faderift | It's a fool who plays it cool

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It's a fool who plays it cool

WHO: Jude & OPEN
WHAT: Arrival & settling
WHEN: Early Justinian
WHERE: First the Vimmark Mountains, then the Gallows
NOTES: Warning for giant ass wolf, giant wolf ass, nudity, violence.

Starters to come.

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[Jude gives a snort something like a sneeze, then lets his mouth open, tongue hanging out in panting laughter. He allows it only because of the wolf scent all over this man; wolf laughter can look like a baring of teeth to someone unfamiliar with the mannerisms. He spreads his paw, allowing for a very distinct shake.

For all that humans -- and elves -- feel most comfortable thinking of him as a large, friendly, somewhat scary-looking dog, there is a thinking mind in there. He likes to make that clear, and he doesn't like to take advantage of the lowered inhibitions that someone might have towards an animal.

Strange, how an apex predator is so much safer than a human man.

But he gets to all fours as Fenris beckons him, bumping against his thigh and getting him covered in a non-negligible amount of hair. He pushes his large, heavy head underneath his hand, humoring him with this version of heel.

He's curious. He'll follow.]

[Well, at least the wolf is friendly . . . or temporarily amused by his efforts, but either way, he'll take it. Worst comes to absolute worst, he can always defend himself readily, but this creature doesn't seem prone to attack. Doesn't seem prone to any aggression, in fact, which is another little note that tips the scale in the direction of this is not what it seems to be.

But home is where they're heading: not the Gallows, but up to Hightown. Ataashi might appreciate the company, and frankly, it's too late at night for Fenris to want to linger overly long in such a crime-ridden area. Sentiment against elves is, hm, not great lately, and there's always some idiot who wants to prove himself.

It's a bit of a walk. Fenris is companionably silent, content to keep pace— though he does lead them into an alley once or twice, ducking into the shadows as he hears the clanking footsteps that precedes guards approaching. He resents it, certainly, that's easy enough to read no matter who (or what) you are, but sometimes it's not worth picking a fight.

Up to Hightown, and indeed, a mansion where the scent of wolf is, hm, distressingly overwhelming. Ataashi herself is asleep in front of the hearth, and doesn't seem particularly inclined to wake up as they enter. Little wonder: her belly is full and her spot by the fire is warm.]

You can sleep here tonight, if it pleases you.

[Maker help him if this is just a normal wolf, but you know what, it's not like anyone is around to notice. He even goes and gets a small plate with some raw meat on it, operating under the assumption that any animal, sensible beasts that they are, is going to want to fill its belly as and when the opportunity presents itself.]

[Fenris walks like the sentries. Light on his feet, aware of his surroundings. He's met wolves like this. Wolves that climbed trees, wolves that could sneak up behind you and be breathing on your neck before you knew that they were there.

They'd be terrifying if they weren't friends, weren't pack, weren't putting those loyal teeth and claws towards the protection of their vulnerable.

Jude's sentinel reaches down and into the stone beneath their feet, straining through the filth and misery of the city to feel the story in these streets, corridors, alleyways. It's muted, being that it's all human. It's only the faintest of impressions, things that he could be getting just from the people around them. Fear, hunger, excitement, hearth and home. This city is many things, and its shadows hold even more. He wishes he could read them. It's like flying blind.

Jude follows Fenris on silent padding feet, staying close and keeping his head low, his nose sharp. The roads he's walked as a human are not kind to wolves -- nor to elves, he's coming to realize.

How strange.

For the first time he wonders if he's making a mistake, letting Fenris trust what he thinks he is. Will his other shape be shaped like something that hurt him?

Jude pauses in the doorway as they go through, letting Fenris go ahead of him, sniffing at the floor, the air. She is here- and this close, he's confused. She smells like a wild wolf rather than a shifter, but with a layer of something else, something that smells like the rifts. One step to the side of reality.

The fact that she doesn't awaken at an intruder in her territory gives Jude pause. Though he doesn't interfere when Fenris shuts the door, he parks himself where he's visible to Ataashi, if she decides to join them.

... and oh, this place.

This place smells of misery, chased with wisps of joy and safety. Fenris is building something worthwhile on top of a burial ground.

(Though the dust makes him sneeze.)

Politely he waits for Fenris to set the plate down, ears pricking as he catches the scent- it's not blood-hot, but it's good, and he clears the plate in a few precise mouthfuls, teeth flashing before he draws his tongue over it, licking up the blood.

And then, he decides that this cannot go on.

Getting to his feet, he bumps his nose against Fenris's hand, pushes his head up under his palm, giving him a light lick. Then, delicately, remembering the way Mobius reacted, he stands to slip behind a nearby bit of furniture.

He's concealed from sight, but the shadows cast by the fire catch him, and perhaps that is worse in some ways, along with the cracking noises.]

[Jude stands, then, in his human skin and bare as he was as a wolf, the couch between them keeping him somewhat decent. He lifts his hands in a gesture of peace. The shard glimmers on his palm, bright against the warmth of him.]

You're a kind man. Wouldn't feel right taking you up on that. Not without you knowing.

Fasta vass!

[Like, who the fuck is ever ready for a wolf to transform into a (very handsome) man. Who is ready for that! Even the most even-keeled person would have a bit of a start at that, right? Certainly Fenris does: his stomach dropping like a stone as he sees the shadows on the walls shift: strange shapes, the crackling of flesh and blood and bone shifting— an Abomination, surely, or some kind of demon, some monster from some other dimension, it doesn't matter, he's already thrumming with lyrium by the time the creature rises—

— and speaks. Gently, in fact, offering up a hand to prove that he is that selfsame creature.

Fucking hell.

Fenris stares at him for a long few seconds, caught between shock and fear and exasperation all at once . . . before exhaling sharply, the lyrium thrum ceasing as he lowers his hands and deactivates his markings.]

How kind.

[No, it is, just give him a minute to adjust. His heart's pounding, his air distracted— belatedly he goes over to grab one of the blankets that now lives on couches, because he and Astarion are those kinds of people now, he guesses. Tossing it at Jude, he stands back.]

Some guard wolf . . .

[Ataashi is still asleep. Like, she had a big day, but still.]

You . . . who are you?

[A better question than what are you, anyway.]

[It's not the Andraste's Tits he was greeted with on his first transformation here in Thedas, but it feels like it has the same vibe. Jude tries very hard not to smile, it would be fucking rude. It's not this guy's fault that he accidentally invited a random dude into his house.

Jude's been lucky so far that no one's thought werewolf. That could fuck up everyone's day.

So he sheepishly -- if a man his size could be said to look sheepish -- and catches the blanket against his body, moving to wrap it around his waist. It's not big enough to fit over his shoulders properly.

He loops it, ties it with the put-upon air of someone with practice, and lifts up his hand to show Fenris the green anchor shard on his palm.]

Jude Adjei. A wolf shifter. Came through one of the rifts just a few weeks ago.

Right.

[Right. Okay. Fenris stares for a long few seconds, then rubs his face. He has only heard of one shifter in the past (and he has the wrong idea of the order of operations, here), and that was a rumor, little more. But it's not any stranger than anything else that happens around here, he supposes, and so soon nods shortly, taking it in.]

Welcome, then, though I do not know how pleased you are to be here. Still: welcome, for what it is worth. I can find you some clothing, if that suits you; I can also offer you a bed if you do not wish to travel through the streets in the middle of the night.

[But ah . . . before he goes to be a good host:]

Your shifting . . . you would do well not to reveal that talent to too many others here.

[It's gently said.]

People are volatile, especially of late. And they do not take well to that which is new or unusual— especially if it bears the mark of a Rifter.

[A wolf's nose can scent sweat and fear and discomfort, a wolf's ears can hear catching breath. But a human can speak. It's the age old tradeoff. But Jude has never felt more blind and cut off, because he doesn't rely on just that. His sentinel reaches to scent for the emotions behind the words, but is met with so little that it might be a mistake to trust it.

So he hangs on Fenris's words, trusting in them, trusting that he means it and isn't saying he can stay when he doesn't want him to. He doesn't know enough of him to assume otherwise, and all Jude can do is live up to that trust.]

Coming to realize that most people here don't take to "different" all that well.

["Most", he says- though Fenris is cut from a different cloth. Everything about him is unusual. Another, smaller smile-]

Thank you. I'll take some pants, if you have any I won't rip.

[-and that smile widens:]

And your name, now that I've hopefully finished scaring the shit out of you.

You didn't—

[No, he totally did, and Fenris doesn't bother trying to further deny it. With a little huff he disappears through a doorway— and as is her wont, Ataashi rises, trotting after him in quiet neediness. Stay close, and absently he strokes her behind the ears as he heads into his rooms.

He has . . . not a lot of clothes, honestly, and fewer still that might fit someone like Jude. But eventually there's something: a pair of somewhat stretchy trousers, form-fitting but with a great deal of flexibility. A boon in battle, and assuredly useful now. He throws them Jude's way as he emerges and half-turns away, giving the poor man some privacy. Ataashi, who cares very little for such concepts, stares at Jude openly, whining softly in her throat as she does. Is she scared of him? Probably a little! He smells like a wolf, but he isn't a wolf! This is not Astarion! What the fuck!]

Fenris is my name. And no, they do not. Though to be fair . . . we've had a great deal of different this past decade.

. . . how did you— you are a mage, then?

[What is a shifter, anyway, beyond the very obvious explanation of someone who shapeshifts.]

[Jude catches up the trousers, and keeps himself mostly behind the furniture, though it's more for Fenris's modesty and comfort than his own. Nudity among shifters is far from taboo, though they don't tend to hang out like this, the same way one wouldn't go to the grocery store in their pajamas.

The trousers are low-slung on his hips and the ankles come up to frame his calf muscles, but Jude doesn't mind. It's better than a blanket or a sheet, or most recently, a tarp.

He ventures out from behind his furniture then, tilts his head to address the pup trailing by Fenris's leg. He rumbles out something low, soft, on the edge of human hearing, though Fenris's elf ears may pick it up. Something the wild ones understand, even if he can't speak to them as he would a person.

Ally. Safe. Shelter.]

No. I can't do any magic, not the way non-shifters see it. Just born with two forms.

My pack's the same. But they're not here. As far as I know, I'm the only one in this reality.

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It's a fool who plays it cool

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