You're brought into Toronto, Canada, either ordered by the Council to join the Pack or Clan that resides there for the impending war, to strengthen their numbers, and provide a hand within the war, or you've moved here simply to find a fresher start to life. Will you stand on the sidelines in the Neutral Territories? Or will you decide to take part and choose a side? Your destiny awaits you, make sure to head over to our homesite (link found in the Navigation Section) to begin your journey!
It made him itch. So many bodies in such a space - even as large as the pack den - made him chafe. As his eyes flickered to another newcomer (this one more uncertain and anxious) he took another deep drag of his rolled cigarette, exhaling slowly only when his lungs begged for more.
Why would the Council send for so many?
His discomfort borne from so many new faces was only fueled by the instability of it all. The lack of order and rank and organization - when so many existed beneath one banner - fed an innate desire to see it all put to order.
Which in turn fed an ever deeper desire to smoke and brood and settle himself. A fellow accustomed to being alone did not acclimate to being in the throes of social levity quickly or easily. It wasn't his place to put the chaotic pieces in their proper setting (just as it was not his place to protect this area, or interact with new travellers), even if instinct drove him to do so. After many centuries the elder werewolf mastered an enviable level of stoicism and control...
Even when he gave a lingering glance to the current Alpha. While his exterior remained rather stony and unfriendly, Acacia might have been able to pick up on the subtle cues that communicated his true nature. While appearing aloof, he was paying keen heed to the interactions of all involved: should Acacia need it, she wouldn't be outnumbered or outgunned betwixt the strangers. She need but give the word to have his... assistance.
Until then, he merely loomed as he was apt to do, smoking his cigarette and leaning on the banister of the porch.
Motorcycles - like cell phones - were rarely as quiet as they advertised. Sitting on the porch he watched her as she drove the remaining length of the drive and chatted freely to a voice on the phone. While not exactly a willing audience, he became one, his dark eyes staring at the critter that approached with a confidence that suggested she might be part of Acacia's clan already.
… Except she wasn't. His territorial instincts spurred him, urging him towards a (very unfriendly) response.
Instead, he breathed, exhaling a large plume mixture of tobacco and herb smoke. His eyes remained fixed, his face steely upon her. She nodded. He did not.
Gut responses aside, it wasn't his place to check and balance new comers. Thinking back to Willow and the Alpha, he took solace in the probability that Acacia could handle whatever the... Potential Delta... needed, even if somehow her manner made him bristle.
As tempting as it was to end up in the kitchen, he slipped past it all the same. Instead he returned to the outside world where he felt more comfortable with the lack of constructed walls and absence of stuff. Out here he saw the woods from a new perspective, peering outward into the tangle of trunks and greenery.
Truthfully he had been sent here for one purpose and one purpose alone. The vampires. After having spent almost five centuries tracking, hunting, and killing them it was no shy thing to admit he was good at it. If nearly three centuries of it had been spent mostly slaying them alone with the occasional inclusion of ally forces, than that ought reaffirm his skill as well. Bred from other vampire-killers, his pedigree and his destiny had been certain.
And his future remained as certain. Those like him did not grow old and retire. Nay. They grew old and died like old warriors and hunters often do as they - weak - fall victim to the prey they hunted for years effortlessly. Twas the manner of things.
Taking a cigarette out and lighting it, Rux began to smoke on the porch.
His gaze drifted between things that moved, his patient eyes noting the delicate and passionate nature of youth. He observed the coqettish back and forth of Kari and Everett, remembering (perhaps) a time and place eons ago when he shared such subtle exchanges with women of similar breeding and age.
… He was so much older now. It was not often he met wolves that shared his grey hairs and lived the history he had... and compared to many, he was already an elder that ought be retired despite the health and vigor still locked in his bones. As their leader spoke of ranks and responsibilities - of duties - and the necessity of each creature being in their place, he remained stoic.
He had came with no letter and had told her not of the Council's suggestion of his presence. And it was unlikely he would offer that information (or any other details about himself) if she did not ask. But if that was the case, what would Acacia assume about him, where would she place him?
In response to her words, Rux merely 'Hmm'd a contemplative noise, indicating his understanding and little more as his ears caught the barest of mutterings from Willow as she left. The room was emptying indeed and when he glanced to the Alpha again she was engrossed in her notes.
He followed behind the others, his eyes taking in details innately. Rux noted windows and exits, mentally marking the locations of rooms in relation to one another merely from cursory glance. Closed spaces made him edgy and tight quarters shared with others was its own type of hell… but it was just a feeling fostered from being alone and self-reliant for so long. Discomfort aside, he would deal with it and adjust to it like he dealt with and adjusted to everything else...
But there was just... so many. His steely gaze remained steely when he looked over the faces of men and women the barefoot Alpha had ushered into her abode. Had any of these wolves an intention of coupe or a united, cohesive grab for Acacia's status or belongings, it would not have been difficult to mastermind at all...
She must be very confident, very optimistic, or... very fresh to her role. His eyes rested upon her. How much experience did their fearless leader possess? Had she ruled in the ruthless hierarchies of Russia? Why was she in the new world? Questions begged to be asked.
And perhaps Acacia had questions of her own, too.
Having followed her in, he had remained… nearby. Taking up a stand with his arms folded at the fringes of the gathering, he rested near a wall that gave him adequate surveillance of both the exits and folks gathered. Though not far from the Alpha, he remained quiet... Until he spoke.
"два медикам. благословение в войне. да?" He said, tilting his head a little. He had heard her mumbling words and the tone in which she said them, and in due course he offered his own thoughts, casually, on the matter. It was lucky to have the 'problem' she was posed with... presuming either one was trustworthy. While not apt to denounce the merits of others he knew not, he was always wary of anyone who made a career of practicing, especially if it was the practicing of medicine.
Relinquishing himself back to silence, Rux (purposefully or not) merely loomed, waiting for whatever would happen next.
Rux's 'bedroom' does not exactly fit the norm of what the rest of his Pack has prescribed to. Instead of taking up residence within the house, he has chosen to make the neighboring woods his abode. During the evenings he pitches a hammock betwixt two trees and in the mornings he packs it up. Occasionally he will also attach a windbreak or rain barrier, but usually the hammock is left to the elements. During the colder months he can be found stoking and nursing a fire through the night, but Rux appears to not have adjusted to the idea of living in a house or the commodities that might be involved in doing so (yet).
... With that said, he may or may not sneak into the house for showers and baths (which he has come to quite like), but when necessity strikes he has been known to use the local creeks and rivers for his daily routines. It is also noted that Rux apparently has an aversion to clothing... and perhaps more than one local has confused the large, tall, hairy wolf as a very naked, very bare-assed Bigfoot.
He attempts to remember to at least wear trousers when he ventures closer to the House.
It had been a rather long spell of time since Rux had found himself in the middle of so much. While there was a level of solace in the fact that these were wolves like himself, there was also an acknowledgment that.. they might not really be like him at all. He did not live in the throes of the technological age. In fact, his life was remarkably simple and his existence shockingly bare. He owned very little. He traveled very much. He did not go to markets for his vittles. He caught it, he killed it, he cleaned it, and he cooked it... and if he did not, he did not eat.
But being different might not be so awful. And new faces weren't always so bad. Overwhelming, yes, but not bad. As he looked to Genesis as she spoke - noticing her polite manner of including him in something that he may or may not deserve - Rux recalled the great joy of being in the presence of other beings he did not consider prey or adversaries.
… Maybe this... house... would be a new home. And maybe these women, new... housemates. And if that was the case, could he complain? At Genesis introduction Rux dipped his head in polite recognition, but what relaxed his tense, formal demeanor was the hearing of something familiar. His dark eyes had settled on what he assumed to be the Alpha, listening to her speech beyond the obvious iteration of Russian words.
He had not expected a welcome that included familiar sounds. "моя благодарность," he replied, the smallest of smiles slipping through and warming his otherwise gruff words. "I am Rux," he glanced to Genesis, giving her a more evident grin to ease the possibility that she might not understand the warmth of his gratitude when it was spoken in Russian. He then took up the rear, following behind the women as they ventured into the house (presuming they both did, of course).
So this is it? He thought to himself, examining the home betwixt the branches of trees from a fair distance away. With attentive ears and curious eyes he took note of the plethora of scents and smells and sights that unfurled before him. There was a congregation not moments before - many women, a few men - and the recent nature of the event was not without its own note.
Perhaps he was late.
Or perhaps the winds had favored him in being a bit behind the main horde. A slight smile broke his rather neutral guise, the tiniest of grins cracking away at an innately stoic facade. He much rather learn about those that went before him than be stuck in the midst of so many new faces so quickly. He rather meet them one at a time, on his own terms, and with things the way they were he was sort of allowed that privilege.
As the sounds of moving feet and chattering mouths dimmed, he neared. Coming from the woods his eyes skimmed the ground, examining footprints and remnants of the paths people had walked. The scents were so delectably fresh... but his focus remained on those bare few that remained after the bulk had ventured inside. There only seemed to be two that lingered outside now, both fair-haired women of adult age. One with a suitcase and a well-fitting attire, and the other, barefoot and certain. An odd dichotomy, surely, but one that created a slight... discomfort to well up within him.
Was he... under-dressed or would he appear proper? He had taken clothes from a man whose size matched his own, and he thus donned trousers and a plain brown shirt that he would not otherwise wear. His boots were large and well-worn (like the rest of him) and he appeared more like a hitchhiker than he did a proper job-owning human being. He was dirty from travel and dusty from the backward paths he took, with nothing in his possession but the pack he had slung over his back.
Though he was uncertain, outwardly he appeared nothing more than the burly, intimidating man he always did as he approached slowly.
“Добрый день.” He said, his voice a low, rumbling sound before he realized that, perhaps the women would not know his mother tongue. “Good afternoon... ma'am.” Stopping where the trees cleared but a few yards from the porch, the wolf seemed hesitant to approach any closer unless invited.
Get better Zoe 
