Fight:Jolie v Arien; Wolfed
After unleashing murderous hell aboard the civilian ferry to Rynvale,the black lycan Jolie hunts unexpected but welcome prey in the red faux-wolf Arien;a fight that begins as a bid to establish pack order among the female members also bears possible implications for the Rynvale pack down the line.
-The Broken Barrel Inn, Rynvale-
Tick… tickticktick… claws on timber. The scent of wet canine. A wet nose would shove the door, and if it wasn't firmly closed, the tip of that same nose would appear through it a moment later, a harsh snuff of the air, the scents inside inhaled.
The sound of heavy coins dropping and rolling across the boards outside would also be apparent.
Mahri , standing right there by the door, would be the strongest scent Jolie catches. But she's only subtly moving closer to her claimed sibling as the door nudges open and nose appears, "Just to talk." Mahri hasn't noticed the bruises, rather keeping her attention to the captain's face to read whatever might be displayed there. Like those dark circles under his eyes. "That's all. Nothing more."
Morana waits, her cold hued eyes moving between not only the other woman but the male as well. She'd wait, hear what was to be said and then determine her next few words. Wet dog had been a strong scent, one of which she picked up as soon as it grew close enough to the building, but she did not make any sort of move. Instead she downed the rest of her drink and put out the cigarette in her cold palm. No scar was left behind.
The door was open, the shop was warm inside, despite the lack of fire and the fact it was a cold night on that island. He caught a glimpse of lamp light across green eyes but did not startle or seem surprised that a large, tuft-eared wolf was making her way inside. Or at least checking the inside for scents. Two Alpha and a vampire. And because of that small note of stress creeping back into his frame, he'd approach the vampire on the couch and motion toward the cigarette she held, or was putting out. He could use one, now. Hopefully it would be offered and between his lips for the murmur Mahri's way. "An' what about?" A reflection of his own lens like rusted coins under that tousle of hair as he looked back up their way, retrieving that old, dented firestarter from his pocket.
Mahri will glance at Morana and say simply, "Later." She did not want to discuss whatever she had in mind in front of someone she did not know. Simple. The vampire was not pack and had no business knowing a thing about that business. The stubborn tilt of her chin and the thin press of her lips means she won't say more on the subject. "When should I come back," is the only other thing she'll say.
"~ A howl of desolation hangs on night winds of the Shores~"
Morana quirks a brow, a playful jest that he wanted one now. Easily, she withdraws the container and produces one for him to have. If he was stressed maybe she could do for another, so when he removed his from between pale digits, she replaced with her own, silently nodding at the rusted lighter. Whether he lit himself, or offered the contraption to her was for him to decide. As for the entering wolf, and mention of talk, she couldn't help but allow a grin to tug at the corner of her lips--it was never just a plain old talk.
Jolie did not enter the space, fully, but would rudely shove against her sister's legs, leaving a damp streak where black fur drenched in salt water brushed. Once in, pale green eyes shot in the middle with black, jagged stars cast a feverish gaze over the room, the vampire and the lycan taken in and passed by, because the scent she sought and found here was faded, now. Her body, wolfish but an odd and slightly humanoid cast given mostly by paws that were more like furred and claw-nailed humanoid hands shook violently, perhaps drenching the bloodsucker and Leoxander and Mahri alike with a fine spray of she-wolf hair and water. Leo would be her focus, when she stopped. Until that second female howl was heard…. Tenebrae's sleek, damp head, lynx-tipped ears laid back, would turn to the sound, as her lips drew back over ragged fangs in a snarl. Hunting… why, yes she was.
The torn and soggy remnant of a satchel, fallen off with that shake, and almost empty of its contents, would now lay on the floor.
Leoxander paused a moment to listen to another howl, this one with a lilt that wasn't true lycan, but familiar nonetheless. His head would tilt against the prickles of hair against the back of his neck, and he swallowed that howl that rose up in his human throat with the urge to shift, cracking the vertebrae at the top of his spine. Mahri was given a fairly frustrated look, as he'd asked what she'd needed and her response had seemed casual enough, but clearly she wanted privacy of some measure. "Alright, let's just damn well get this over with." He'd light his cigarette before that device was held out for the white haired woman, already knowing her frequent addiction habits, and he'd turn a look her way as he closed the lid on his hip and returned it to pocket. "Where you gonna be? I want to get started on finding the girl." This to the vampire, who he obviously had to kick out for the time being. Sounded as though he meant to catch up with her, afterward.
Jolie shifted back toward the door, claws digging boards left spattered wet in her wake.
Leoxander narrowed his eyes on Jolie's snarl until he realized it wasn't directed his way.
Perhaps some of those spilled coins were still rolling.
Leoxander muttered after her. "Thanks for stopping by..." A sour look offered toward the puddle of water mixed with black wolf hair. Leoxander figured at least there were a few coins mixed in.
“*an answering howl, one fraught with the bellow of a challenge, roars out across the sands*"
“*the howl is shortly followed by a vicious bark, laden with frustration, sounds from the dunes*"
"~ From the high city view, an answering howl rings~"
"*another challenge is thrown to the wind*"
-At the High View-
The elf was lost in the wolf, in the body that would let her run from that which would still be there when she returned. Rho was gone. She had come to cry her heartbreak for the black wolf she loved, loved despite the betrayal of the heart, if never of the body, and that answering cry had set her hackles on the rise. Would she be permitted no time for grief? Muzzle turned downwind to the shores to answer that challenge, and some part of her wondered for it. The rest of her had known that it would come. She would be on all four legs, with gold rimmed gaze fixed to the open path from which the black wolf would come, if and when Jolie did arrive.
Even if the abyssal black wolfess that was now hurtling like a dark, wet bullet across the lower sands had known the elf-in-wolf's-clothing was in the depths of whatever misery she felt, Jolie would not have given a damn. She had been roused, in her restless state, by the maddening uncertainties of times recently gone by, and in the conjurer's absence had no recourse to dispel the wrath those same uncertainties fuelled and fanned to high flame in her chest. Claws, set in vaguely humanoid paws, scrabbled on the loose dirt of rising ground, while the scent of the false lycanthrope thickened, and her own truly infected blood pounded in lynx-tipped ears. A dark streak against pale grasses and paler, arid sands, Jolie continued her frenzied dash until the red stood in sight, and did not end to pose and posture but continued into a bold and frontal attack. Arien had the high ground, and that was just fine - Jolie's snapping fangs would be aimed for her forelegs, anyway, those hooked and raking claws tearing at fur above to where she thought a canine face would be, to drag it low enough for a defacing snap of jaw.
The red wolf would not hold that high ground long; just enough to see that streak of black on black bulleting toward her place of refuge. Jolie was not the only one capable of a rage. Here was the cause for plungers depressed, and eyes rolled back in a head, the cause for endless vigils and the anguish of watching the living death of one loved. Arien was already moving to meet her, ivory splashed paws scrabbling for purchase in dead earth , lupine skull lowered for her own incoming slash. It would be a clash of chests, red on black that might ensue then, the red bitch’s snarls rending the night air as she pressed to throw her weight into the effort of knocking the black female off four steady legs. Jolie’s already raised paw would make purchase in a slash across mahogany red muzzle, blood drawn and flesh torn, but the elf wolf was twisting head and neck to meet that fragile limb with a clamping of fang over bone as she attempted at wrestling the female to her back, and the ground.
"~ A frenzy of snarls, yelps and growls might be heard faintly from distant high ground~"
Rear claws were, however dug hard into that loose, sandy earth, so when the red's bodyweight bore down upon Jolie, her own was bolstered after a short downhill slide, the sand gathered at her heels providing firmer hold and thus the black rose to meet Arien's fanged reaction with answering fury. The bitten forelimb, still slick with salt water and caked in adhering sand, was torn free of the red's angry mouth- missing a chunk of meat and not a little fur, and this action only made room for the true lycanthrope to snake her shaggy neck, its hair made spiny with rage and seawater, bringing the necromantic beast's snarling maw into a no-mercy lunge for the red's throat, the injured leg spattering blood to cake in dark little beads on the ground below as claws kept raking onward, despite a searing agony in that one limb.
- a sudden, sharp yelp followed by a volley of brutal snarls ensues*"
The red wolf was still pressing forward, bearing down on the black when that gaping maw lunged for her throat; A throat not so far distant from the maw of the muzzle that it supported. The elf wolf dropped her body weight; forepaws, shoulders and that targeted throat now lowering toward the ground as her own fanged maw gaped open and dropped into place to meet the lycan’s bite with an unholy kiss that might shred the gums and lips of each female. Snarls of fury and pain rent the air as Arien scrambled to find purchase of her own, and maws battled for dominance. In the twisting, writhing mass of fangs and blood, the red wolf would sustain the damage of flesh torn out of her upper shoulder, near to, but not quite on the mark intended. Pain seared mind and body, but the she would use whatever was left of that incline to attempt at another shallow rear to hind legs, and a pitch of her upper body over what was accessible of the black’s back, as she slashed with bloodied maw for the thick scruff of the back of the lycan’s neck, intending to sink canines into the flesh and muscle there, to offer some deeper hurt. Weight would continue its attempt at downward press, her intent to bring the other alpha female to the ground.
"A deep, commanding howl summons any of that particular pack upon the island."
"~ More snarls of fury and pain rent the night air~"
As the red's defensive bite bore down upon the loose scruff of shagged hair and skin at the back of Jolie's neck, the hair there vaguely silvered with an older scar, the black lycanthrope would suddenly give the ground that Arien so forcefully demanded - so suddenly in fact, with her head tucking hard between abruptly lowered forelimbs, her rear claws digging now not for purchase but to scramble backward, that there was a good chance the mahogany-coloured wolf would be tugged into her own unexpected fall, while the darker wolfess wrenched and struggled against that clamp on her nape, twisting hard, her hand-like paws ripping at the fur and skin of the red's limbs, chest, ears, face, whatever was in reach, with vicious, hooked talons, her intent to drag Arien into a chaotic roll down that hill with a mouthful of Jolie or just Jolie-skin, hoping for a shot at soft belly. Jolie's snarls approached fever pitch, her own flashing pearly whites flecked red now with the blood shed from a cut lip or an elf-wolf's wound, the drip of sanguine from a tooth-torn nose.
The power and suddenness of the black’s drop would be the red wolf’s surprise, and salvation. The force of hurtling gravity on that slight incline, along with her own torque would be enough for the mahogany wolf to release the pressure of jaws on scruff, an instinctual defense lest she find herself slammed to the ground, or pinned at the black’s mercy. Thus, the she wolf would not have that mouthful of Jolie as she was upended and tumbled into the dead turf, but neither would the tender flesh of belly be exposed. She landed hard on her side, a yelp piercing the night as wounded shoulder encountered chunks of loose gravel and rock in the brush as she tumbled in a shoulder over rump spin a few feet down the path, a measure of separation offered now, between the two females. Bloodied and emotionally exhausted, the elf wolf scrabbled to her feet, swiveling red ears up into an alert stand at the alpha’s howl, and though she would turn her head toward the cry, her lowered head and pinned back ears warned Jolie that she was prepared to defend herself further, should assault continue. Those legs beneath the wolf might have been quivering with the exhaustion of effort, and a pink tongue flickered out to taste the air, and nurse blood that dripped from her own torn lips.
Leoxander would stalk up the path through the brush to that high view calmly, hearing the continued fight. He was not there to stop it unless necessary, though the rogue was arriving in dusty fur and looking capable. His pace slowed when the scene became visible to those light reflecting eyes and those mismatched lens shifted between black and red, and back again. It was already obvious who was on the offense, but still, the Alpha did not step between them or approach closer to interfere. Hackles raised at the usual irritable and grouchy behavior he would display at such a scene, and with careful steps from massive paws almost in the shape of hands and digigrade feet, he began to pace.
Mahri isn't all too far behind Leo, tromping loudly and muttering under her breath. Coming upon the scene with the scent of fresh blood in the air, she too will keep her distance. Only Mahri won't be pacing. Simply watching with half closed eyes and arms folded across the shelf of her stomach.
Arien 's head swiveled to take in Mahri's swollen form, and bloody lips curled back from canines that gleamed white in moonlight.. Her day would come. Nostrils flared, once, before Jolie was fixed with yellowed stare again.
It was with a pronounced limp, and it was with that water-spiked hair matted down with blood and sand in patches, but Jolie rose from that tumble that she, at least had been expecting and therefore prepared for with no intention of ceasing, Alpha's call or not, and in that scant moment while Arien thumped, yelped, rose, paused to listen and then glare at Mahri, the black was already mid-air, unwounded hind legs taking her off the ground for a powerful leap that paid no mind to Arien's hurt feelings or desire for cessation. The pack was out of order, in chaos, and if nobody else would lay the order down, she would - Jolie was and would be Alpha female of Leoxander's pack, until Arien or anyone else proved otherwise by wound or direct pack expulsion, and it was this which drove her now to want the faux-wolf flattened under her own weight, longer forelimbs lashing out for blows and scratches, that blood-filled mouth seeking only more blood until the wanna-be-wolf either beat Jolie insensate or goddamn lay down and cried uncle.
Mahri is watching Jolie, not Arien. So she missed that glare.
Leoxander in return, rumbled his own warning growl of protection over Mahri. This was not his chaos to beat into line. It was almost a test of sorts, to see if the elf-wolf could contend and run with a pack so vile as theirs. Devils, 'guised as black sheep... you know. Lynx tipped ears, the genetic strand to Jolie's own, flattened back as he half circled their chosen 'arena' of space, high above Rynvale, where he'd howled from a time or two before. He waited a moment longer before he would make a decision about how this scene would end.
Mahri says to Leo, "Let it go, wolf. This, I think, has a been a long time coming." It's said softly, sure he can hear.
Leoxander shot Mahri a look at the way she spoke to him. Those ears pinned a touch harder to his skull.
The black wolf had the advantage of surprise, and the red wolf's momentary distraction, but the red had the advantage of a cooler head, and the awareness of lessons of that black male who had now left her to her fate. The mahogany head swiveled to meet that approaching ebony..a lycan off all four legs in the air, and with a snarl of fury, rage contained for all the things beyond her control, the elf wolf lunged into that oncoming body. She kept her head and weight low and centered. A sharp, short forward thrust of her head into the black wolf's sternum. Her maw flew open to sink a savage grip into those undamaged rear limbs, which where her prize, dangling target, and she'd take a scrabbling series of scratches and rents to her own slender chest and face to do so. If she'd succeeded in getting under that flying form, and securing hold on that leg, the she wolf would wrench her weight in a savage twist of her frame intended to hurl the black female to the ground, with leg perhaps too damaged to hold her weight thereafter. Arien, never gods damn cried uncle.
Mahri might not be Alpha any more but she sure as hell wasn't going to stay quiet either. A slight lifting of her shoulders is the answer Leo gets to that look.
Jolie's head was just fine, thanks; not cool at all, certainly, but pinpoint focused and intent as any true predator's would be when making a challenge - as intent as she, made by and trained under the worst predator of them all - could possibly be. Those undamaged hind limbs were hardly dangling like.. socks?... but would be splay-footed and claw-extended to rake and rend, aimed for an eye or a gouging blow to the upper face of her adversary, far from passive targets left flapping in the wind for anyone to take a bite of. So Arien would get another tooth-rake in, another multi-scored bite of fur and skin, but Jolie was not brought down, kicking free of that maw and with the opposite hind limb kicking off against elf-wolf-face or a red-haired spine so she would continue overhead, thunking awkwardly to earth behind. Wheeling, one forelimb faltering for the heavier bite sustained earlier, she flattened ears to skull, snaked her head low and stalked forward - stiff, dominant, brutal snaps offered to whatever flesh was met or the thin air of retreat, and not about to let an -elf- run second-in-command in any pack she was a part of.
Colton arrived. His was the slow approach of a man in the midst of meander, weaving from the trail that arced its way from the south.
Leoxander smelled dragon. There was a slow turn of Leo's body then, and those starburst pupils thinned in rage.
Leoxander would face that man approaching.
Mahri smelled him too. She, however, won't take her eyes off the fight. She'll talk though. She's gotten good at that. "Black." As far as greetings went, it was short.
Arien wheeled about to face the black furred female, mahogany head shaking , a spray of vitae spattering the sands below, and gold rimmed irises sat now, or at least one of them in blood shot eye, over which a slow seeping and open wound showed through to the near muzzle bone. The ivory panel that coated her chest was red too, with the vitae that seeped trough once pristine fur, and the slash into flesh in one fore shoulder throbbed and weakened. But as claws flexed into the dust beneath her, it would be evident that the she wolf had full working order of all four limbs, and a spirit to math that of the black female, elf or no. Arien had long been an alpha in her own right. Eyes locked onto the stalking female. Stalking. A wolf could not stalk at speed. The red elf had learned a lesson from her foe already this conflict; strike first, posture after. Her head lowered and she made a bulleted beeline for that already weakened leg and even if she exposed back and shoulders to the black female’s bite, she would be reaching in to try to snap and break that leg with brute force, intent to cause damage that might bring this stale mate to an end. The red was an elf, but she had a wolf’s soul, and was worthy to carry that title.
Colton said nothing at first, or paid mind to the wolf that rounded towards him. Instead, fishing idly in the pockets of his coat, the man known as "Black" fished free a solitary cigar. Beyond the group, slight as it was, the path stretched on. It loomed beyond them and was clear in its lazy circle upwards in promise of a summit. The cigar's end was bitten off and spat to the grit at Black's feet. It was between his teeth when his answer to Mahri finally came. "You."
Leoxander’s hackles raised like a burst of fire on his shoulders as that tawny fur spiked up in threat. No only because the dragon was approaching a wolf's scene, but more importantly, because he spoke to pack so openly. Or... shortly, perhaps was the correct definition. Colton would find a hybrid beast of pirate and wolf (both equal killers) circling around with a rather aggressive snarl and snap tested toward the back of the man's, or dragon man's legs. Not yet landing to wound. Definitely testing his understanding on -who- was in charge, here.
Mahri does, then, take her eyes from the two bitches in the middle of a rather entertaining scuffle (great way to understate..) in order to eye both males with a frown. Shifting slightly downwind from the smell of cigar, Mahri will let the two males figure out what's what.
But the predator, the hunter of centuries, the unashamed killer Joliette, had eyes in her head free of blood, and could see the trajectory of that beeline, and was ready - because she was stalking, slower paced, albeit on that injured leg and with her ribs heaving for breath, while the emotionally exhausted red wolf had somehow found it in her for that burst of jarring speed the black would use against her. At a stalk, she saw what was coming and rocked back on those hind limbs that wore the elf-wolf's blood on claw-tips, the well-guarded foreleg pulled free of a bite's oncoming lunge to once more suffer a snag of fang at best on raw flesh where fur was already torn off, while Jolie's bloodied maw, open in a bestial scream of rage and pain, arced down on Arien's lower-placed snout with intent to clamp over it, grind tooth to bone and gristle, to force breath to be drawn with blood if those razor fangs succeeded. Whatever was transpiring in the background, she didn't know or care.
Colton took a step forward. Then another. The creature at his back was, still, paid no mind. The world's diverse horrors had been on display in recent days, stretched from the bizarre to the absurd. It was towards Mahri he was attempting to move, a familiar face besides which he'd be content to stand for a moment before the path ahead beckoned him on. There was no recognizing the woman he knew as Tenebrae now. Instead, like the wolf-pirate, the beasts were considered as though any beast would be considered, with a hint of attention and no greater consideration. It was to the one he recognized that his words cut sidelong towards, spoken around the cigar lodged in his teeth. "Dog fighting is an ugly sport."
Colton tucked one hand into the depths of his coat, wrist vanishing beyond the layer of wool at hip height.
Mahri glances to Leo, quite unsure how to make the wolf understand that Black was..well if not okay then at least not..no..can't say 'too bad' either. After all, the man used everyday tools to murder. So, she'll sidle just a touch closer to the killer and nudge her chin towards the black wolf. "Tenebrae," she informs and then to the red wolf "Rynvale's governor, Arien."
Colton considered the dark wolf then as a thick, ebon-brow tightened itself into a sudden arch. "Piss off." The words abrupt. A rare exclamation of surprise.
Leoxander flickered an ear at one particular name, even in this bestial state of mind. He is still tracking the dragon's every move and regarding him as a stranger, an intruder, and someone on the verge of being under attack. Still, he can sense the unease in Mahri, the hesitation, and that is the sole reason that jackal looking lycanthrope does not lunge to attempt to take the reptile down. The growl persists, a constant sound in the background, from the dark, behind them.
Mahri said to Colton, "Promise." And everyone knows Mahri hardly ever breaks a promise. Hell, she promised Jolie she'd not take off anytime soon no matter how restless she became. To Leo, "He's..alright." After all, hadn't he agreed to play uncle to her son? That thought did worry her a bit.. "mostly."
Arien was equally oblivious to whatever was going on in the back ground. She had not asked for this fight, had even less interest in jostling for pack position, but she had a warrior's pride and will, housed in a wolf's soul and body. A general's intellect too. Thus, that striking pass had not been a bite and hold, but a bite and pass. Anger and pain were wonderful motivators, and boosters of adrenaline, and the elf had a hell of a lot to channel tonight. That intended clamp over muzzle would become instead a dragging pass of canines over the red wolf's skull as she completed her pass, only to whirl a reverse on her two strong back legs to hurtle her shoulder into to upraised shoulder of the black wolf who had reared briefly to add power to that downward lunge. If the was fortunate, the wolf on two legs might find her center of balance destabilized and the red female would make another effort to raise paws and chest over the lycan's upper body in order to bring her down. Another slashing bite would be offered to the scruff previously held. Passage of time, and loss of blood was surely beginning to make its effects known, likely on both females.
Colton glanced with Mahri, once, towards the growling wolf-pirate. The words were a short aside before his attention seemed to slide back towards the creature she'd identified as Tenebrae. "Can't you get it to fetch or something?"
Mahri had the urge to kick Colton in his ankle. Or shin. She might have given in to it if that fight hadn't caught her attention again. She'll hiss to the dragon, "Shut up."
Colton paid the nudge no mind. His own attention seemed levied entirely upon the contest at hand.
Leoxander might have lifted a leg in Colton's general direction at his remark of 'fetch', but it was on passing behind the dragon, and he might not even notice till the smell of marked territory wafted up from near the heel of his boot.
Mahri 's nose pinches at that smell. Coughing slightly, the wolf is still waiting to see the final outcome of this match.
Colton said to Mahri, "So," He lifted his chin towards the dark-furred creature she'd indicated. A series of strides flanked him round to her opposite side. "How exactly does that happen?"
Mahri said to Colton, "What? You forget how to start a fight someone has a chance in hell of winning?"
Colton gave Mahri a very patient look.
Mahri 'll just shrug under that look she can't really see. Slanting a look towards Leo, Mahri lets the corners of her mouth twitch. Just a little. Enough, perhaps. "Ah..Well." she turns back to the fight and an explanation, "When two women really don't like each other, one challenges the other and they fight." Maybe it was a bit sarcastic. Okay. It was a lot sarcastic. "Personally, my money's on my sister."
Leoxander might have flicked an ear, but he'd circled away from the dragon and lycan duo with his eyes still directed toward the battle, waiting to see if he would be needed to save a life.
Colton abruptly flicking the ash from his cigar. His eyes stray from Mahri entirely then, refocusing on the pair of creatures brawling amidst the dust. "How does she turn into that thing?"
Jolie had fought in wars, against men and gods in her time, and this was the same -no pun intended - dogged determination she'd worn then, blood-loss or no, wounded or otherwise, that had kept her alive during and beyond those battles. A low growl given the elf upon the snap of her jagged teeth finding only skin and not the satisfying crunch she craved, she had steeled herself for the inevitable return attack, in a battle that could wear on until the sun went down or one of them lay dead for all she cared at this point - her original intent not to murder but to subdue with force and wounds regardless. And was ready for the whipped-about frame of the elf-wolf, her own bodyweight thrust down upon the rising frame of Arien to end in a no doubt jarring crash of canine flesh and bone for both, her scruff safely above and nowhere near that maw, which instead lacerate a wolfish cheek but did not hold, while Jolie raised her good front leg and its half-human hand to clamp clawtipped digits down hard upon the red's bleeding face, her grip the fulcrum for a sickening, sidelong return snap toward the other's neck, her head to shake in a frenzy if she managed to indeed macerate fur and flesh.
Mahri mutters, "Not with some pendant thing." Almost too low to hear. Clearing her throat, she says a bit louder, "She was bitten by a lycan and Jolie's just mean enough to be able to shift at will. Took me bloody years to figure it out on m'own. Kinda..she's cursed. Or blessed. Dependin' on how ya like it."
Colton said to Mahri, "Is her mind all there?"
Leoxander also flicked an ear at Mahri's words, but his mismatched wolfen eyes were locked on the fray of females.
Mahri narrows her eyes and studies the duo. "Probably not at this point..wouldn't go and try pettin' her after. Course, I don't know how much control she's got of herself either."
Colton went quiet. The rise and fall of his cigar measured as his only reply.
That jarring clash of bodies did send a shudder through the red wolf’s body, but she was locked in on her own purpose and reason for this battle now. When that clash came there would be no patient waiting for paws and arms to lock on to her bleeding head, the red wolf would be whipping her head back and forth as paws scrabbled for purchase in the body weighted up against hers. Claws would tear into the flesh of the chest and belly exposed with those raised limbs, and a snarling fury would foreshadow the slash of fang that would be evident with each powerful whip of the head. Teeth would snap to slash at the flesh and bone of the limbs reaching out for her face so precariously, and as she pressed forward on her hind legs, the red wolf would make her own lunging lock jawed snap for the jugular of the black right opposite her muzzle. She sensed the rising blood lust of the female whose weight bore against her, and it would stir her own. The logic and reason of the elf was losing itself to the survival instinct of the wolf in her soul.
Mahri will take this opportunity to move off into the brush. Probably towards the Tower. Where things will be gotten ready for patching up of torn flesh and broken bones. Even if Jolie will heal much faster than your average mortal.
Jolie had by now considered that elf already well and truly lost to the wolf in her soul, but that extra flood of energy Arien's apparent total immersion must have leant her did come as some surprise, as did those power whips, which had the black lycanthrope snap her grasping and apparently empty claws back in time to avoid a second maimed front limb, that hand-paw and the weaker, wounded one both swiftly employed then to offer the elf's own flailing forefeet slashes and hook-clawed rips, to fend them off her belly and chest, both somewhat scathed anyhow. Not one to offer her throat to just any wolf, Jolie's own head slammed hard to her adversary's to joust, cheek to cheek, as if the two performed some sort of bizarre canine dance rather than allowing Arien to approach the junction of neck where artery and vein hammered her febrile pulse. Thus in a lock of sorts they'd stay, the tactic designed to assist the natural lycan to catch a little breath, even if her disease did offer her extended stamina to endure what must seem by now a neverending brawl which nevertheless must, and would, at some point, come to some sort of end.
Leoxander saw that death lock that the two claimed and his own heart hammered. Whatever his reason, this was the moment he would crowd in to save a life. A threatening growl rumbled in his chest and the volume increased as he suddenly sprinted into the circle to tackle through the center of their bite, likely knocking his chest bones and skull into other heads, dazing perhaps, but it was a bump he would suffer for the sake of being that 'splash of cold water' on the females' faces. If they resisted and clung on and tore skin with it, a thrash of his teeth at their faces would possibly add a few scrapes and flinch them back, and he would stand either way, bristled, dominating, between them, circling to stare either one down.
Colton spoke briskly, long fingers flicking his spent cigar off the cliffside to vanish below. His eyes softened by the consternation in his face.
Colton said, "It's f- embarrassing."
Colton left, on the southern path.
They were locked in the dance of stalemate, maw to maw, head to head and paws gripping on each other's bodies and the red wolf was using reprieve as much as was the immortal to take oxygen into sore depleted muscle and tissue. She had lost it all today, and in some strange way, this battle had become totemic of the red wolf's will to survive and have a future. Pack politics aside, this was about fighting free of a nightmare set to hang over her head. Nothing would be accomplished in lock. Without warning the red female would relax the tension in her frame, free falling to the ground below while attempting to twist torso and limbs out of the black's hold. What would have been her attempt to twist and cover the female for a final clamping bite, was interrupted by the choice of the alpha to engage, and he would find no fight left in the red. She would lay where she had fallen with sides heaving, blood dripping off her frame, simply glad to have ceased to struggle.
Jolie did not lie down. She stumbled, when Leo busted the lock apart and the red fell, a loose howl of pain as her wounded leg buckled beneath the shifted pirate's weight, but swaying - with a weak shove aside to Leo if she had to - she would eventually rise to all four feet. Her flanks shivered and her ribs heaved, the lycaness retching hard for air, but she did not stay down, eyes fixated on the prone elf-wolf whose own wounds were not deadly. Her chin with tongue lolled over it and slaver mixed thick with blood drooling to join that abundantly spilled below was lifted then, to Leoxander, a long and weary look offered him, cryptic and green. Still panting, limping on three legs, bleeding, Jolie staggered off - refusing to fall. Refusing to lie down and be ministered to. Instead, she just went south to find a place to lick her wounds.
Leoxander 's gaze trailed after Joliette...
Leoxander turned his focus toward Arien's fallen wolf form.
Arien would lay still, her gold rimmed gaze dulled with a pain not caused by physical wounds. A low, hard whine would escape her throat, directed at no one, and everyone, and she’d stay there for some time after the alpha disappeared into the night after that hard and almost angry look directed her way.
Some time later..
The red wolf made it as far as her den, that natural made and shadowed knot of arcing mangrove roots that was nestled into the wind blown, rolling sand dunes of the southern shore. She left a trail on blood spatters in her wake, and what was normally a proud and beautiful head was dropped on her neck, gold rimmed eyes dulled with the pain of wounds and heartache. Her head, face and chest had taken the brunt of damage, and the creature found herself blinking blearily to bring the world into focus with every few steps. She looked neither left nor right, and senses were dulled to the presence of the sandy male if he had chosen track her progress home from safe distance. She passed the villa that had been her home without a sideways turn of head. What had been partial companionship, even if awkward, would now be done. Rhocielle was gone, and with him their children for several days of the week. She supposed she was fortunate that he’d agreed to let her share the responsibility of their rearing. Her wounds stung. If the alpha had not intervened, she may well have fought to the death. The whine that escaped slipped out unawares. She would never be accepted as pack, not by the true lycans, and she supposed that she could live with that. She had been claimed as pack, as family, by the only one who mattered, before she had ever worn the skin of a wolf. It remained to be seen if he continued to view her thus. The female lowered to her belly and crawled beneath those overhanging roots to lay in the darkness. Her head and chest were on fire. Lids blinked closed over her eyes. She was tired, and would find a healer in the morning… Some time during the course of the night hours, four legs became two, and an ivory, blood stained, scratched and slashed elf lay curled naked in the fetal position, alone. The outcast.