Jack spends as much time sharpening himself in the Cold Crescent as contemplating the Forgotten Questions, and it's in the former skyscraper Hector finds the malodorous lupus he'd been paired the other night.
Less room. More bodies crammed together. It makes sense that's where Hector can finally track down the lump of muscle and sharp edges.
Jack shifts from where he'd curled up on his bed roll in his lupine form to sit on his ass in the manskin once he's taken its shape, legs spread wide and knees bent so that he can lean back into the wall of the barracks' corner. He looks like he's the one who wants to hear a story, even though it's the Galliard asking for one.
He gives it.
"Gave my last alpha a broken nose and a bad case of whiplash. Ask me? Here, seems like everyone wants to make friends, but we wait until we're all playing guitars and cracking cans of Bud fireside, we're just going to end up with a lot of dead friends when Green Dragon's clutch comes knockin'," rolling his boulder-sized shoulders in a shrug, though he looks like he's longing to hear Hector speaks again.
No, Jack is not so good at hiding his excitement at what Hector asks, once the realization dawns, because his feet are tapping and he's fidgeting with the fingers that come together in front of him, elbows resting on his crooked knees.
"Why don' you tell me a story? 'Bout how I got a pack with a pretty boy Uktena I seen throat a Wyrm-bitch with them pretty teeth. Now that's a story I'd like to hear," eyes wide and expectant to see if he'd come to the right conclusion now that he's put himself out there, on the line, to possibly become a punch line.
Less room. More bodies crammed together. It makes sense that's where Hector can finally track down the lump of muscle and sharp edges.
Jack shifts from where he'd curled up on his bed roll in his lupine form to sit on his ass in the manskin once he's taken its shape, legs spread wide and knees bent so that he can lean back into the wall of the barracks' corner. He looks like he's the one who wants to hear a story, even though it's the Galliard asking for one.
He gives it.
"Gave my last alpha a broken nose and a bad case of whiplash. Ask me? Here, seems like everyone wants to make friends, but we wait until we're all playing guitars and cracking cans of Bud fireside, we're just going to end up with a lot of dead friends when Green Dragon's clutch comes knockin'," rolling his boulder-sized shoulders in a shrug, though he looks like he's longing to hear Hector speaks again.
No, Jack is not so good at hiding his excitement at what Hector asks, once the realization dawns, because his feet are tapping and he's fidgeting with the fingers that come together in front of him, elbows resting on his crooked knees.
"Why don' you tell me a story? 'Bout how I got a pack with a pretty boy Uktena I seen throat a Wyrm-bitch with them pretty teeth. Now that's a story I'd like to hear," eyes wide and expectant to see if he'd come to the right conclusion now that he's put himself out there, on the line, to possibly become a punch line.