless amount of questions he's stored up over the weeks, but until now he was afraid that any inquiries would be met with bared teeth.

Apparently, there were exceptions to every rule. Not every werewolf was perpetually grumpy, not all Fae were manipulative, sadistic freaks, and maybe, just maybe, not all wizards and witches were bent on killing him.

Lost in thought and lost in the idea that he wasn't the only one to be hurt by this Giles, he doesn't notice the smoke growing, billowing upwards. Zeke turns red as an tomato in August, gaze dropped to the cuffs of his jacket, too big for him, hanging loosely over his knuckles. "Oh, I uh, lemme just--" He slaps his sleeves against his thighs, tiny embers leaping away. The burgeoning fire dies down, leaving him with a singed coat. Zeke wanted nothing to do with fire, he wishes his magic would go away, wither and die like Sabra's garden, but after burning down his home, fire seemed to be irrevocably entwined with his anger. "Sorry. Again." He wasn't very good at this sort of thing, shame worms in his belly and threatens to eat him whole.

He doesn't want to burn anyone ever again. The raucous screams still echo in his mind and a chill goes down his spine at the unwarranted memory.

"Maybe I should go,"

Before he scared away Vianne. Or worse.
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Vianne
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Is Sulla a healer? Vianne shrugs. The younger wizard commands magic, and the werewolf hasn't a reason to think there could be disciplines for the types of magic one might dabble in. Magic is magic, and even while fascinated, it's an enigma to be watched from a wary distance. Giles magic is certainly nothing to trifle with.

Zeke poses a curious question; one she's never given much thought to. An instinct, Vianne's always simply... Well, followed her own nose. "Well, ya know, I've never actually thought much 'bout it, but yeah, everyone does. After a while, you just recognize what's what without thinking." Everyone has a distinct odor, but it's much more in depth than that. A scent signal instinctively clicks without thought. Like feeling cool wind before rain, a wolf simply understands the meaning.

"Wolves are easier to sniff out than people are, but they're all different." Now that she has her mind on the subject, Zeke mostly smells like woodsmoke, but perhaps not all the time--only when he'd been setting things on fire. Thinking back, he smells like pine and maple saplings, but more pungent than maple syrup. Sabra smells something like rich earth and grass clippings, while Caden smells like sugar and Johnson's shampoo more than he does anything else. Billy's is different too, but confusing to describe, more like brine water under a bed of floating lilies.

It makes little sense to anyone who cannot smell as they do. The thoughts triggered by her nose are all she has to describe a scent, and though Vianne cannot really prescribe a smell to herself, the werewolf smells something like fruit. Berries, and apples and pears mostly, but with a hint of ginger too.

Curious, the woman watches as he slaps out the smoke. Embers leap to die and the haze finally clears. He's upset again; she can see that plain as day on his face. Even her play at humor fails to help, so she listens to another apology. "...S'alright, again." The woman mimics, half-intentionally. Dude, why so glum? They're all still kicking, so he hadn't done too much harm there or now. Vianne had seen much, much worse. She's since learned to be grateful for the little things that endure.

Perhaps Zeke seriously considers leaving though, despite showing up on their doorstep and receiving sanctuary in their house. Nothing holds him here. At least, not physically. Looking away, she shrugs. "Mm, I s'pose you could, but... If'n your looking for a safe place in the world, Blackwater's the best you're gonna find." It's the oddest conundrum he'll ever hear, but it's true. For all the terrors visited upon this town, they have all survived. Their reputations keep each other safe, as well as those below them. Now, in their prime, only a fool's army would rise against the Fates of Blackwater Tennessee.

"I know it don't look safe sometimes, but we're only ever fighting with ourselves." Not other packs, people, creatures, or fae. Nowadays, all of their troubles came from within.

No one would stop Zeke from leaving, but no fool fae would venture here to hurt him.
Edited by Vianne, Jul 27 2013, 06:49 PM.
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