the mind is everything, what we think, we become.

[Shakespeare]

Shakespeare was a creature of solitude -- rather, had become a creature of solitude. He was utterly amicable and totally good for conversation of course; he had to be as Phocaeas. But he sought isolation more than was probably healthy. And that suited him just fine. His habits had never been totally healthy anyways. Since the usurping and death of his father, the former Phocaeas, Shakespeare had taken the helm without an argument. Of course, the young wolf had quite a few objections to being the leader of a pack. His father's pack, he was constantly reminded. He was not right for the job. Not only was his personality lower than the standards, but he was not trusting enough either. No -- that wasn't quite it. He didn't want others to put their faith in him.

And they probably wouldn't have if he had the heart and will and lack of ego to admit what had happened in the past. But every time he summoned up the courage to resign or confess, his pride got in the way, adverse to being bruised. And so Shakespeare reigned as a lying king over a dark, broken kingdom beneath dark clouds, promises of rain singing on the wind.

But for now the storm raged in silence, gentle rain drops falling from the sky and adding a pale luster to his vibrant coat as he loped languidly down the mountain at a deft angle, his russet paws a stark contrast against the craggy surface beneath. For all his love of solitude, Shakespeare hadn't the proper equipment to be conspicuous -- his coat was a flaming roan, splotches of burnt sienna and pale orange mingled with ivory and red. His eyes were even more striking against his warmly colored fur, two pinpricks of yellow-green against a crimson sea. His body was sleek and lithe, still touched with youthful awkwardness where his disproportionately long legs met with his slender body. His ears were larger than normal, though it was hardly noticeable unless one looked very closely. He seemed an overgrown puppy thrown into the storm with a backspin, lightning streaking its vengeance across the sky as Shakespeare sought solace beneath a rocky overhang -- he knew the Mountain like the back of his paw.

With a quiet grunt of discontent and resign, the Phocaeas dropped to his stomach haphazardly, his limbs tucking in a rather feline manner beneath him. Two splotches of out-of-place green peered out from the darkness, staring attentively at the lightly falling rain, his large ears tucked back on his head in a strange position to catch the soothing pitter-patter of rain against the pseudo-roof. With a muffled sigh, the male's chin dropped to rest on his paws, his lips pursed in silent contemplation.

[Drama]

Drama padded through the drizzle, unbothered by the fact that she was getting wet, but lightning wasn’t something she was too fond of. With every brilliant stroke of light above, the slender female would flinch, and pick up her pace a bit. It wasn’t too long before she was running, an easy pace that took her quickly through the lands she had been accepted into but mere days ago. Venteux Ridge was a lovely place, and Drama loved the scenery, but this time of year permitted no appreciation towards the acclimate weather, which was currently disturbing her. She supposed this would be a regular of these lands, but her desire to persevere would not allow her to simply leave just because the weather wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Thick, soft pelt was plastered against her thin body, shimmering beautifully wit the laden drops of water clinging to her fur. Brilliantly clear, fiery eyes flashed wildly about, searching for shelter, where she could hopefully sleep without worry of the lightning. She saw an overhang just ahead, and an excited leap pushed her to a quicker pace. She dodged a burly, wintry bush in her path and slipped beneath the rocky shelter, mistakenly not noticing the masculine mass right in the middle. She stopped, but not on her own; paws collided with the side of virile laying on the ground, and she fell on top of him, slipping off and laying awkwardly against his side. She groaned, feeling an abrupt ache on the shoulder she had landed on. She pushed herself up slowly, shaking her head, and glancing to see what she had tripped over. It took her a second to realize that it was another wolf; and not just any wolf… the leader, and the same wolf who had curtly accepted her into his lands.

“Oh my— I’m… I’m sooo sorry!” she stammered, backing up a pace or two away from him, ignoring the throbbing pain that was searing through her shoulder. She lowered her head, eyes falling to her paws and avoiding his own. “I was just trying to… uhhh, escape the rain…” she explained quietly, hoping that she hadn’t already fallen out of the leader’s good graces.

This post has been edited by Drama on Jan 27 2007, 06:09 PM

[Shato]

OoC
eh, still getting into this character so I'm iffy at best with the post xP

IC
She inhaled deeply as she trekked across a ruptured mountain path that wound up and up in a continuous spiral around the Venteux Ridge. The powerful smell of rain infiltrated her nose and lungs like the aroma of a nectareous, cloying perfume, and it was a sweet treat to wallow in the scent. Shato paused and thrust her muzzle heavenward to look at the accumulation of bruised, swollen clouds as they buckled and broke, hurling tiny droplets of water toward the mountain. Lightning streaked between the clouds, and a low drum roll of thunder followed suit. A little grin tugged at her lips before she continued on in her journey across one face of the Venteux Ridge; her new home for as long as she could keep it.

Before too long, Shato had come within a few yards from the outcropping her Phocaeas, Shakespeare, and a fellow packmate shared. It was the stranger's voice that made Shato stop and perk her ears, however, and if Drama had not tripped over their leader and apologized so earnestly, she could have passed them both without so much as a glance in their direction. In fact, it was still a choice Shato was contemplating. She could easily slip by as the two wolves beneath the rocky outcropping focused on one another. But she was apart of something now - a pack, and she'd be damned before she let her progress from isolation go to hell. So, with an exaggerated sigh and a teenage roll of her eyes, she padded toward the couple on light, quite paws, and let the rain dampen her presence.

It took only a moment more before she stood just outside of the protection provided by the rocky roof, preferring to stand instead in the rain and let her sagging pelt collect the clear-water rain. Shato swiveled her ears back and dropped her eyes and muzzle when she focused on Shakespeare, at least attempting to give the impression of submission. The fellow she-wolf, on the other hand, was a different story. Unsure of what the relationship between the two of them were in terms of rank, Shato shifted uncertainly back onto her haunches and shot a glare in her direction. Finally, "Eh, hey there," she spoke.

[Shakespeare]

Peace was a relative term. If one was very outgoing, peace could be a party -- peace could be a rave. If one was very introverted, peace would be solitude as it was for Shakespeare -- he relished isolation vehemently, the quiet tapping of rain against his craggy confinement musical and welcomed openly. However, one had yet to be found who considered being crashed into like some sort of target for kamikaze pilots peaceful.

The Phocaeas had closed his eyes, bright yellow-green lidded by pale crimson, simply basking in the storm's glory, both literal and metaphorical, when aforementioned kamikaze crashed unceremoniously into his side, causing Shakespeare to start, jumping to his feet instantaneously and baring his teeth. His temper exploded, his mind raced -- but with faint recognition he simmered and cooled, and his visage was mostly impassive but slightly curious by the time his attacker had turned around. Shakespeare blinked at her; once, twice, thee times. His tail gave a rather feline flick behind him as he slowly lowered himself to his haunches once again, his fine features cast with an inward glaze as he slowly shed the lethargy of a moment prior.

"As was I," Shakespeare returned with a slow nod of his head, opting not to comment on her moment of clumsiness. His ears shifted atop his head, leaning forwards politely. A rather charming smile tilted his lips, boyish features friendly, though only vaguely so. There was something more to his amicable veneer. A dark note lying beneath the harmonious chord that played in his eyes, a shred of irate sarcasm lurking beneath his impassive words; but these were things that would take one years or months to notice, not several seconds. To most, he was perfectly friendly and nice. Shakespeare was the guy everybody liked. But that didn't mean he liked anybody, or even deserved their favor.

Soon another entered, and the Phocaeas was ready this time. His head turned in a jerky yet fluid motion, catlike, and his eyes fixed inquisitively on the newcomer. He knew them both only vaguely. He had accepted them both curtly into his pack, and beyond that knew not much of them. Shakespeare raised his brows at the most recent she-wolf. "I have received warmer greetings from hares," he returned, leathery lips stretching in an accommodating smile, though there was a certain hardness to his features that made one who observed too closely wonder of his sincerity. "Now," he intoned after a pause, his brow creasing as bright eyes shifted from wolf to wolf. "Forgive me, but I cannae seem to remember either of your names. Enlighten me, if ye would be so kind."

[Drama]

His momentary anger and surprise had been more than suspected, and Drama cringed a bit with his act of violence. But the second passed, and he immediately relaxed, noting the total accident. Apart from the small episode, he didn’t seem angry… at least not outwardly. Her tail gave a feeble wag against her haunches and she lowered her scarred muzzle a bit lower. He reclined to his haunches, speaking to her idly. She sighed at his simple words, but only found herself reclining near him. She looked up at him, ears flickering attentively, though there was a lack of ridicule for her clumsiness. She smiled half-heartedly at this, fiery eyes dancing along his handsome body before reaching his façade again.

“You don’t mind a bit of company do you? I promise not to run over you again,” she said softly, winking and bringing out a bit of the good humor that was her regular self; not that shy, stammering girl a moment ago. He seemed like a nice fellow, from what she could tell… and a respectable Phocaeas in a self-decided opinion. But of course, she was very trusting, so her opinion would easily be wavered. She smiled vaguely again, but it slowly faded at the approach of another female. Bright eyes searched the visitor curiously, not minding her company as well, but something seemed wrong. She showed immediate respect to Shakespeare, but somewhat dislike to herself. A glare, and that was all it took to cause a pressing dislike for this female. Normally, Drama was kind and bubbly, but that factor heavily depended on present company.

The auburn Phocaeas spoke up, dry humor stinging the air. Drama felt the need to laugh, but her features remained placidly neutral, and she merely looked between the two with definite curiosity. Surely she wouldn’t be cruel to him, or glare at him as she had her. The female shrugged it off, ears twitching towards Shakespeare as he spoke again, a question this time. “Drama,” she introduced herself curtly, eyes flashing brightly for a moment, before her gaze wandered to the other female for a second, awaiting her introduction as well. She half-heartedly decided not to let silence hang for too long, nor did the idea of being rude to the other female appeal to her at all. “How are you two, faring? All is well, I hope,” she offered up kindly enough; mere banter was all.

[Shato]

Shato quirked a brow at the Phocaeas's wry greeting, and a small flicker of humor surfaced for a moment in her eyes. However, she thought it the wiser to not participate in a bicker of wits with Shakespeare for now, and opted instead to keep sarcastic replies and mockery to herself. Oh bite me. She thought to herself pleasantly instead, and glanced back over at the other female who, after recovering from her clumsiness, seemed to be more adept than the peppy, spluttering, optimistic wolf Shato initially figured her for. Shato's humor idled, but then Shakespeare spoke again and she turned her attention back to the russet-clad leader and his question. She flopped her wet tail about her paws and perked her ears as Drama took the liberty to introduce herself first. Interesting. Now she could put a name to the scarred muzzle and bright eyes that sat nearby.

"Shato." she replied shortly to the both of them, lounging back and more relaxed, adopting a nonchalant and less-disturbing attitude while the silence fell between them. Unlike her female counterpart, Shato was all for the stillness. It felt like isolation again, and never really bothered her or felt as uncomfortable as it did some others. However, Shato would not experience it long, as Drama felt the need to lighten the mood. She bobbed her head and looked up from underneath the outcropping toward the somber sky, rainwater pitter-pattering down and thunder echoing mutely from the Venteux mountain. The storm was doing all the talking for her.

Being rude, however, would get her nowhere, so perhaps it would be unwise to let the question fall. A jerk of her tail and a swish of her muzzle and Shato turned back to fellow company. "Well enough. Nothing too terrible, I guess." She replied, glancing briefly at Shakespeare as he reclined nearby. Her attention was ebbing and the storm as well as territory surveying beckoned. "And you?" Shato recovered quickly, flicking her eyes back on Drama with a slightly insincere smile.

[Shakespeare]

The corners of Shakespeare's eyes creased kindly at Drama's words, a nonverbal laugh lighting his features, though it never quite reached his eyes like a dancing shadow. Curling his tail around his body, the russet wolf shook his head. "Nay, so long as you keep your paws to yeself, there should be nae problem," Shakespeare returned, his tone light and staccato, quickly plucked strings of a cello before curling into silence and emptiness. His mind drifted again -- for a moment he drifted from solidity into sheer mist and shimmer, faded like an old photograph or a buried memory. Shifting, murky molecules held together by tendrils of sporadic thought. Blinking, breaking the spell, Shakespeare's gaze drifted back towards Drama as she spoke, his face wiped clear of any emotion, and he nodded his acceptance. Drama. Licking his lips, he stored it away somewhere in the recesses of his mind before turning to the other. Shato. That one was filed away as well.

"I'm fine," he lied with a warm smile, though something in his eyes flashed very vaguely. Idly, he traced over the two females, adding faces to the names. The scars across Drama's muzzle were intriguing, to say the least -- his eyes were flighty, flickering, protean -- candle flames shying from a breeze. His tail flicked very lightly behind him. She was an open book, he mused, her pages worn and ragged but the ink was perfectly in tact. As his light green eyes shifted to Shato, however, his examination faltered. She was more difficult. She was a puzzle whose pieces had yet to be found -- Shakespeare liked puzzles. He had an obsession, to speak, with figuring things out. Simple games he enjoyed, even literal puzzles. But scrutinizing others, taking them apart objectively and putting them back together like machines until he knew them better than they knew themselves...that was his obsession -- it was what enabled him to lead a pack despite his young age and murky history.

His lips pursed slightly in response to the cogs in his mind as they began to turn at a less lethargic pace, and the Phocaeas tilted his head inquiringly. "Are ye both finding the packlands to your liking? I'm sorry your welcoming parties were so bland -- there arenae many of us here right now." Shakespeare paused, tilting his head outwards to watch the rain fall, crystalline drops dancing across his muzzle. The ivory star on his forehead glinted with suspended liquid as he withdrew, yellow-green eyes illuminating with an eerie glow as lightning shattered the sky.

[Shato]

Shato swiveled an ear in Shakespeare's direction as he too replied to Drama's question, a warm smile settling itself to the confines of his face though Shato was almost sure that there was something lurking just beneath the surface of his displayed emotions. After all, if he was so easy to read, it wouldn't have made sense that he had lasted so long in such a lofty position as Phocaeas. But whatever beast, if there was one hidden beneath his smile, evaded Shato's comprehension and she decided to call it quits for now - after all, she had the rest of her life in Venteux Ridge to figure him out.

So, with a small sigh, she turned back to looking at the falling drizzle, noticing with a the barest sense of amusement that little rivulets of water were dribbling from the edges of the rocky-roofing. It was so difficult to entertain oneself for very long that way, however. Shato should probably be leaving soon, since dying of boredom didn't seem like a particularly pleasing way to go. What was she waiting for then? The rain sure as hell didn't bother her. Was she waiting for Shakespeare's dismissal? Shato turned her head to look back toward the russet-clad wolf, knitting her brows together for a brief moment while his focus was drawn elsewhere, to Drama.

Then, just as she was about to heave-ho and leave, Shakespeare broke the silence, and for the second time -- or was it the third? -- Shato was finding herself an almost unwilling party to another dull conversation. With practiced expertise, she straightened up and plucked one of numerous polite expressions from some corner of her brain where manners should be, and wore it with ease. "Very much so." She replied, thinking about how much she still needed to see before she actually made up her mind. Venteux Ridge was beautiful so far, no doubt, but Shato hadn't seen everything yet. "Nothing that needs apologizing for." As she referred to his last statement and unneeded apology, she couldn't help but wonder as to what he meant by "there arenae many of us here right now." How did that happen? From brief snippets of tales told, she had heard that the packs of this pleasant country had been here for generations -- since the time there were actual barriers and... and people! Imagine that.

[Jayden]

A tall white female wandered across the lands. Her head held high, her tail swung side to side softly. Her blue eyes searching. Her silky pelt hung to her femme form as the rain continued to fall. Jayden didn't mind the rain. Not at all.

She enjoied it. She loved it. She was so caught up in her daydreaming, that she failed to notice three wolves, whom she now stood before. One a male, the other two females. "I'm really sorry." Jayden quickly said, embarrased. "I didn't mean to intrude." Jayden said backing up some. Part of Jayden wanted to run away. But socialy Jayden was intriged. So she decided to stay, unless, that wasn't allowed. But Jayden couldn't possibly imagine, that they wouldn't invite her.