"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Gather them, Warrick had commanded. Longclaw hadn’t spoken another word after. It was easier to simply nod his inflamed head once and then turn to actually start working on said task.
Claw has never been one for banter.
There are stones to be found, first. What is a church without its cornerstone of faith? He smiles to himself as he walks, thinking about the similarities between a hard, empty-minded hunk of rock and the gray mare who’d openly embarrassed the Overseer by refusing to heed his wishes of peace on Tephran shores. There are many facets of that meeting he mulls over now; all of which organize themselves into topics of importance as he twists aside on blue legs to cut up the beach and slink into the sulphuric forest.
Despite his apprehension, he needs to find her. The teleporter, the mind-speaker; whatever the hell she is, it doesn’t matter to him. There are more important things to consider than her pride or his short temper and besides, something she’d said in anger had stuck with him and given him food for thought. The warg opens his mind, letting images of her flash into the forefront of his thoughts and then he twists them a bit, (there is satisfaction to be had from a little prodding, maybe this next image will prompt her to poof into existence like she had on the shoreline) shaping her with a demure sort of look, something like her fine head turned over a smoky shoulder to taunt him with pursed lips and naughty words.
The blue devil can’t stop the smirk that jerks across his fanged lips; he rather likes her cast in this light.
She moves then. It seems that Reagan has drawn attention to herself of late, and she is on the minds and hearts of those who hold power in Tephra. Starting first with the blue stallion with far too much time and ego on his hands. She is no stranger to his kind - she has seen his past dealings, and she is not impressed.
To whit, when pin-up photos are cast as shades in his head of what she looked like, played open for his rather interesting perusal of her body in any way he chose, she picked that precise moment to appear before him.
In the exact form he envisioned.
Splayed over a rock, she is fine and fierce. Her pelt is gleaming, and her body is svelte - hiding the fact that she is pregnant again, as she has not had a chance to tell her baby's father, as yet - looking over her shoulder at him with green fire in her eyes. She is angry, but with the wind blowing through her hair, she is a wild thing, and not a toy to be reckoned with. Her black velvet boots and primal markings go way past her thighs, and she walks to him with a saunter that is smoldering.
Reagan flares her nostrils, swinging her hips wide, making an exxagerated statement of her beauty. Of her power. She says nothing out loud, but instead speaks into his mind. I have seen grander fantasies in the eyes of randy children, Longclaw. You disappoint me, Pup.
And then in a flash of blue lightning, she shifts, and becomes a white grey wolf. The tips of her ears and tail are an emerald green, and she raises her hackles and bears her teeth at him, almost barking. Why do you search me out?
Ahh, how lovely Reagan is! Appearing on command as if he’d snapped his fingers. Longclaw bristles with pleasure at her immediate response and takes the moment of her arrival as one to rock back on his heels and smile wickedly. He would whistle, if it were a capability of his, but a soft rumble of pleasure could do what words or actions couldn’t. The way she flicks her heels just so, the mannerism in which she swings her hips and presents herself - just like a magician to play their trump card before any other. Eager to remind him of her prowess.
He lusts for her, (anything with a cunt between the back legs, really) and that fact is as evident as the smile plastered over his mouth. He knows well that there is nothing he can hide from her; all of her kind were nosy in a way befitting their heightened status. “A little decorum, please.” He replies aloud once she’s shifted and glaring up at him, teeth bared. This version of her was less illustrious; he maintained composure and felt a twinge of dissatisfaction on her choice of second skin.
“I came to ask you many things, the first of which being this: please refrain from indulging in my mind while we speak.” Longclaw asks, the charming smile vanishing with the request. “You have the ability but I’d like to see if you have the respect to withhold it. I can see you were less than impressed with what you found, so take that feeling and hold onto it. I won’t brush off the sensation like others will.” Claw promises, taking a moment to shake his thick neck before shifting down to match her form.
His silver-gray coat is familiar but still, he detests it. “The second is a question,” The wolf growls, “Did you mean what you said when Romek came? That you’d defy every request asked of you in favor of your own desires? Or did you mean it as an allegiance to Tephra and not to Warrick?” He asks, the verdant flash of his green eyes settling on her own.
Ah, so its to be that then. Reagan laughs, her tail twitching as her green eyes lay on Claw's. Not many others had eyes as green and clear as hers, and she falls silent, watching with intensity every move she made. Every soft, padded step she took as she tested the ground below her. She has never taken the form of a wolf in Tephra before, and the motion is foreign to her - but that did not mean she was out of her element. She stops bearing her teeth, ears going erect again. He was not intimidated by her.
That would be his mistake.
"My mind is what it is, and does what it will. I have made that promise to exactly one in my lifetime, so it is not a promise I shall make to you." a small growl, and then she speaks again. "When I bear you a child, ask me that question again." Reagan smiles darkly, knowing the second half of that statement will never come to fruition. "If you want to be taken at face value, and be left for exactly what you are, then you must be accepting of others who wish the same."
The white wolf tilts her ears up, green eyes spotting prey in the distance. Reagan curls her lip, trying to keep focused on Longclaw - trying to train on his eyes, and not on the blood that was pumping in the jugular vein in his neck. She wanted to hunt again. She needed meat again. "I did not come here to rule a Kingdom. I came to escape one. It is as I said. Tephra is my home, and my allegiance is to it and its Overseer. This is not the first time I have run this path in my life, Pup. Do not think me a fool."
The sun was at a low twilight when they had begun this conversation. The fires of a red sunset were burning across grey skin before Reagan had shifted, and now the white wolf was glowing red from the heat of it. Underneath the light of pale moon, She finds that she had carried on the color, and has changed from white, to a burning ember color, glowing softly, her skin crackling as she moved. Reagan's eyes glowed bright green then as she looked at him, all artifice gone from her voice, all bitterness dropped out of her face. Reagan's words on Warrick, and what he was doing with her daughter were another matter entirely - one for which Reagan would speak to her Overseer about at another time - away from the prying eyes of his blue general. Warrick was due his privacy, and though the Grey Lady did not necessarily agree with his choice of dalliances, it was not the business of magicians (or mothers) to out him for his transgressions. No. This were words best saved for another occasion.
"Warrick knows of what I spoke of, and I shall take it up with him when the time is right. It has no bearing on him as a king, or on my thoughts on his ability to lead us. I know he will do fine. I have seen it." She smiles darkly, her tongue playing over her fangs, the bloodlust rushing to her eyes, the hunger of the hunt setting in. "You, however, have a choice to make." The glowing wolf with the green eyes huffs. "We are on the same side. You want to be taken seriously, at face value. So do I. It is a mutual road. What secrets you carry - if any, are safe with me. But do not question my loyalties. I have played the game and lost it more times than years you've been alive, Pup. I am here to protect the volcano, and all its inhabitants. Including you. And I don't even like you very much." He wants bluntness, and there it is. She speaks what is on her mind. And yet, she is slowly becoming dislodged from the conversation.
The blood was pounding, rushing to her ears. She needed to hunt. Needed to feed.
Perhaps her jest about coupling had been for a sly reason, but the thought serves instead to remind him of how terribly different the two are. She makes no excuses for her abilities, no promises or concrete statements he can cling to for a good report - nothing aside from an offer of trust without anything for him to trust in. He shows her patience, though; respect in the place of what she refuses to show him in return. There are truths and untruths alike riddled throughout her speech, none of which illicit a response until she’s made her peace and her voice has quieted.
“The volcano didn’t ask for your protection, nor did I.” He states, unwilling to loop the rest of the Tephran inhabitants into that statement because he cannot speak for them as a whole - only Warrick could. “The island doesn’t need you, Reagan.” Longclaw speaks, understanding that at first his statement may come as a sharp prick to her hubris.
“But I do want you here, and I’m confirmed in the belief that Warrick does too. Even if we don’t exactly like each other, as you’ve so tactfully put it.” He coughs, easing into a sit while he watches the flickering she-wolf lose interest. He appreciates her statement about ‘face value’ even more in this moment - at least she’s true to herself and her nature; it’s obvious to Claw that he falls under her radar of ‘less-than-important creatures.’
Still, he cannot seem to tear his eyes away from her shape, or the curve of every dip and hollow that makes her what she is. Even his internal disgust is not enough to stem the building longing he has to be near to her, to hunt with her, to attempt to tame her even. It splits him internally, emotionally. He hates it. He loves it. “You’re a gift to our world.” He murmurs, steady gaze searching every flick of movement on her face.
“And one of its greatest enemies.” He ends, rising on gray paws to circle her and wait at her hind.
He’s made himself clear. Let the rest come naturally, then. They must learn to work past their differences in order for Tephra to succeed, but that fact alone doesn’t imbue that they should suddenly feel a great affinity for one another either. He makes his choice by pointing a black nose ahead, training his eyes on whatever seems to have caught her attention. For the first time ever, he’ll let another lead the hunt.
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