Gerwulf wasn't delusional; his mindset was toward you was who you were, after a couple of lifetimes passed, you sort of forgot age was really a thing. Especially after you meet creatures whose faces did not match the age they demonstrated themselves to be. So he let things slide, listening to her words as they sat there, the light breeze turning the smoke and ash about as it cooled the flames for a moment. What Nascha said was true; however, the Family was packed before the concept even solidified, and each person had one. It just depended on whether or not they were good enough to miss.
All the while, he just carried a light smile and a soft look to his eyes. Even though Nascha seemed to ignore his comment and just discard it as rambling, when people were this young, it made sense that that type of information was lost until it made sense with time. "Happy memories don't have to be good ones; sometimes it is brought along by grief. You know, there is a cartoon based on the same." He commented, licking his lip as he moved a hand to throw some more pieces of wood into the fire. That was when she began gaping after he told her a little story.
"Oh, and you get to say that you aren't young? I'm nowhere near old enough to be called ancient. I've met things older than humanity before, jeeze... It is just a difference in perspective. Do you understand now why other packs are a little apprehensive when they meet me? I'm not even born wolf, my origins come from the old stories," Gerwulf stated with a chuckle, looking at her as she stuck out her tongue and playfully taunted him. "It takes a lot to become a story that most Elders speak in hushed tones about, so I earned respect and I live free. Spend my time saving people nowadays in this era. What about you? Tell me a story," He motioned to her as he took a stick and began to move fire about to make sure the meat did not burn.
Her brow furrows; nose wrinkling in a momentary bout of confusion. "How can a memory be considered happy if it isn't good? That doesn't really—make sense to me." She chuckled ruefully—poking at the fire somewhat more aggressively than she had moments before.
Then—she shoots him an incredulous look; her eyebrows arched up until they'd almost disappeared into her hairline. "Seriously? I'm a woman in her twenties. I know I'm a legal adult; but I'm not some immortal creature—I know I may live longer than the average creature but currently my lifespan still matches that of a human. You're talking like you've lived freaking centuries and you don't think calling you ancient is accurate? Alright so they're are things more ancient than you—but that doesn't change anything."
She huffed—resisting the urge to do something juvenile—like possibly sticking her tongue out; again—cocking her head to the side as he continued speaking. "Packs are always wary of outsiders—sometimes a lone wolf can get lucky and be—adopted into a pack; but most times they regard us with apprehension." She shrugged; then tossed the mostly burned stick into the fire—picking up another to prod the flames with. "Not born a wolf...then you were created? Spelled?"
She blew out a soft breath then— "A story? What kind of story?"
"Of course. Memories can be both happy and heartbreaking," Gerwulf responded, wondering why the woman was thinking so hard and making everything so difficult for themselves. All you needed to do was go with your gut, try your best, and live life. In the circumstances that they were trapped with, it may look bleak, but every cloud has a silver lining. Though not truly silver, as most werewolves would complain about that analogy. Shaking his head, then as Nascha complained about age and immortality, there were very few immortal shifters as it were, and being called old was annoying to say the least.
Again, he straightened up a little, stretching out as he yawned, showing his oddly sharp teeth and molars for a moment. "It's still a perspective issue, either way, just relax on the age thing. It gets rude after a while," He stated with a shake of his head, still treating her like a youngling until she behaved like an adult. Legal didn't mean much if the mind didn't follow. When she spoke of packs, he nodded slowly. "Possibly, but there were ancient rites and trials that you can take to join packs. Most don't practice, but it is down to prejudice. For me, when I approach another pack, it is as a leader. Which usually puts those same leaders in an awkward position."
Laughing a little, he watched as Nascha threw her stick into the fire before locating another. "Yep, not born or turned by blood. I am spellbound or one of the cursed? Some call us the original Werewolves. Supposedly, we're the big bad wolves of the world, or some bullshit," Gerwulf stated with a wide smile, chuckling as he reached up to brush his hair back. As old as he behaved right now, he did just look like he was in his late twenties. A European by his features, rugged and as pretty as anyone wearing a flannel shirt. "I expected you to just tell me about Humpty Dumpty out of spite, anything at all. Something that would make you smile."
She shook her head—blowing out a soft frustrated breath. "I don't believe that—if it's heartbreaking then it's not happy." That might just be her perspective; but she wouldn't view the most heartbreaking memory she had—the massacre of her coven; as a happy memory. And when the sadness of that loss tainted the memories she did have—she began to question if her rememberances were really happy occasions. Or maybe there was a simpler reason behind this point of view— "Perhaps it's not the sadness that taints the memories—perhaps it's the knowing that each one was built on a lie. I do have happy memories; but every time I think of them I'm inevitably reminded that they lied to me for twenty damned years—and by the time I've remembered that; I no longer feel any warmth from the rememberance."
She poked aggressively at the fire—a reverberating growl building in the base of her chest. "And stop talking down to me like I'm a child. Just because I don't share your view points doesn't mean you get to be condescending." Her wolf pressed closer to the surface as irritation sparked through her. But—she simply shook her head. "You don't like being reminded that you're old; maybe it wouldn't bother you so much if you stop considering your vastly considerable age as a bad thing. You've seen thing regular people could only dream of—I'm not highlighting your age because it's a bad thing."
"And there's your problem." She snorted softly— "you can't walk up to an established pack with their hierarchy decided and expect to be their leader it doesn't work like that. A member yes—if their Alpha agrees to it. I might have only known I was a werewolf for two years but—that's something I learned quickly. No matter how dominant your beast—you can't expect a seasoned Alpha to submit to you."
She pressed her lips together—muffling the urge to grin. "Huh; who'd you piss off badly enough to get cursed?" Her head cocks to the side and for the first time—genuine interest blossomed in her gaze. Now this was a story—and she'd always been more comfortable hearing stories than telling them; storyteller she was not.
Gerwulf looked up, listening to Nascha as she spoke of her heartache, the memories that she did have, and how those were tainted by lies. Foundations of the inconsiderate, likely with thoughts that were related to keeping them safe or that the truth was worse. No one ever really thinks that the world could end that way, with things unsaid or with the lies as the only things that were left. No matter the reasons people had. He nodded lightly, his own body reacting to the light growl that emanated from the woman. "Fine, I'll stop being condescending. My apologies, Nascha," He stated softly, or as much as that gravelly voice of his could muster.
Gerwulf wasn't proud enough to know when he needed to back down in a situation like this, headstrong perhaps, but this wasn't a hill that he would die on. If she wanted to be treated as an adult, then he would do so. "Age is just a number; it is all dependent on how much you learn and how long you can survive. I don't like being referred to as old, because it feels like when I became a free man, all those years ago. Nothing has really changed. I've earned my scars and the life I lead. But unlike a stone eroded by time, I do no such thing."
Then it was on to his problem, grinning as she snorted. "They usually don't submit, but after a few bouts. They become a little more talkative, I'm not going to take over or anything, not the type. But I am also not the type to bear my throat to anyone who I'm not fucking." He chuckled, being a little more candid now as his eyes flickered in the firelight. Wondering if she would find the mention as amusing as he did or not. Probably not; however, his kind of humor was usually dirty or obscene. "No one in particular, I was fighting in a war. I was so high on mushrooms and the shamanic concoctions that I wasn't quite all there at the time. Woke up half dead, buried in corpses with my body almost rent in two".
Gerwulf stated, pulling open his flannel shirt slightly, showing a massive clawed scar going from between his neck and shoulder down across his chest, disappearing under his shirt. It went further and would have been the death of a person twice his size. "I looked around, drunkenly dragged myself to my feet, and cried out to Óðr for allowing me to fight another day. Found that I was different later on, when I finally did meet others. Each time I embrace the beast, it literally tears my body apart, rending flesh and breaking bone to escape. That and the immortality scared packs even back then. Didn't help that all I knew was to fight, kill, and fuck. I terrorized the old world for a long time, until I sort of mellowed out." Shrugging.
"Took me a while to find balance of a sorts, didn't help with my profession nor how I was raised. Watched my family die glorious deaths," He said, still smiling, a glint of something in his eyes as he looked over to the fire. It was genuine, heartfelt mirth, the supposed bad memories encapsulated with good ones, perhaps. "What is the scariest thing that you have met in your life? Mine was a tentacled thing, came deep from the ocean, and had the voice that buried itself into your mind. It makes you feel small, you know?" He asked, not really looking for acknowledgement or an answer, just sort of telling a story. Most would call it bullshit anyway, so he didn't need to defend his memories.
