Post by Orca on Oct 22, 2010 0:27:20 GMT -5
From where he was hidden, the Tunnel looked near post-apocalyptic, what with the broken buildings everywhere and complete lack of people. There were parts where things weren't so bad, where shops still existed without broken windows and the houses weren't smoldering heaps of ash, but even those parts of the town were empty. It was kinda strange; after all, he'd been there before when there'd been people bustling about, living their lives. He'd splashed them with puddles, and knocked them over when he bounced through the streets. All gone now. He guessed maybe the zombies had changed that. Or one of the wars. Something.
Timewise, it was well into the night now, but still the wolf didn't move, just laid with its muzzle on its paws under its shelter of rubble and watched the area. His pointed ears moved constantly, ever flicking this way and that, sometimes pinning back to press against his head when a thought of the day's events crossed his mind.
He did not like to think of them.
It had started out so strong -- he'd even broken the man's nose, haha -- but then, like always, he'd lost. It was humiliating to think on, so he squeezed his yellow eyes shut and tried to think on happier things. Like that nice girl who'd saved his life. Or that stray dog earlier who'd been so nice. Or Sparky, who, shit, he'd probably just doomed by his idiocy.
Fuck.
Something moved in the distance, distracting the wolf from his unhappy thoughts and he jerked alert, hackles stiff and a growl rising from his chest.Fuck this, if it were Azrael coming back to finish him off, he at least wouldn't die in the dirt like a dog. He scrambled out of his makeshift den and shifted shapes, picking up a huge chunk of broken concrete and hefting it aloft easily.
He did not look like he'd had a pleasant day: his hair was messier than usual and clumped to his sweaty forehead, near hiding the wide, haunted yellow eyes that darted to and fro. His clothes, simple muggle wear, were ripped and dirty, and his skin was pale beneath its tan. He didn't notice; he was too distracted to pay attention to such material matters.
Disheveled, depressed, and completely out of sorts, he awaited his fate. At least he'd go out fighting.
[R.]
Timewise, it was well into the night now, but still the wolf didn't move, just laid with its muzzle on its paws under its shelter of rubble and watched the area. His pointed ears moved constantly, ever flicking this way and that, sometimes pinning back to press against his head when a thought of the day's events crossed his mind.
He did not like to think of them.
It had started out so strong -- he'd even broken the man's nose, haha -- but then, like always, he'd lost. It was humiliating to think on, so he squeezed his yellow eyes shut and tried to think on happier things. Like that nice girl who'd saved his life. Or that stray dog earlier who'd been so nice. Or Sparky, who, shit, he'd probably just doomed by his idiocy.
Something moved in the distance, distracting the wolf from his unhappy thoughts and he jerked alert, hackles stiff and a growl rising from his chest.
He did not look like he'd had a pleasant day: his hair was messier than usual and clumped to his sweaty forehead, near hiding the wide, haunted yellow eyes that darted to and fro. His clothes, simple muggle wear, were ripped and dirty, and his skin was pale beneath its tan. He didn't notice; he was too distracted to pay attention to such material matters.
Disheveled, depressed, and completely out of sorts, he awaited his fate. At least he'd go out fighting.
[R.]