in loving memory / .

Didn't land at all but that was fine, if there was one thing Bishop was going to do it was continuously insult someone over and over again. Worked pretty well: he had no friends, no family except for pencil-dick, and nobody had ever invited him to their shithead baby shower. Sure was a charmed life being an absolute hater, but at least it never got old waking up a brewing a steaming hot pot of who the fuck asked you? juice. "Wouldn't want you getting out and catching rabies or anything, fuck, what if you came back pregnant? Mutt like you?" Bishop pinched his lips together as he did a short, quick wolf whistle to punctuate the joke that much better. "The cage is strong but I'm not playing midwife to your litter." Bishop took a ball and bounced it against the side of the other's pen before he caught it in his hand, the loud thump from floor to cage wall was softened by the quick catch in the palm of his hand. He repeated the motion again, "What should we do in the meantime? Work on some more material?"

River should have anticipated the words that slipped from Bishop's tongue, the continued attempt to joke solely about the species that he had become. A part of his mind, the one that had once been so carefree and reckless, wanted to believe that the other didn't mean anything beyond the humor of it. The other part of his mind, the one that seemed controlled solely by the beast within him, believed the words as they were. Pointed, vindictive, with the full intention to anger and piss him off. The words, the impending full moon; the hold that it had over him, and the feelings that he could no longer control tensed each of his muscles. As if he were preparing for a fight that would not come. "Trying to hide your jealousy behind humor? And after only a minor hookup?" There was a strain to his voice, as he pushed the anger that rippled through him further down. The full moon would rise soon enough, and with it would go his control. If River only had a few more moments to cling to such a thing, he would do so with both hands. His gaze had shifted to the ball, watched as it knocked against the cage, before down to the ground. But he kept his gaze from shifting back to Bishop, "How about you finally tell me what happened that night in the forest? The night I shifted."

"You haven't been watching enough." Bishop argued stupidly because he didn't have any clever clapback in his back pocket and instead just held out some faint hope that maybe there was something they could do. There were about a million bits of folklore on how a wolf was made; drink from the wolf's pawprint under a full moon, wear their pelt on the third Sunday of the month, shake your dick at a tree that's been marked. It went on and on. A bite was easy, maybe going the other way was what was hard. "I don't have to... It held last time." Bishop thought it was probably stupid to sit here cursing the creature that rampaged in its cage rather than getting a good night's sleep. Maybe that wasn't the only reason he wanted to stay though. "But I would. Not like I got anything better to do."

Enjoying the finer things (bar nuts) with his feet up on the table, Alek tipped the sunglasses he'd stolen from Serkan down his nose as he peered over the top of the lenses at the other lycan who'd approached. He smelled... Fresh wasn't the right word. Green, maybe. "These guys are all fucking nut jobs, you shouldn't listen to a word they say." Alek wasn't a big deal; he'd just been some lunatic on an ego trip. He grinned a bit before he took his boots off the table and leaned forward with his feet firmly planted beneath him, "When did you get bit?" The question stemmed from a cocktail of morbid curiosity, minuscule concern, and a need for assurance that he didn't have another pup running around here.

There had been a bit of humor to the words the other had voiced, for River had no intention of really listening to the other lycans. Not unless it tipped him off to who had bit him, or how Bishop and the other hunters could bring them all down. "I work in a bar, not listening to half of what they say is part of the job," though, that wasn't entirely the truth. But why dwindle on something like that, when the former alpha had taken notice of something else entirely. The question had caused him to stiffen, if only for a moment, before his shoulders had lifted in an almost weak shrug, "Couple of months ago now." Which meant that he had still so much to learn about being a lycan, even though he'd learned enough as a hunter.

Lupercalia would see the gates of that walled city spread nice and wide; Bishop wasn't planning on starting anything, but the intel they could get would be useful. All those wolves would be showing off, letting the whole of Rome see what they were capable of and how strong they were. It was so fucking arrogant, but it worked in the darkfriend's favour. He was just one guy, one of four as far as he knew, but even a city had weaknesses, and there was only one prize in there worth going after. "Do that." Bishop said simply; he scratched idly at his chin as he considered letting River in on something. Some motivation could help. "All these 'original' things, your curse started with Lycaon; maybe it can end with him too. We kill the big bad wolf and there's a chance you don't have to use this cage anymore."

There had been a need to push down any thoughts of Lupercalia from his mind. River had barely any control over the beast within him, no memories once he shifted; and now, all the lycans of Rome would be gathering with those that had come to see the spectacle. Tensions would be running high, with the combined shifting of those around him. The very thought put him on edge, made him hesitant on whether or not he should even show up. But the prospect of getting information would be too much to ignore. He couldn't very well pass up the opportunity of seeing some of these bastards in their lycan form. Maybe he'd recognize the one from the forest. Maybe he'd finally get the answers that he had been searching for. "You've been watching too many movies," he chided, though he couldn't deny that the same thought had crossed his mind. Several times, in fact. That maybe, just maybe, bringing down the one that had bit him, or the one that came first would end all of it. But his mind had pushed the thought away again, shifted his gaze to the cage, "Are you staying again for the night?"

Bishop pressed his lips into a tight line; he didn't know how to help the other, at least not now. Putting down the fuck that had bitten River was a good start; it wouldn't reverse what had happened to the former hunter, but it would sure as shit make Bishop feel better about this whole thing. If he were in River's position right now, the last fucking thing that Bishop would want was anyone's pity, so he didn't feed it, and he sure as shit didn't express any sort of sympathy. There was a short nod akin to understanding before he looked off toward the corner of the cage. It wasn't like there was anything to look at; it was just a distraction before he managed to look at River again. The truth was, this could have been him, could have been anyone he'd known; that was one of the many things that sucked so fucking much about this.

There were only two options that stretched out before River now: either live with what he was, or put himself down like many hunters would have done already. There would be no going back, no reversing the curse simply by putting down the one that had bitten him. Despite what some movies claimed was the way of lycanthropy. How fucking comical it was when movies got it wrong again, and again, and again. Because maybe that would have been some sort of solace for River, to know that this could all go away once he put a bullet between the eyes of the fucker who had done this to him. "Yeah, he's there," which spoke to more than River knew in the moment. "Haven't met him yet, but others talk him up," most of these lycans were loose lipped, seemingly ready to spill any trade secrets so long as the one listening was the same as them. "Not that I've seen," though, he'd hardly spent too much time within Lupercal's walls. There was something about being surrounded by lycans that set him on edge. "But I'll keep an eye out. See if I can get anyone to give me more information about them." Because if there was one, surely there had to be others? Ones that didn't particularly find favor upon the streets of Rome.

A brief flicker of concern crossed Bishop's features as he watched River reach up toward his chest; he had an idea of what was happening, but this perspective was still new. He couldn't know what River was going through, and now, in all likelihood, he never would. Bishop saw the pain, though, the violence of that creature living within the ex-hunter just begging to come clawing to the surface. It wasn't Bishop's place, and he didn't have any right to ask, but this part of him had grown at least a little concerned. The division in his mind between man and beast blurred, River was lost, but he wasn't the monster that the full moon forced him to turn into. He was sick. "You alright?"

"It's alright." Damian is awfully used to it, people apologizing to him for Elena Montoya. Everything stings and he wonders if it ever isn't going to, but he doesn't let it stop him. Instead he focuses on what River was getting at and he couldn't say he wasn't really curious about bitten wolves. It had kind of been a thing when he'd met Eric, a kind of responsibility he'd taken upon himself, to assimilate the other wolf. Bitten wolves had it a whole lot harder than born wolves as far as he was concerned, there was so much they didn't know. It could be exciting, but more often than not he saw that it wasn't entirely consensual, that new wolves were made from those of them that couldn't quite control themselves or worse, wanted to increase their numbers. "Are you having any sort of trouble with that?" He raises a brow, more concerned than his easy demeanor lets on.

Nothing came out as Bishop opened his mouth to make some snappy comeback. Instead, he jammed his tongue into the corner of his mouth and shook his head. He'd sneak a peek before and then get a good look at that Christmas party, but the last thing that Bishop would do was comment on it now. Instead, he sat back and folded his hands behind his head. The two of them had fun together; maybe if things were different, things wouldn't be like this, but here they were.

The grin had slipped onto his lips easy enough, a minor reflection of the hunter that he had once been. Carefree, reckless, most often simply looking to have a good time. With the occasional night of tracking down some supernatural, of putting an end to them before he found another source of fun. Maybe there was some slim hope that this new life wouldn't be much different than his last. But then the reminder of the moon settled in, as that beast within him grew antsy. As it begged to be released once more, to take all of its anger out on whoever happened to cross his path. The heel of his palm pressed against his chest, as if somehow that could keep it all at bay.

"You're such a dick," Bishop said, out of fresh material; next time, he'd bring a tennis ball with him and make the asshole go fetch. Or was it felch? Bishop got those two mixed up a lot. With the full moon a few hours away from reaching its crest, they had some time, which felt oddly personal given how unfriendly their dynamic was. River had a chip on his shoulder, and Bishop hadn't convinced himself yet that this wouldn't end with a bullet between the Lycan's eyes. Still, if he could pump the other for information while they were going through all this, he sure as fuck was going to.

While Bishop had not been expecting to see River again or hear from him, the hunter was glad he'd reached out again. While Bishop had no issue convincing himself that it was a situation that had been crafted for mutual benefit, the obviousness between them was that while River kept orbiting this cage, Bishop would keep an eye on him. He didn't know what it took for lycans to get control or if it was even possible; in his mind, the beasts were all feral fucking monsters that deserved to be put down. Last time, Bishop had gone for the gun, just in case; now, he sat in his chair as he watched River almost expectantly.

"Think you might be losing your edge," because even the hunter could have come up with something a little better than that. But hey, everyone had off days sometimes. River wouldn't hold it against him. Then again, that wasn't entirely true, and he absolutely would bring up Bishop's lack of hitting the mark when it came to these same old dog jokes. For the time being, however, he filed it away as he stepped further into the place. There was still a good couple of hours before the moon made itself known, or rather, known to others. For River could already feel its dynamic pull, right down to the very pit of his soul. As if nothing else mattered beyond the silent call.

"They're all itching for a fight, can't tell me you aren't, too." Damian shrugs it off casually because it's just sort of part of life, all the excess energy. "The roughhousing is pretty normal, it's something to do." With said excess energy, he liked to run it off instead of throwing hands, but to each their own. He glances towards members of the Lupo pack in the corner of the tent arm wrestling and that was bound to turn into something else. "I was, my mom was the Tiber alpha, actually. Before the Lupo was even formed." His tone is easy but there's always this thing that twists inside his chest mentioning Elena in the past tense. "I spent a lot of my time growing up around other born wolves, but we're a mixed bag. Bitten wolves come around all the time." He thinks of Eric, Alek, the few younger wolves that'd popped up, he should make more of an effort to introduce them all.

An almost cocky grin took root at the edge of his lips, because River had always been itching for a fight. Or something like it. At least now, maybe, this leveled the playing field. He hadn't been much of a match before, given that height and strength weren't on his side. But the weapons had always been nice, and worked well enough to bring a lycan to their knees. Now perhaps he'd be able to do that without the silver bullets and things. "Shit, sorry if that brought up something bad," the look on his face shifted, akin to almost apologetic, given the way that Damian had used was. In all honesty, one less lycan in the world was perfectly fine with River. If anything, he hoped that he'd be able to help bring down the rest of them. Each and every one of them. "So, the pack... they're, uh, pretty good about helping someone with control and all that?" River didn't particularly care about control, not unless it helped him get closer to the one that did this to him. But each time he thought about it, he thought of how Bishop had looked, about the way that he'd said it was bad. That hadn't left his thoughts, even with the amount of time that had passed.

Matteo offers a shrug of his shoulders as he looks around because it's not not nice by any means, but it's also kind of missing something. "I usually don't mind it." There's a lot less tension, he doesn't have to worry about his mother and her annual Christmas party this year or seeing his father, Cass was here with him. He wondered if his elder sibling felt the same way, relieved that they weren't plagued by relatives this year. "Feels weird not to go home like usual, I guess. What about you?"

Friend; there was something not right about the word, or perhaps its use by the lycan beside him. River had met a lot of creatures in his life, from lycans to vampires to whatever the fuck else went bump in the night. He'd seen the ones trying to live a normal life, or as normal as feeding from one's neighbors could be. To ones that only wished to cause devastation and destruction. This one, he looked keenly like the latter. It put an unsettling feeling in the pit of River's stomach, but he knew he couldn't act like a hunter. That he had to focus his mind towards the fact that he was a lycan now, one that was attempting to fit in with the rest of them. So a roll of his eyes met the words, before he shifted that gaze once more to the sea of people, primarily vampires, around them. Every part of him itched with the sights, the sounds, the smells. Blood lingered in every space, and he could feel the want to do something about it. Perhaps having shown up was the worst decision that he could have made in a while. "It's a party, isn't it? Maybe I'm just here for the free booze and food," his gaze shifted from the crowd to the lycan beside him. The one that still set that feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Why'd you show up?"

"Celebrating after not dying, most likely." Matteo likes River in the sense that he's also figuring all of this shit out. There's some misery to bond together wolves that'd been bitten, that was for sure. The Waffle House Crew and the All Fours bartenders were trauma bonded by job alone as far as he was concerned, if anything the worse stuff happened at the diner after people had been kicked out of the bar. "Not a holiday guy, I take it?"