Oliver saw the wolves for the first time when he six years old, living on a old farm somewhere around the Swedish border. His parents were simple, and dedicated folk. But they were dedicated to their land, and following an archaic religion he never fully came to understand.

Their dedication meant he was left alone a lot with his fathers dog for protection and companionship. A big, bushy German Shepherd that might have been named Tor.

Wilderness crept in around the farm at all angles, barely held fast by a wall of ancient trees, often shrouded in low hanging mist and choked with dancing shadows. And at night he heard wolves calling out in their mournful way, almost like they were beckoning him to join them.

Stories of children being dragged away from their homes by wolves and never seen again made his stomach churn with fear, though. He didn't think he'd ever be brave enough to go into the wilderness.

But one day, his parents left him alone like they normally do.

And never came back.

There was plenty of food, plenty to drink. And he knew how to work most of the appliances without making too much of a mess, so he waited for them. Cleaning up after himself at the end of each day, then locking the doors, before finally shutting off the lights and heading to bed.

A week passed, and they had not returned. So he began to plan his escape.

There was a pathway he knew about, old and unkempt, winding all the way through the mountainous forest range to the neighbours property. It was at least a hundred years old, with no one taking care of it. He had walked along it plenty of times with his father, although they never went too deep into the woods. He didn't think he would get lost, but he imagined the wolves dragging him away to never be seen again, over and over and over again.

On his final night alone, the lights went off. And the house was cold- and he knew he had to leave. So he bundled up in a coat, with gloves and three pairs of socks, pulled his fathers gun from his sock drawer, a flashlight from the shed out-back, and then with the brawny German shepherd Tor by his side, made for the path at the back of the property.

It was the middle of the day, but it didn't seem like the light of the sun could penetrate the tops of the trees. Maybe it was fear that made the darkness seem darker, like he was about to step into another world full of darkness.

Tor led the way, as if sensing his unease, and he followed just slightly behind the dog.

They walked, and walked, and walked until the path disappeared, becoming an almost identical labyrinth of roots, and tangled underbrush and thorny bramble.

They walked until the flash-light died, and then they walked until the dog stopped, ears erect on top of his skull, gazed fixed on the shadows, full of hungry eyes. And then he was gone, rushing headlong into the jaws of death. Torn apart in a series of frantic, high pitched yelps and the violent cracks of sharp teeth unlike anything he'd ever heard.

Fear made him numb, so he walked a little more until his legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground, exhausted, cold, but sweating, feeling his stomach do loops in preparation of a panic attack.

The wolves, ghosts to him, surrounded him. But rather than tearing him apart like they tore apart his dog, they waited, all of them looking at him as if trying to figure him out. Then, there was a shifting as they parted like a sea for the wolf that must've been the leader. He met the wolf's eyes, all green with shades of amber around it's pupil, and surprisingly human, and swore he saw pity before the wolf opened it's jaws and ripped into him, joining his blood with the forest floor.

Oliver died for the first time when he was six years old, in the jaws of a wolf with human eyes, the snow red with his blood.

At least, it felt like he was dying- ravaged by an unstoppable fever that burned him from the inside out, his body torn apart, then put back together as he became beast, then man, then beast again.

If it wasn't for the hooded man man that found him, and brought him back to his place; a run-down shack deeper in the woods than he's ever been, he doesn't know where he'd be. Or who.

The man had many secrets, but one that he never bothered to hide was that he was...more. And his name- an old name, Grimnir, and sometimes Glad-O-War.

He taught Oliver many things once he was able to take a breath without screaming, and a step without changing forms. How to fish and hunt, and how to whisper with the winds and persuade the tide.

There were men and woman that came into the woods, calling out for him. Their lights cutting through the leafless branches of the old trees like blades of light as they searched. But he watched them through the eyes of a wolf, never brave enough to approach. Doubtful they would help him even if he did. Eventually they stopped looking for him.

That's when he knew he was dead. Officially. When the search parties stopped searching.

Years passed, and Oliver became a young man- strong, fast, and aware. But rage coursed through him, hot like fire in his veins, barely a layer of skin away from exploding through his pores and burning everything around him to ashes.

The rage made him unstable- dangerous. Every cold wind made his muscles spasm, the change threatening to overtake him. Every-time a thorn scraped his arms, his blood got hot and his heart hammered in his chest, threatening to explode from his rib-cage in the form of a wolf and tear out his throat.

Grimnir forbade him to leave the safety of the trees, which only made Oliver want to see the rest of the world all the more. He figured the dangers he was warned of were exaggerated, and that there'd always be woods to disappear into when there was no other choice.. so, one night, when the snow fell heavy and the wind blew hard, Grimnir grunted that he was going to hunt.  And Oliver packed a small bag, following him out into the snow- but following a different path.  He'd taken enough food to survive a week in-case he got lost, and more than enough money to afford a cheap plane ticket.  

It wouldn't be comfy, he thought but it would be warm- and it'd take him far, far away.  Fast.

But he was followed by wolves, hunted like prey everywhere he went.  Attacked on one occasion, on a dark, stormy night.  They'd pulled at his arms and legs until his flesh was shredded into ribbons from their teeth, they pulled him from his clothes and dragged him into the woods, then stood back and watched as the wolf tore it's way out of him.

Then he woke in a ditch, naked, shivering, his skin sticky with blood and grime and dirt.  It was a wonder he made it back to his hotel room without anyone calling the cops on him.  And once he did, he packed his things into a small bag and left without paying for the room, boarding a bus to the next city.

He knew he'd never be left alone to live his life with the wolves following him, so he decided he'd run until he couldn't do it anymore.

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  • Iaophae was busy tapping away at her phone, her long acrylic nails clicking on the screen as she spoke to booking clients. But one heavily pierced ear twitched once she sensed an otherworldly presence enter the cafe- however she could not see it. By scent, she immediately knew the presence was male, inhuman and...wounded. A growling starvation wrapped its cold claws around the soothsayers stomach as she caught a succulent, tantalizing whiff of humanoid blood. Broken flesh. The Rusalka had to fight the urge to burst into every single room, crack and crevice to find where this scent was coming from, tear it apart, devour its organs, its flesh, relish in its blood, rip it open and adore the feeling of having the craving for human flesh quenched and satisfied. But she wouldn't allow the claws, the fangs, the inhuman look to appear. She couldn't.

    Soon enough, Iao's gemstone gaze landed on a fellow emerging from the men's bathroom- one who had not entered the cafe before. And he matched the persona she had created in her mind, and even had the same otherworldly scent. A smile cracked at her plush, fat lips. Here, she saw quite the opportunity, and he peaked her curiosity anyway. After ordering her coffee and croissant, her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way over to the booth where the stranger sat, letting the light seeping from the window and illuminate his skin. "'Ello handsome." Iaophae said sweetly, however not in a flirtatious tone. Miss Race was a bit of a hoe but not THAT much of a hoe. She threw one thick voluptuous thigh over the other, clearing her throat and letting her gemstone gaze meet his. "Ye got quite de interestin' smell dere, doll face." Iao murmured quietly, so she would not alert the humans around them. "An' don't be frettin' none, ah'm nah dreat. Jus' 'ere ta talk an'...maybe see iffe ye an' Ah canne 'ave some fun, yee?" She canted her head, letting her thick ebony Cornrows spill over one shoulder. Her burgundy nails tapped against the table, and she mouthed "thank you" to the waitress who served both of their orders, before she turned back to look at Oliver, raising one sculpted eyebrow. "De name be Iaophae Rose Race, lad." She informed him, her alluring accent, a mix of Caribbean and Scottish, rolling off of her pierced tongue. "Ye wanna tell me who hurt ye?" One hand ran over the opening of her leather bag, her fingers gripping an archaic looking book, it's cover and pages war torn, and she revealed the book just a little bit to him. "We canne easily 'ave some fun wid dem. Trust me, lad."
  • As Demetri took care of business or it looked like his full attention was on the girl. There were times where his ears would give the slightest of flicker, hearing Oliver in the background. Earning that a smirk of his own, but given that he was looking towards the girl, anyone could have misconstrued that as him expressing all that towards her and her alone. From the rustling of getting changed and slipping into those soaked to the sole sneakers, there was a laughter threatening to erupt from Demetri's lips. But holds it all in and continues to charm the girl, distract her mind till she forgets what she had seen.

    Approaching Oliver at the door, both exit the shop. Door shutting behind them as he hears Oliver say something. When he insisted against his own statement just a second ago. Demetri planted his hand on top of Oliver's head, rustling the guy's hair a bit. "Your welcome~" He said with a toothy smile. And it was very much toothy, anything beyond the canines, as some call them, were sharp. "Let's really get the fuck out of this miserable rain. I got just the place, but by the time we get there, we'll probably catch a death of cold." Demetri says then laughing shortly after. He even throws his head back, making light of the situation.

    He withdraws his hand and is in no better position than Oliver himself. Both soaked to the bone, and Demetri felt like just shaking off the damn rain off him. Feeling he would fluff up from doing so, but it would feel damn good. As they walk there's something that makes Demetri turn to Oliver, it's what he's saying. Dark brows raising as he listens. Waiting for his turn to speak. He does so shortly after with a shrug of his shoulders. "Once upon a time, I was in your situation. But I guess the nature of any cat will do this to you." he spread his arm slightly away from his body as he shrugged again. Shrugging off what he'd 'become'.

    "I say take it slowly and don't try to rush yourself. You'd only make a fool out of yourself if you pushed yourself too hard. Though, I don't know how you guys work and all, I can only speculate what I've learned in my years like this." He looks over at him again as they continue to walk, for one, Demetri was oblivious about anyone around them both. As if they were the only two occupying the sidewalk right this moment. "Say, were you born this way? Or.." He trails, not because he didn't want to finish, but leaving it to Oliver to fill in the blank. Just a thing some people do. Demetri was only mimicking that.

    He'd wanted to tell him that if he stuck around the Wereleopard, he'd learn a few things. Maybe someone would one day write a book about the traveling odd two. Wolf and Leopard, shoulder to shoulder, traveling to the unknown. Just how could they get alone and not be at each other's throat. Demetri looks forward, hands stuffed into dampened pockets, scraping his knuckles with the denim fabric. It's always rough doing that, but something he's grown used to, it's fine. No big deal. Now and then, Demetri would pull either his left or right hand from his pocket, only to drag it through that short dark hair of his, pushing back the water that was already trickling over his face.

  • Who would have thought they were one in the same.

    Then he sends his old man bird.

  • Demetri leans to the left, resting his jaw on the heel of his hand. Elbow still propped up top the edge of the table. He had listened to Oliver talk about the plane, odd how he explained it, but not uncommon amongst anyone that wasn't, normal. Some still thought that a plane was just a strange bird that made a lot of sound. Hell, there were still humans that thought that way. Stuck in their old ways that they weren't able to move forward along with everyone else. Then the subject of Oliver's eyes and the waitress. He does or say anything. He knew that if he did, then something would probably happen. If not Oliver saying something or standing just leaving. it was going to be the girl. Screaming or possibly causing a whole hell of a racket.

    Can't have that, he thought. So, he stays quiet. He turns his eye from the girl to Oliver again. Still keeping quiet. The guy just wanted to get up and leave. Understandable, so did he. The smell of the city is unbearable to his nose most of the time, but the people. He couldn't explain it and he wasn't going to get into it, not even with himself, to try and understand it. From staring at the guy's face to the hand that traces a tattoo on his neck. Sure, he wanted to ask, but does he? No. Maybe it would serve for a later conversation. Besides, it didn't seem like Oliver was done. He wants to let another laugh roll freely, but doesn't. Instead he shakes his head lightly, but then Oliver takes the extended hand. For someone that did plenty of this and that, and some more, the hand is nowhere callused. Soft in fact and yes the knuckles are strange.

    The bone shifts suddenly when they are run over by the thumb. If Demetri saw the curiosity peek in those icy hues. He never asks. Because he didn't care to tell the tale about that day. Oliver it seems, was ready to leave. He didn't have to say he did, just as he had. It was obvious, almost anxious. While still, basking, per say in the scents he was still smelling off of Oliver, he turns his head. Not because he had chose to change his shirt right here and then. Even though the waitress had been staring at those strange blues and nearly had her heart jump out her throat. Demetri turned because of that, looking at her. But before he could get up from his seat,  he glances at Oliver, gaze wandering. The more he saw, the little more he knew, but not a word.

    Just as Oliver is talking about the girl, Demetri was already approaching the counter. She was still startled, he could hear it in her heartbeat, just as Oliver had. Demetri smiles at her, taking her gaze from Oliver. He's speaking in a soft spoken manner, which draws his voice even lower then it is. It rumbles within his chest and works up his throat. "It's not polite to stare.." He trails off, tilting his head at her name tag. "..Becky." His smile grows wider. He inclines towards the counter, both elbows on the edge, hands pressed together at the palms, but never intertwining his fingers. She blinks a few times looking at him, then turns red for some reason.

    She had been scared, but being approached like so, then told of the obvious had embarrassed the girl. That was Demetri's intention. Draw her attention away from what she had noticed. "When does your shift end Becky? Oh.." He rolls a chuckle, chin lowering and so does his gaze. "I'm sorry, that must sound bad. I'm not trying anything, I promise." He says as he looks back up at her. Demetri even reaches over slowly, mindful not to startle her in any way. He hooks a stray lock of her hair with his index finger. Then works to get that behind her ear. As she turns when she feels the slightest touch, it makes her smile. See? Already forgot. She never notices that when he brushed the knuckle of his index against the side of her cheek, he had let out a purr.

    It pushed past his teeth, but kept it subtle. "Becky." He calls, nodding towards the service window behind her. "Your boss is calling you." She turns in a hurry and quickly heads towards the revolving door. That's when Demetri turns and goes back to the booth, but rather than sit, he takes his bag, looks to Oliver and nods towards the door. "She wasn't looking at you." He said, but she had. However, Demetri had made her forget why she had been looking at him for. Oliver's eyes. "Now, let's get the hell out of her. We got a long walk ahead of us." With that said, Demetri heads for the door. Even holding it open so that Oliver would go first. There was no humor behind this lone gesture. He just did.

  • As they walked along, Rosa paused. “I'm Rosa. I forgot to ask for your name…” She turns to him at his question.
    “Uber is a taxi that you can get using an app on your phone. Except unlike most taxi’s they look like normal cars. I prefer lyft, but uber is just on my homescreen.” Rosa was lazy when she could be, even if it cost her more. She pulled out her phone ((just a normal i-phone six, if you were curious)) and turned it on. Cloud, her dilute calico was on her lock screen, but for her homescreen is this image of Rosa and and a thin, fragile looking boy with a matching leather jacket and glasses. He looked like Rosa in certain ways.
    “OK we're here.” There was a wide coffee shop, and despite Rosa's white girl status it wasn't Starbucks. It was called Lava Java. Lava Java was a smaller cafe, with a few book shelves lined up on the inside. It smelled like coffee, of course, but also the creams and sugars that went with that bitter bean smell. There were only a few other patrons, and only three of them were speaking, creating a light buzz of life over the jazzy background music.
  • Why beat around the bush and ask for steak, he should have just gone straight for the fucking fish and be done with it. With that aside, Demetri turns those green hues over to Oliver. Because when he was occupied asking about the list of food around the place, Demetri had caught the other looking. And it wasn't the girl. But who can blame the guy, he'd want to remember who nearly kills him. Though that wasn't going to happen. Hopefully not.. "A little bit of both." He repeats those very words. Not that he meant anything by them, maybe, who knows, he doesn't tell why. He just does.

    Demetri tries to picture Oliver on a plane. Looking up almost thoughtful, but the humor pulls at every muscle. A slight burst of laughter erupts from the Wereleopard. Holding out a hand instantly, "Sorry, sorry. Just can't picture you traveling that damn far across the Atlantic without feeling itchy." Demetri shakes his head, he wasn't making things any better by letting those words slip. If anything, he was probably going to irritate him before the rain let up. Dropping his hand back down onto the table, he looks Oliver in the eye. "You chose one hell of a place to visit." Another shake of his head, this one saying, you've gone and fucked up.

    It actually sounded nice in his head, so he kept that to himself. No doubt messing up himself were he to verbalize that. Then Oliver goes and brings up the topic of /is there a god/. No boy, don't go there. Demetri bites his tongue and shakes his head, eyes closed. Pretend that you agree, just shake your head. You don't give two shits about it. That's right. Eventually the thoughts that dared to surface, pass. Opening his eyes right at the moment as Oliver says he's alone. Quickly following with that, that wouldn't be for long. Of course not, damn dogs went everywhere together. No surprise there. With a heavy exhale leaving him and a swelled chest dropping, Demetri cocks a brow.

    "Hope you find.. whoever the hell it is that you wait to meet. Or some shit like that.."

    Quickly Demetri has a drink. Swallowing back, he sets the cup back down one last time. A sharp breath goes in, and a name comes out. "Demetri." He says, reaching across the table, offering a hand. Rather large hand, perhaps a bit bigger than Oliver's. Though the knuckles were pretty weird if anyone cared to notice. A shift gone wrong, long time ago. Leaving Demetri's hand structure a bit messed up. But people he's come to know and those that have gotten to look at them properly, thought his hands were, and this one is always funny to the man, unique.

    Unique my ass. It fucking hurt that day. With all thoughts aside and Demetri waiting with an outstretched arm. There is never a moment of silence. "You chose the worst place to fly into. This damn city is shit, even though people can tell you how much they love it here. I personally, prefer the countryside." His unoccupied hand gesturing outward, his gaze following when stating the following. "Land stretches out, woods, lakes, rivers." He's been here for a while, having left Europe himself a few years ago and had to keep it that way till shit was sorted out. Not that it would, since you had to actually do something for it to be sorted out.

    Once he shuts up, he turns back his attention to Oliver. Jaw clenching under the mess of facial hair. Typical damn cat gestures. Smallest of things catching their attention, even the smallest of sounds and Demetri was turning to see what it is. Always on alert, not that he could help it, nor did he mind it. It's had him safe this long. He had his fingers to fiddle about with the cup. With the absence of a flickering tail, something had to serve as a substitute. This was it. "So, Oliver. You staying here till whoever you're supposed to join up with? Or you willing to just hit the road and see the better side of this shit hole?"

    He leans an elbow on the edge of the table, fingers of his left hand flicking his ear. Unable to just sit there, he had to be moving. Trying to take care of an itch that isn't there. But those eyes the Wereleopard has, never blink once, just staring at the man across the table. Subtly picking at the scent he gave off. Sorting out all the different scents, from wilderness to the people he sat with in the plane. The odor that the wet sneakers gave and the socks. The last time he stepped on bare feet. Forever curious feline.

  • Demetri knew of the tension, but avoids any form of confrontation. His thoughts were not far from those of Oliver. Crossing someone like them left little room for much else. But Wereleopard was trying to be civil. He's tried to keep himself rom attracting any form of attention. And that meant keeping his cool and playing nice. Once upon a time, he wasn't. He had been roughed up by the group he belonged to along with his mother. Since a cub, life is hard. But then again, it is for everyone. For now, sitting here would have to do.

    He shoves the shirt he'd used on his head back into the bag. Taking his cup of coffee that soon arrives. Looking across, he says nothing when Oliver dismisses the waitress. He wasn't having anything. Alright then, Demetri thought to himself as he then brought the cup to his lips for a careful sip. It warmed him to the bone. Now if only the goddam day was like this, hot. Sun beating down. Just thinking makes the Wereleopard sigh. His eyes remain closed for a moment, but his ears were taking in every bit of sound coming from across the booth.

    All the while the Wereleopard is thinking, damn, that sucks. Another sip and Demetri is opening his eyes when he hears Oliver speak for the first time since their run in. Literally. As he listens to the guy, Demetri stomps his boots lightly on the floor. "Bull's-eye." He says, with lips against the rim of the cup. Dark brow rises as Oliver chose to order anyway, flagging the slightly frustrated girl. As he asked for a coffee and the girl leaving, Demetri speaks up. But this time doing so when he put his cup down on the table. "Change of heart? Or you just trying to get warm?"

    Why else would he himself order a coffee if not to warm up. "There isn't. I'm just playing it safe. See, you're not the only one looking like someone might be following you." He says then nods to what the guy says next. "Wereleopard." He mutters quickly, not really liking being considered a something. They had a name, much like Oliver did. Demetri inclines into the table with his elbows and forearms. His hands remaining haloed around the cup, that now had little bit of the coffee left. Turning his head while still listening to Oliver. He gazes over to the waitress.

    Once she was here with Oliver's own coffee, Demetri says something to the girl. "You wouldn't happen to have anything fresh here at the diner, would you? Steak, fish?" Fingers idly drum patiently as can be when asking her, hoping for a good reply. To which he gets none. Demetri's expression hangs when the girl just shakes her head, a small apology following suit. "Worth a shot." He says looking back to Oliver. "I know, yeah." With that said, Demetri lifts his left arm up, his forearm close to his nose. He sniffs absently. Brows waggle mildly.

    "Not so much that you were obvious. You looked like some animal that got tossed out the back of a truck. No different than I was sometime back." He says, lifting his cup in the air, letting the waitress know he wanted a refill. If possible. Setting the cup back down and his attention back on Oliver, he continues. "Welcome to the good old US of A. Land of opportunity, home of the free." Demetri nearly snorts at that catch phrase. What complete bullshit, he wanted to add, but keeps his lip shut.

    The waitress was back, giving a refill to both if they needed it. Once she was gone, a toast is given, "To the best shitty coffee." He takes his drink from the cup, and with a slight hiss he feels the warmth build, relaxing him. Turning his head, he's looking out the large picture window. The rain was coming down far worse now that it was white like a mist. "You alone?" It was time to get down to business. Was he alone or was he running with a pack. Kind of redundant. Thinking that Oliver would not have split up from the pack if he was. They usually don't, but he could be wrong.

  • Oliver had aggravated him over nothing. He bites back another hiss, speaking.

    "Damn pup."

    He hadn't meant to label the guy like so, but he was already pissed because of the rain and the fact that he was getting soaked to the bone. Throwing his back pack over his shoulder again, and his eyes returning to normal. Only because the few that passed by had actually leant an ear. Looking at the two of them like some weirdoes. Demetri could blame that on Oliver's question. Who asks that sort of thing in the open?
    Demetri bends at the waist and picks up the gym bag for him, but doesn't quite give it over just yet.

    "Follow me."

    Oliver had no reason to, but the bag Demetri carried, was his. If he hadn't run yet because of what he knows the guy smelled, then it was because of this here bag. No doubt had everything he owned. No different than he was, it seemed. Demetri doesn't go far, in fact heads into a diner. Not many customers. Probably a table or two. It was a roof over their heads and it was warm.  If Oliver followed the Wereleopard in, then he'd be handed the gym bag. If not, then best of wishes.

    Demetri sinks into a random booth, dropping his back pack next to him. Unzipping it he takes out a dry shirt and manages to dry off his hair. Leaving it in utter disarray. Nothing a few comb through with his fingers wouldn't fix. He motions Oliver over, then points to the seat across.

    "Park it there." He flags the waitress and orders a tall coffee, black, two sugars.

    "You would have been better off asking for my shoe size. Not what I am out there in the open. And to answer your question.." Demetri trails, waiting for the waitress to serve the coffee and possibly take Oliver's order. If not, then she goes about her business. "..I'm a Wereleopard." He furrows his brow as if he had said something strange. But it was more inclined that Oliver didn't know what the hell he was. But then again, he might not know of the breed. Demetri shakes his head more so to himself then anything, following with a light shrug of his broad shoulders.

    "You look lost and straight out of place. This your first time here?" He asks, speaking a bit quick with the tongue. He wasn't the type to be all that friendly with others, especially one that wasn't exactly of the same breed. There was a table between them, so that was enough space that it made it tolerable. Besides, Demetri wasn't looking to make any enemies, nor did he know if Oliver was alone or not. He had to play it safe.

  • It's only been a few days since he got here and already it's like this. Of all places, why the hell did he choose Manhattan. At the back of his mind, there's a voice. First of all, it's dense, heavily populated. No body can do much of anything here. Demetri tilts his head agreeing with that. There was a plus side to all of this. Downside to it all though, was because it's dense that he won't see much coming. Usually the people here turn a blind eye to situations that don't concern them. Usually because they want nothing to do with it. They have their own problems and don't need yours piling on.

    With a deep inhale then exhale. Demetri ran both his hands through his short dark hair roughly. Shaking the unease out of him. There was not much when it came to motels out here. No woods, well, there was Central Park. Hardly the kind of woods he likes. He sighs again as he waits patiently on an elevator. Fixing the back pack on his shoulder, Demetri is staring at the elevator doors, waiting for them to part and let him out. While he wasn't the only one on it, he didn't do much as turn. The old lady already gave off this funny medical smell as is and it was getting to him like no one's business. Having a sensitive sense of smell kind of does that to you.

    Avoiding to wrinkle his nose and not give a bad impression of something disrespectful. Demetri just keeps facing forward. It's a plus that he was that tall, and the woman was just that short. His shoulders serving well to hide his face, to some degree. Once out in the lobby, Demetri approaches the service counter. A stay at this place hit his wallet hard. He was going to need to find a job that will get him enough till he can leave. With a short greeting and a farewell, he makes his way towards the doors. He stops and closes his eyes.

    "It's .. raining.."

    There was one thing he avoided and detested. Rain. Not many felines like rain, or water for that matter. Mind you, Demetri enjoys a good warm bath, soaking even. But cold rain like this, accompanied by a depressing scenery, no. Just no. He wasn't equipped for this kind of weather. The same could be said for a cold day either. Demetri liked the heat, sun on his back and face. He was polar opposite of his cousins from the mountains. They who did their living in the winter days, detesting the heat like Demetri did the cold.

    Pushing the door open Demetri steps out into the fray of assaulting rain drops. Smell of rain hitting him hard that he scoffs under his breath. Fixing his collar to prevent any stray droplets from rolling down his dry warm back. If only he could trap the heat, but the rain that was quickly soaking in wasn't helping. So, Demetri starts walking faster. Unlike the guy he was going to bump into very soon, Demetri wasn't on the run. Okay, maybe, but traveling solo shaved a lot of heat off his trail. Had he had his Mother traveling with him, well, that would be a whole different story.

    He turns in time to collide with Oliver. He hadn't been jogging like the guy, but he did appear in a hurry. Just the same. Demetri staggers back nearly losing his back pack. It's no longer on his shoulder, but he has hold of it at his side. Right about the moment he's going to say something. Demetri picks up on something under the smell of rain and among other things. Pupils automatically turn into slits. An inward hiss resembling that of any feline. His chest swells with the deep drawn breath. Eyes keeping their gaze locked on the male. All he can think at this right moment, wolf. Quickly, Demetri's gaze darts in all possible directions before looking back just as quick to Oliver.

    "No harm done?" His voice rumbles with a deep bass to it. There's something else behind his voice, the moments he breathes. There's a rumble, if only anyone could press an ear against the man's chest, they'd hear it. It was feral.

  • Heels clicked on the cement sidewalk, occasionally crunching autumn leaves beneath the soles. Yes, she turned heads, how could she not. Her ebony hair was knotted tightly against her scalp in cornrows which spilled down over her shoulders in thick, gold banded braids. Long lashes framed a gemstone gaze, irises the color of sapphires, deep and intense. Her skin was like gold itself, tanned from years out in the sun, a beautiful mulatto complexion from her Scottish and Caribbean descent. But strangely enough, it was nearing the dead of Fall, and this woman was out here in blue jeans ripped to all hell, tall burgundy heels and a white cropped top, revealing a mural of tattoos coating her golden-tan skin. Covering her right leg, left side, left arm, her chest and the back of her neck was ink, mesmerizing in appearance.

    Yes, she was a head turning, eye catching masterpiece of wide hips, thick thighs, a trim waist and enough attitude to go around the world twice, but to the supernaturals sight, she was something quite dark. Almost sinister, yet so alluring, anyone curious would immediately be drawn towards this snare of an aura.

    Truth was, past the cinnamon-vanilla perfume, she naturally carried the scent of a...a feline. And strangely enough, forests and lakes. A clear summer evenings breeze. But no human could ever pick up on this. Carelessly, she strode into a nearby cafe, dropping one wide hip to relax as she waited in line to order.

    Iaophae Rose Race was her name, known by many things, but one prominent title was the most hunted woman in Scotland. For a time. Until she faked her own death almost two thousand years ago. Rumors still travelled across the wind of her, tickling the ears of Scottish natives. Some even have claimed to have sightings of the presumed dead Iaophae. The so called cannibal Cat Sith. But she had another name too. The Lady of Masks, a soothsayer known worldwide amongst the supernatural, believers in the higher power and diviners. None had seen her face for she always wore masks, but little did they know the Lady was also the one they hunted. Funny. Iaophae found it amusing, but she would fight with tooth, claw and burgundy acrylic nails to protect her little secret. Her many secrets actually.

    But as of now, Miss Race appeared to just be a beautiful woman in a cafe, checking her phone and waiting in line to order. All normal. All a-okay.

    Nothing out of the ordinary.
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"Oliver wonders if misshapen form of his knuckles is an old injury.  Probably, he thought, releasing the male from his hot grip and retreating back to his own side of the both.  Even if Demetri wasn't a violent man, to fight and kill was innate to mo…"
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"Unaware  or totally indifferent that he's caught staring, Oliver calmly looks from the man to the waitress, just in time for her to look at him.  She stares for a breath, two, three, and he's reminded somewhat of a frightened deer.  Then, she manage…"
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"It's on days like today that Oliver wonders to himself; "Why the fuck did I come to this hellhole?" As a man easily three times his age  and size  mashes his knuckles into the side of his face, hard enough that stars explode around his vision, and h…"
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"He nods, like there was no possibility he was ever going to be wrong.  Glancing towards the nearest window and grasping the coffee tight in his large hand, only letting it go once it burns his palm.  He then begins to unbutton his denim jacket, from…"
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"A muscle in Oliver's jaw flicks when he's instantly labeled a 'damn pup', something of a mixture of amusement and irritation.  He says nothing, and completely ignores the glances coming their way.  People only believe what they want to believe.  And…"
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"It's not like he hasn't had to sleep outside before, but it was a sobering thought.  He'd probably end up changing sometime after midnight, when the stars he can't see tonight- because of all the buildings and smog- are at their brightest, and the d…"
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"Seven and a half agonizing hours later, and the sixteen tonne piece of metal he rode through the sky- all the way from home, to here, the land of "freedom and opportunity"- began to descend towards a stretch of dark, wet pavement.  Flashing yellow l…"
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