#detectivewxlf

THERE’S  AN  ABHORRENCE  TOWARDS  HIMSELF  THAT  TRICKLES  IN  CRIMSONRIVULETS,  it  pools  below  prominent  collar  bones,  continues  southward  in  dolorous  hues  of  REGRET.  Bitterly,  does  he  reminisce  upon  those  times,  the  EXCRUCIATING sensation  of  jaws  viced  around  his  throat,  of  claws  SCRAPING,  TEARING  at  exposed  skin,  the  FEAR  that  had  his  heart  thrumming  in  dissonance  against  his  ribs.  

those  scars,  fading  as  they  may,  left  him  distinct &&. purposeful  reminders  of  that  which  he  had  lost,  that  which  he  had  FORSAKEN  &&.  the  family  that  he  could  never  hope  to  return  to.  Part  of  Wolf  YEARNS  to  jerk  away,  to  grab  those  meandering  fingers  &&. shove  them  off  of  him  however,  he  forces  himself  to  remain  still,  perhaps  TOO  still,  struggling  to  swallow  the  lump  of  anxiety  that  had  seemingly  congealed  in  his  throat.  

                                  ❝         cut  it  out  … yer  ticklin’  me.       ❞    

he  grumbles,  although  not  quite  straying  away  from  that  touch,  perhaps,  being  as  audacious  as  to  even  lean  into  it, just  a  tiny  bit.  

               >> 🔥 <<         HE WOULD HAVE CEASED ALL HIS MOVEMENTS    the moment wolf made a sound or   movement   that signaled he wasn’t into this.  he could sense and  FEEL  that some of what he brushed over held   regretful   or bitter   MEMORIES   and   feelings.  he doesn’t say a word as he lay beside    his   wolf and trace the   VARIOUS   scars over his form.  each tells a story he doesn’t know,  hasn’t   THOUGHT ABOUT   asking until this very moment  ----  even then keeping his   CURIOSITY   deep within the confines of his chest.

he gently   BUTTS    his head against wolf’s,  a low   rumble   leaving his chest to try and settle him some,  in a form of comfort.  he   DOESN’T KNOW    if it helps at all,  fingers still moving over skin yet pausing when the request is   BROUGHT UP   ;   almost stopping if not for the  lean    into it that happens.  he holds the laugh that   BUBBLES   in his throat   ;   instead now starting to   SCRATCH   the littlest bit.  

he’s   technically   a dog right   ??   they like scratches right   ??

I WILL BE YOUR FUCKING FRIEND.

Witches, Wolf was familiar with them. They were his more preferable people to deal with especially when weighed up against delinquent vampires who assumed their immorality was birthed through cultist activities.

“Nadia.” he’s cataloguing her name && face; there’s always a time where things such as these come in handy. “ I’m Wolf, Detective Wolf. Welcome to town. ” courteous, as he is with most civilians. “ Of course. It’s a small town. everyone seems to know everyone in these parts.” he knew the best place to nab a coffee && the friendliest elderly woman who sold cigarettes to him on a daily basis from a small corner store — he wasn’t so educated on tourist attractions but atleast he was attempting to be cordial.

A smile appeared on the Witch’s lips as she gave him a confident shake in return. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad here, she was making friends with the authorities already which was a good sign. Now time to explain herself, and her intentions for being here.

       life, the young wolf has discovered, is leagues easier when you don’t go seeking out your own kind.

       while that is hardly the case in this scenario, the fact that hige even addresses the stranger is an oddity in and of itself.  even they aren’t always so eager to follow their nose, much less give in to curiosity  ——  it only invites trouble, they’ve reminded themselves time and time again.  yet, there’s something there, something strange that they aren’t familiar with.  and though it might be in their best interest to keep away, save themselves the hassle of a potential problem, still, they approach the detective, distance kept despite obvious wonder.

“Do you often wander to places where you might happen across the likes of me?” The Wuju Master asked, though his cross-legged posture was as statuesque as, well, a real statue. Only his mouth moved to address the stranger, though his lenses notably arced up into a flurry of activity upon catching the other’s visage, “Though perhaps I am being, how you say, presumptuous? Perhaps you are the sort who likes to wander?”

questions   ??   you send em   !!   |   accepting