My Eyes Are Open Wide { Oran Creed }

[jade]

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[/font][/color] i used to know the name of every
p e r s o n i k i s s e d
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How she had wound up here... She'd never know. That's not true. No, she knew she got here. She packed up everything, threw it into her bag, and started walking. That's how she wound up here. She walked right up to the gates, gave them her name, and coincidentally her scent, and she was allowed in. What she didn't understand is why she didn't stop to think, "Well, gee, I'm going to be walking through a town of all of the people that I don't want to see. Maybe, I should reroute?" But, as Jade had discovered, lately, she wasn't truly herself. Hell, she hadn't even been able to truly be herself. It felt as though she just... woke up to discover that she was in her skin. Like, the rest of her life she had spent disconnected. Or something. Hell, she hardly knew anymore. All that she knew was that... Being here was not helping to calm her nerves. And that something was causing her to be... Off. Perhaps it was just the fact that she had been on her way to Odantton and was scared shitless of who she might meet...

Well, scared shitless wasn't something that she experienced. Being uneasy was the better way to put it.

Holding her cloak tighter around herself, she attempted to make her way through the town as quickly as possible. But, she was losing daylight. The sun was beginning to set and she began to feel as though she was becoming more and more noticeable amongst the werewolves. Certainly, they marked her as one of their own by her scent... But, it was clear that she was an outsider. With her eyes locked ahead of her at all times, it seemed as though she wanted to be anywhere else but where she was currently. If this wasn't a blatant sign of her insecurity, in a place that she should be able to feel comfortable in, she didn't know what was. Just by walking through this town in the way that she was was betraying every little piece of her training; the only thing that she seemed to hold in high regard of late.

Her heart was pounding rapidly. Eyes fixed on her from opposing sides of the streets. Surely, she was just being paranoid. Not everyone could be watching her... Could they? Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she attempted to get herself to relax. Walking with purpose was one thing, but walking like a scared pup with her tail between her legs was something else entirely. Showing weakness amongst these flea biters wasn't really going to do her much good. Especially, since most, if not all of them could smell strong emotions.

Slowly bringing herself to a more relaxed stance, she tucked her thin arms beneath her seemingly oversized cloak. Taking her double bladed katar, Nataz, off of her hip, she slipped the familiar feeling handle between her hand. Her fingers curled tightly around the metal grip. Familiarity bred comfort. Taking a deep breath, she continued her stride, far more comfortable in the environment that she was now in. It wasn't as though they were going to outright attack her. The full moon wasn't to be for another few weeks. Even then, there were only a few werewolves that would attack someone that smelled just as mangey as them. With a renewed sense of purpose, she continued her walk. Let them attack her. She wouldn't mind flaying them. In fact, she'd welcome it. It had been a while since she found herself in the midst of a confrontation.

The smiles that the guards at the gates wore on their lips were for show, she was certain. She was of the same blood; of the same being as them, but she was different. So, terribly different. She would never find herself a place amongst a 'pack'. She would never find herself in a place where she was genuinely accepted for what she was. Even to the Werewolves, she was nothing more than an abomination. In truth, she wouldn't have it any other way. Especially not now that paranoia was filling her thoughts.

Just as the sun was about to peak down below the horizon, she found herself at the edge of the town. With a small nod to the guards, and a tensing of her fingers around Nataz, she made her way through. Soon, she would find herself in the middle of Lost Province... Perhaps, it would be better to take a rest right on the outskirts of Garamond. That a girl... You didn't hit your head too hard last time. You still can manage to put together a decent plan. she mentally praised herself. Slipping her cloak off, she started to get her camp together. She wasn't too afraid of someone coming after her... Unless they were flea biters. Even then, they'd probably just want to hump her leg, or sniff her hair or something. They didn't seem the type to be too terribly interested in her. Now that she was safely away from their walls, she could clear her mind and realize that what she had experienced earlier was needless paranoia.

Jade had never stopped to think what she must have looked like, getting her camp prepared. She knew that she looked fragile, being as small as she was. But, she must have truly looked the damsel in distress wearing a white tunic that appeared to belong to a man, at least thrice her size. The fabric continued to slide carelessly off of her shoulder, causing her to adjust quite often. The tunic was cinched by a dark blue and black underbust corset which appeared to be made by her own hands on the run. Beneath the tunic, she wore a pair of black pants that looked they had belonged to a young boy. The fabric fit snugly around her boyish curves. The only thing that looked like it belonged to her was a pair of suede, black boots. It appeared as though she had simply gathered up all of her things and took off in the middle of the night. Perhaps, she was fleeing an abusive husband? Well, that would be what other's thought at least.

Jade made her way around the camp, swearing under her breath as she expertly set up a makeshift tent, and started a fire. Finally flopping down on top of a log, she grabbed a flask out of her pack. A small smile came to her lips as she took a long pull from it. Making a satisfied noise, she plopped the tankard down beside her. Life wasn't so bad when she had a canteen of mead... She just wished she could put something else in there, stupid Sorcerer and his alcoholic tendencies...

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[/font][/color] now i made this bed and i can't
f a l l a s l e e p i n i t
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WORD COUNT ❧ 1,129
INSPIRATION ❧ "Second Chance!"
TAGS ❧ Oran Cranston Creed
NOTES ❧ Did I mention that I suck at opening posts?

[tristan]

Garamond had always been a place the Bard held little love for. There was just something about the tendencies of the wolf-kin to stick their sensitive noses in business that wasn’t their own that irked him terribly. Too many questions posed too many problems, in the man’s mind. Garamond was a place where secrecy wasn’t valued as much as information was. Thus, the city, in itself, was a valuable place if one had the patience and the ears to find what information was held valuable. Yet, Oran Creed didn’t have that sort of patience. He had none for those who would rather know the man for who he was, rather than just let a stranger walk amongst their streets. To some degree, it was respectable, but when you had dogs, of all things, hounding your steps and sniffing at your ears…well, annoyances were merely that. And some dogs always felt themselves the bigger terror, barking louder, scratching more incessantly, and making their puffed up bravado a display for all who had eyes for them.

If only they knew what sort of dog they were dealing with when it came to this man. For Oran Creed had approached Garamond three nights prior. His aim wasn’t anything less than to consult one of his contacts concerning payment of a contract that had been long overdue. Yet, even with his business being as simple as it was, Garamond wasn’t the type of city one simply walked into. But that was precisely what the Bard intended to do. The man approached the gates, hood drawn high over his head as the cloak that concealed him swept idly behind him with the light breeze. The two guards instantly regarded him, crossing their arms in a defiant stance and one of authority. Oran’s steps paused just before them.

“What is your business, human?” One of them growled low in his throat.

Oran’s eyes regarded him, his gaze piercing into his. “My business is my own. That should be enough for you.” As he took a step further, the hand of the second guard reached to his shoulder seizing the man by his cloak.

“Garamond has no place for strangers!” The guard barked, which only incited a smirk from the man.

“If you don’t wish to lose that paw, I suggest you remove it. I am no ordinary human, mutt. If the name of the Bard means anything to you, heed it. Else, you can look to your gut and find my steel far past your guard.” The wolf hesitated, his eyes falling to the human’s waist. From beneath the cloak, a shortsword had been drawn, the tip resting against the guard’s abdomen. The second guard merely nodded to the first, which caused his comrade to release the man from his grip. “I am glad you see reason. It’s made of silver, I assure you. Do not worry, though. My sword goes only for my enemies. Pray that I find none within your walls, and no blood need be spilled.”

Oran was bid to enter, but requested only that he keep his peace, which he would. He had no love for conflict, save for when it was deserved. Creed was a man of pride, and any disrespect that came to him on another’s part was quickly served with a warning. If that warning were not heeded, then his actions could not be held against him. The man’s reputation within Garamond was unstable, at best. Some saw him as a threat, others as an asset, and others, still, merely as a stranger to be given a wide enough berth that nothing ill may come from him. That berth had been given him, the whispers of his challenge upon entering the city were clear after his first night’s lodge at the city’s inn. When morning came, he went about his business, doing that in which he intended to do. Oran received his payment, giving his contact the share of his cut.

But the man did not leave Garamond. There was no pressing business that he might attend to, so the man saw no reason to leave so hastily. This city was a treasure of information when the right visitors stirred the inhabitants to speak on matters they would rather keep silent. Such a visitor had come to Garamond just this night. Oran was surprised to see how freely they regarded one of their own, and in such different manner, as well. It was neither a warm greeting, nor a harsh one. It was the way in which mothers would guard their kits, shielding them from her sight, ushering them inside. Some of the younger, more curious males would watch after her, their interest peaking before an elder would quietly chastise them and send them off. It made him smile. They’d labeled the woman an outcast, clearly.

Her dress had been so odd, as well. Between articles of clothing, Oran could only think that she had pieced together her outfit from that which she could find, rather than actually own. Her shirt was far too large, the shoulders slipping off to expose her arms every now and again, kept in place only by the corset she wore. The tight pants that clung to her waist were unbecoming of her natural height. She was built as he expected a female of their species to be, though, as a whole, Oran could say that if she were anything other than what she were, she was not unhandsome. Yet, being as what she was, Oran did not rightly see what all the animalistic fuss was that allowed some of the males to clearly gauge whether or not they had a chance to chase after her. He supposed that was merely the nature of it. A dog would sniff after anything that seemed available for courting.

Still…a large part of Oran had been intrigued. As he settled into his seat within the corner of the pub, the man listened carefully upon the conversations of others. “Why would she even bother showing up here? She has no pack. She belongs to no one…”

“True enough, but that does not mean that she isn’t one of our own.”

“Regardless, she brings up too many questions for the younger generation. The more she walks around, the more our youth will question whether or not they could make it without the aid of a pack.”

“In any case, the woman’s unnatural. Let her be, and push her from your minds, just as we always have.”

Oran could not quite fathom the dynamic. This was what they thought of their kind when they sought to make their own mark on the world? When a boy left home, it was seen as a glorious day. A boy had become a man, and he would go to seek his fortune, start a family, and live the life that he wanted to lead. His independence was something that was nurtured, not impeded. It was one of the many reasons Oran disliked this city. If you were not of their kind, it was clearly and easily noted, and the wolf-kin seemed to take pleasure in letting you know of their pack mentality. They were a functional unit, keeping you their own set of rules and guidelines, which Oran refused to learn of. They did not matter.

Still, the city seemed to relax upon her leaving, and seemed to breath a contented sigh when Oran did, as well. The woman had intrigued him. Enough so, that he would follow her for yet a while. There was something within her unique situation that the man could relate to. Oran was intelligent, especially when it concerned the subject of his quiet reconnaissance, He stayed downwind, keeping careful sure that his scent wouldn’t reach her. For a while, he merely watched. Watched as she set up her camp, settling in next to the fire. Oran had many nights just as the one she expected to carry on with. Although Oran hardly ever bothered to make a tent, a tree would usually serve him well enough. If it weren’t a tree, it were merely a soft path of earth with which a fire could keep warm. The shelter of his cloak had usually been enough.

Decidedly, the woman posed very little threat, especially to someone of his caliber. Oran made his approach. When he’d come within range, he found that the wolf had sat with her back to him. Slowly, the cunning accent of a high desert nomad split the silence of the night, “They call you an outcast….Why?” Oran Creed stood no more than ten yards from her, his hand resting on the pommel of his longsword as his weight leaned to one leg. Hopefully, she wasn’t the jumpy type.

[jade]

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[/font][/color] i used to know the name of every
p e r s o n i k i s s e d
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Jade's large green eyes sparkled in the flickering flames as she looked up. She could hear someone coming. Blinking a few times, she subtly took a deep breath. If there was something to learn about someone that was approaching her, she could do so with scent. Anything other than a Werewolf or Human would be reason for concern. Well, even humans were reason for concern. Beyond that, she would be able to smell their intentions. Well, at least, that was the hope. Some people had gotten so good at hiding what they wanted that not even the most skilled of Werewolf noses would have been able to pick up on such scents. Her eyes moved lazily down to her lap as though she decided whatever she heard was nothing to be concerned about. The figure sounded as though it was approaching her from behind... Subtly, she shifted as though scratching her leg. She pulled out one of her unnamed boot daggers, making sure to keep any noise that the blade might have made scuffing against the leather of her boots was silenced. An eager tongue flicked at the inside of her cheek. She couldn't smell the intentions of this man, and that put her on edge.

However, since she couldn't tell the intentions of this man she wouldn't know whether to be on edge when he was finally close enough, or whether to be 'welcoming'. The thought almost caused her to burst into hysterical laughter. Jade, welcoming? She was probably one of the most prickly people that there was out there. Getting to know Jade was like hugging a cactus and expecting it to 'feel good.' Acceptance was never something that was taught to her. Why should she spend the time welcoming others? They would never do the same for her. As was proof of today as she walked through the werewolf village. Those were supposed to be her own kin, but she could feel their eyes boring in through her, as though they were attempting to stare right through her. That, was not welcoming. Rolling her thumb over the edge of her Demascus blade she waited patiently. Despite the fact that she seemed as though she wasn't paying attention, her ears were perked waiting for the sound of a taut bow string, or the sound of a blade being unsheathed. So much for being safe outside of the Werewolves territory...

It didn't take too much longer for the approaching man to find his way to her. With narrowed eyes, her fingers tightened around her blade. If his scent hadn't already sold him as being a human, his accent would have. She chuckled lightly as he decided to slip right into the interrogation. Was this why he was following her? Because she wasn't rolling around in the grass with the rest of the pups? Clenching her jaw, she sucked in a deep breath, her Demascus blade falling all but limp in her hands. "They call you nosey. Do you wanna know why?" she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the flame. Jade was, by far, not a people person. She had forgotten how to speak a long time ago. Not just to open her mouth and slur together meaningless syllables. No, speaking with someone. Her tongue grew heavy at the idea of the effort that it would be extending. Her tongue was exhausted with the prospect that it would continue to work, piecing together sound after sound only to fall on the deaf ears of a man, or a woman, that simply didn't care.

With a bit of a dramatic sigh, she stood slowly so as not to cause alarm to the man that was standing behind her. Nothing about him struck her as jumpy, but one could never be too certain. While he might have been completely calm staring at her back, it was fully possible that upon the sight of seeing her standing, he would get a little 'trigger happy', thinking that she was going to be the one to strike out first. Which, of course was the furthest thing from the truth right now. While the man was grating to her, he wasn't killing. At least, not yet. The tunic she wore slid over her shoulder, revealing that despite being as small as she was that she was all muscle. Most assumed that she simply didn't eat in order to keep her lithe frame. While, it was partially true that Jade didn't eat as much as she should have she still worked a great deal harder than every other woman she had met. Sure, she'd never have full curves that would make a man week in his knees, and she was relatively alright with that. Her boyish curves made it possible for her to disguise herself as a man when necessary, and made it easier to crawl around in places that a girl, even a few pounds heavier than her, wouldn't be able to make it through.

Moving over toward the other side of her camp, she reached into her pack and started to grab at a few items. She waved a hand over toward where was sitting. If he was going to be spending any time with her, he could at least sit down so as not to give off the 'I'm about to kill you any moment' vibe. While, that might still be the case, Jade would much prefer a civil conversation before being sent to the Maker. Pressing her full lips together, she pulled out a few sweet berries that she had picked up during her travels, as well a pouch full of dried meats. There was a loud swishing noise as she tossed her water filled canteen onto the pile. "Why does it matter if I'm an outsider amongst the Werewolves? And why should it matter to a human?" she asked, keeping her tone completely neutral. There was no animosity coloring her words as she asked him why he should care. It didn't offend her that he was curious. She simply didn't understand how he had stumbled across that opinion, or why he really cared all that much. To others, she was simply a gangly traveling woman wearing odd clothes. She was nothing spectacular to pay attention to. Unless... She truly had gotten that much attention while walking through the home of the werewolves. For a moment, she frowned as the though occurred to her, but she quickly pushed it aside. There would be another time for her to think of such things; now wasn't that time.

"Am I an outcast because I do not smile every time I someone's face?" she asked, gathering up everything in her arms and walking toward him. She pulled out a spare cloth and laid down the food between them on the ground as she sat down on the log. Running a hand over her knee, she allowed her eyes to move to the fire once more. "Am I an outcast because I do not wish to mate with one of my kind and spend the rest of my days barking at those that walk around outside my fence?" she said, slowly dragging her gaze back over to him. "I suppose the question to ask is why would you call me an outcast? Why would they call me an outcast? I don't see myself as such. Because I reject their ideals. How can I be shunned when I've already shunned them?" She sniffed and gathered a few berries with her slender finger tips. She ate them slowly as though thinking about the words that had just escaped her lips. It had been some time since she had been forced, verbally, to face that she was totally different than the rest of them. She wasn't quite sure how to feel at the moment. While he was prying she found that she had no interest in searching deeper beneath the surface with this man. Hell, she hadn't even really looked at him. Such a rude entry caused her to feel less than obliged to pay attention to him.

"So, what is it then?" she asked, after a long pause. "Do you see why I am an outcast in your own thoughts? Or are you just as blind to their reasons as I am?"

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[/font][/color] now i made this bed and i can't
f a l l a s l e e p i n i t
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WORD COUNT ❧ 1,381
INSPIRATION ❧ "Second Chance!"
TAGS ❧ Oran Cranston Creed
NOTES ❧ :3

[tristan]

Oran's eyes noted the woman as she shifted, his gaze following over her figure as she settled back in. It was always difficult to catch a werewolf, of all things, off guard. Still, all he needed was to prevent her from marking him upon the initial approach. Anything, thereafter, was of little concern to him. Whether she wished to respond in hostility or not was entirely to her to decide, and any reaction would be duely handled. Silver, even in the smallest of amounts, would do wonders to make one of the beast's passive. Even so, Oran had absolutely no intention of letting things get to that point, whether she decided to turn that blade in her hand against him, or not.

One should never let the atmosphere change in accordance to their expectations. When she stiffened, the air stiffened. When he stood behind her, she knew his words would come before they were spoken. Of course, she would be more than ready to defend herself. It was in the nature of a wanderer. "They call you nosey. Do you wanna know why?"

Oran smirked faintly, his breath exhaling slightly as he stiffled a small laugh. "They call me many things. Dangerous, unpredictable, skilled, useful, untrustworthy, resourceful...Bard. Pray tell, when ever did nosey come amongst my many charming features?" He often found it amusing to hear new outlooks on just what others saw of him. For, indeed, the story and manner of the Bard changed from location to location. Each account seemed to be more skewed than the last.

Pity that none knew just who the Bard actually was. None knew Oran Creed for the man he was. They knew only the mercenary, the figure behind the deeds and the enigmatic tales that spun around the name of the Bard wove an intricate web of possibilities for one to base their assumptions upon. Yet, that was the life Oran wanted. To be alone meant to be subject under none; to be hurt by none. It was safe. It was logical. It was desirable. Why, then, did he feel so drawn to this one? Why did he not just let her walk by, take note of her, and then let her pass from his mind?

...It was the eyes...

The eyes that followed her, haunted after her as though she were some manner of curse that had come to revisit them from their memories. That same tension that filled the air was the same in which Feras had been only thirteen years ago. When the boy left to find his own path, the city seemed to sigh, just as Garamond had. Oran had been naive, then. Naive to think that humanity would look after their own and that morality had a place in the world. That love would be enough to protect one from betrayal. But it was all false. It was all a mask that was worn so no one knew your real face. Your identity was all you had. When it was discovered, it would be used against you. That's why no one knew Oran Creed. That's why Oran Creed had died as nothing more than a young man to the knowledge of anyone who could have possibly known that name.

It was those eyes, that same arrogance in the hearts of civilians who tended to their daily chores-- milling about with some sense of undignified purpose as though their life meant something-- that tore his patience to shreds. The pieces were laid at his feet, waiting to be collected. So, the Bard left. The Bard left just as Oran Creed had done in Feras, and the same sigh of relief followed. But why was she an outcast? Did Oran wish to know why she was labled as such? No...He knew why. Wolves were predictable, stubborn in their ways. He wanted to know why she chose this life. A life apart from it all.

The woman bid him into her camp, which Oran accepted. He crossed her perimeter and moved across the fire as she milled about, again. He did not sit. He felt no need to. Instead, the man slipped the hood of his cloak down to his shoulders, his sandy blond hair waving freely in the light wind. His rugged, weathered features could be easily marked against the light of the fire.

The lining of his jaw was smooth and angled gently to his chin. His pale blue eyes were not deep-set as his father's were. His nose had once been straight and pointed, but was now slightly hooked from being broken once or twice. The stubble that ran the length of his jaw gave him signs of his prime age and led to the goatee that had been trimmed and well-kept for some time. Oran had never been considered unhandsome, which he had his mother to thank for. She was the only saving grace within his genetic makeup, as far as he was concerned.

"Why does it matter if I'm an outsider amongst the Werewolves? And why should it matter to a human?"

A fair question, and one that was deserving of an answer. Of course, Oran had answered that question for himself many times before, yet he never seemed satisfied with the answer that came to him. "Would it matter something different to an elf? What of a fairy? Should they see a difference between wolf or human when it comes to such a thing?" He returned her question with yet another, which served, in part, also as his answer. "It is to your deciding for what it means; it belongs to none other. If it mattered little, then you would not have left with your tail between your legs, nor entered in a similar fashion."

Oran did not speak with the intention to scar her pride. His words were flat and blunt, but it was the man's eyes that spoke the truth of his remarks. Those same eyes watched as she began to gather food, which he supposed she had done quite a bit of work to assemble for her journeys. Something told him this woman didn't exactly come by money very often. Her frame was too thin to suggest that she ate regularly, despite the clear strength of her body. She began to speak as she moved towards him, her steps still careful so as to not invite his sword arm from moving to the hilt of his weapon. It was a respectable course of action, though entirely unneeded.

She began to post questions to him, just as he had done to her. A commendable response. One did not exchange information lightly, though Jade had given him a considerable amount of food for thought with her words, despite whatever her intentions may have been. The man remained silent, however, letting her speak until contented. When she had finished, Oran reached to the cloth, selecting what he supposed much have been a date. He toyed with it absently, rolling it between his fingers and in his palm. Finally, he popped it into his mouth, savoring it for a few idle moments.

"So, what is it then?" she asked, after a long pause. "Do you see why I am an outcast in your own thoughts? Or are you just as blind to their reasons as I am?"

"I am blind to nothing, yet I also think of my own accord. How should one decide truth when he does not see both sides of the coin?" He began quietly, his eyes moving to hers. Oran's gaze held against hers, his lips stretching to the faintest of smiles. "You are who you choose to be. Nothing more; nothing less. If this is your choosing, then it matters little as to what arrogance may grit its teeth against you-- be it human, or wolf."

He nodded to her slightly. "You are but another life apart from a world that preaches conformity. When one moves against the routines this world holds dear, they treat you as an infected wound. It is easier to cut the infection from the flesh than to attempt to heal it. If that is what an outcast is, then I am a more horrid disease than any human could imagine."

Oran Creed had been the disease. The Bard was his cure. So, which man now sat across from this wanderer who seemed to rival him so well in likeness as to cause the man to consider removing the barriers that had been installed for so many years?

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notes:: Sorry, t'is crap, but I wanted to get something to you. Finally got internet in my room, so I will actually be able to be active, now. =3

[jade]

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[/font][/color] i used to know the name of every
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"They call me many things. Dangerous, unpredictable, skilled, useful, untrustworthy, resourceful... Bard. Pray tell, when ever did nosey come amongst my many charming features?" Jade heard the amusement in his tone. Rolling her neck to one side until she heard a satisfying pop of the bone, she did the same to the other. "You mean to say that I'm the first to call you nosey?" she said, looking over her shoulder at him, her face blank, all but a faint smirk on the corner of her lips. "Well, then I suppose that I should be honored to have seen such a vulnerable and bare side of yourself. Or, perhaps, everyone else that you've ever had the pleasure of spending time with has just been dense." She chuckled and shook her head. While she didn't trust this man, she couldn't help but feel a little bit more at ease with him. Jade was nowhere near ready to drop her guard. To do so would be suicide. But, she did feel as though there was a bit of a familiarity that this man offered; a familiarity that could only be born of being kindred spirits. If that were the case, that would only make the man that was looming behind her all the more dangerous. The difference between the two of them was that Jade never felt the dire need to make herself known. She worked better being anonymous; playing in the background. She was a force to be reckoned with, but not a force to be known. The second that her name passed through someone's lips in any kind of familiar tone would be the second that she needed to throw herself upon her sword; for she had lost everything that had made her such a damn good assassin.

However, the amusement that showed on her lips, and in her tone was paired with a bitter sense of annoyance. This man had no business coming to her camp, nor did he have any business inquiring about the life that she was living. Yes, she was an outcast. And very much so. But that didn't mean that was a subject that others were permitted to breach with her. It was clear that she wasn't one for talking, yet this man stood in her camp looking as though he expected to have a spot of tea with her, only to reminisce about the old times when the 'world was fair', and the 'Queen's were just as righteous as they were beautiful.' It was a song and dance that she had grown accustomed to, but it wasn't something that she would ever truly crave for the sake of companionship, or to kill the boredom that threatened to spill many a man's blood. Frustration was boiling up to the surface, threatening to take over the entire evening. Great. She was intending on having a relatively relaxed evening outside of the lands of the werewolves. But, it seemed as though the Gods had a cruel story written for Jade this night. All that she had to do was act out what was left on the remaining pages, and get along her merry little way.

Conversations on how she was an outcast never truly went over all that well with Jade. She had very few triggers... But expecting her to be something that she wasn't (and even worse, something that she hated) was something that didn't go well with her at all. Sure, she was a Werewolf, but she was nothing like the others. In fact, she attempted to change everything about herself that was even remotely animalistic. The hatred that she felt for her own kind was beyond any other kind of hatred she had ever felt. And she gathered, it was extreme for most people to even attempt to understand. Of course, Jade couldn't really bring herself to care about what others thought on most days... Then again, most people didn't just saunter right into her camp to interrogate her as to why she was so different. This man had plenty of... Something. Jade couldn't quite figure out if he was just ballsy or if he was just plain stupid. She had to wager that perhaps it was a little bit of both. After all, anyone that took to traveling for a living couldn't be completely right in the head, and it did take a great deal of courage to be able to pick up everything and start living a life outside of what they normally would live... She was away from the 'comforts' of home, and of a stable family as was this man. There was always something that happened that caused them to choose a life of solitude over a life filled with family and friends. However, Jade was so frustrated that she didn't want to spend the time contemplating such things. This man, to her, wasn't someone that she wanted to consider human. Hell, she didn't want to think about him in any other way than an annoyance flitting around her camp fire... like a fly, or something along those lines.

She asked him why it mattered to a human why she was an outcast, to which he smartly replied by playing the simple game of semantics. "The real question is why it should matter to anyone." she said, curtly. "Fairy, elf, human, werewolf. Why should my affairs be something that others ponder? This is my life to live, as I'm certain that your life is yours to live, Bard." she said, recognizing his name, not so much recognizing his face. Lifting her Jade eyes to meet his, she kept her facade stony, keeping everything that she was feeling under lock and key. It had been a long time since anyone had seen themselves worthy of forcing themselves into her life in one way or another. Most of those people didn't stay there long, seeing as how Jade went through great lengths to make sure that she pushed said people away. "You seem to think because I didn't stop to talk politics and frivolities with the Werewolves that I sauntered in like a chastised pup, and left like my nose had been rubbed in my own shit." she said, her tone flat, despite the fact that the syllables escaped her lips as though she was spitting them out at him. "I choose who I associate with and who I do not. Those barking flea biters are not what I associate with. And I urge you, traveler." she said, quietly, her fingers twitching giving away that she wasn't nearly as comfortable as the rest of her demeanor would indicate. "That it would be smart of you to drop the subject."

Silence. That was what she wanted at the moment. She didn't want to be faced with a conversation such as the one that she was having. In fact, it bothered her greatly that she was attempting to settle down from a rather stressful day to a hot meal, and perhaps a bit of the acrid tasting liquor that was housed in her flask. "I am blind to nothing, yet I also think of my own accord. How should one decide truth when he does not see both sides of the coin?" Her eyes flitted up to him once more, gauging his reaction. "You are who you choose to be. Nothing more; nothing less. If this is your choosing, then it matters little as to what arrogance may grit its teeth against you-- be it human, or wolf." Pursing her lips she shook her head, her eyes moving over toward the flames. "I'm afraid that my side of the coin is worn and tarnished. The original engravings are lost, and so is the original story." she took a deep breath and looked up at him. "I have none, for I want none. This is the life that I chose." She shook her head, a seemingly melancholy air coming over her. "I am an Outcast, in every sense of the word, but as you have said, this is the life that I have chosen for myself. The decision was mine to make, and it is mine to live with. This is why I do not take kindly to those poking their nose into my affairs."

Making a happy noise when he gave her metaphors of disease and of outcasts, she smiled at him. "That is very nicely put. Although, I don't believe that you're the most horrid disease that any human could imagine... No, there are far worse out there. I'm sorry, but I simply cannot allow you to stroke your ego on that one." She pressed a few more berries to her lips before putting the handkerchief that they laid in on the ground. Whether she realized it or not, she had given him a huge look at who she was. While her walls were still up, she had revealed that she was in fact capable of feeling, and loneliness had taken it's hold on her heart a long time ago. Was that what was causing her to loosen her lips? Or was it because she was sitting across from someone that she might learn to call a kindred spirit?

"I assume nothing." she said, quietly, rubbing her hands together before putting them over the flame. "But I have known of you for some time now." She refused to meet eyes with him as she spoke. "I feel safe in saying that you know what it means to be an Outcast. The difference between you and I is that you have a name in your solitude. I have none." She swallowed, and leaned back, pressing her hands to the dirt beneath her. "So, I ask you, in all honesty... What drew you to me that you felt the need to track me, and then question me? The prospect of a kindred spirit?"

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[/font][/color] now i made this bed and i can't
f a l l a s l e e p i n i t
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WORD COUNT ❧ 1,646
INSPIRATION ❧ "Second Chance!"
TAGS ❧ Oran Cranston Creed
NOTES ❧ Sorry for the long delay! D8