11-26-2018, 09:27 PM
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He supposes it should be a good thing that he didn't make the leopard's list of favorites, if the feature necessary to qualify came down to "easy to toy with". He had made something of a point to never be easy for anyone except his parents. Their affection came easily, and so too did his response to it — that had been one aspect of his life where he'd known no moderation. But outside of family, the wolf had drank a little, explored a little, and loved a little. Only ever a little. The first person he'd dated played sweet with him for a month first, sitting to eat with him under the pretense of needing help with a topic they'd gone over, picking him first for anything needing a team. He'd taken a while to get around to anything, always, forever, but in the same way that Honeyguide is bothered by his lack of reactions, Washington finds himself disappointed that he's not a favorite. Neither of them played this game to the other's satisfaction.
But they had grown up since the wolf's days of awkward avoidance. As he settled into the role of doctor, the slow waves of adulthood separated him from most of the others he was familiar with. Grayson stayed popular and he stayed busy; nothing and everything changed at the same time. Perhaps as he got older, he became less committed to not caring for him. Lingering curiosity became something else, warmth quietly radiated from him. The world out here had taken some of that away already, sheer cynicism bleeding back in and drowning his fire with black water. That probably started long before this point, filling up the cracks that life left in him.
At least it made him jumpy. He doesn't expect that it saved his life on its own, not when Honeyguide was intent on taking his time with it all anyway. Wash may not be as quick at getting his feet back under him as the other is, but he's certainly no slowpoke. Despite the light throbbing now warming up that side of his body, he spins around to face the other before the words hit his ears. Recognition hits him all at once. The wolf's ears flatten, staring blankly at him. When his face starts to heat up under dark fur, he's not certain if it's another product of the confusion or — something else. "Grayson?" The more emotional part of him insists that this is some joke, but his mind won't allow him to take that risk. As the leopard circles him, his own paws move in tandem to keep him well within his range of vision. Even as quick as he is, as prepared as he is, it's not quite enough to keep him safe. Not when Honeyguide had been ready for this.
A jump out of the way isn't quite enough to leave him unscathed. Curved claws part his fur and then his skin, red springing up quickly from the middle of his rib cage to his shoulder. The injury is light but painful, stinging and stinging and stinging. He hisses with it, just a little breath, but even that is easy enough for keen ears to catch. The next time the leopard's paw comes around, he's ready. As he swipes, Wash twists and lowers his head, teeth bared and then moving to snap down on the cat's foreleg. He doesn't know the strength of it in a real fight. Would it be enough to hold, break skin, break bone? He doesn't plan ahead, too caught up in the moment and the confusion, betrayal starting to twist in his stomach. To him, this wasn't all too entertaining.
He supposes it should be a good thing that he didn't make the leopard's list of favorites, if the feature necessary to qualify came down to "easy to toy with". He had made something of a point to never be easy for anyone except his parents. Their affection came easily, and so too did his response to it — that had been one aspect of his life where he'd known no moderation. But outside of family, the wolf had drank a little, explored a little, and loved a little. Only ever a little. The first person he'd dated played sweet with him for a month first, sitting to eat with him under the pretense of needing help with a topic they'd gone over, picking him first for anything needing a team. He'd taken a while to get around to anything, always, forever, but in the same way that Honeyguide is bothered by his lack of reactions, Washington finds himself disappointed that he's not a favorite. Neither of them played this game to the other's satisfaction.
But they had grown up since the wolf's days of awkward avoidance. As he settled into the role of doctor, the slow waves of adulthood separated him from most of the others he was familiar with. Grayson stayed popular and he stayed busy; nothing and everything changed at the same time. Perhaps as he got older, he became less committed to not caring for him. Lingering curiosity became something else, warmth quietly radiated from him. The world out here had taken some of that away already, sheer cynicism bleeding back in and drowning his fire with black water. That probably started long before this point, filling up the cracks that life left in him.
At least it made him jumpy. He doesn't expect that it saved his life on its own, not when Honeyguide was intent on taking his time with it all anyway. Wash may not be as quick at getting his feet back under him as the other is, but he's certainly no slowpoke. Despite the light throbbing now warming up that side of his body, he spins around to face the other before the words hit his ears. Recognition hits him all at once. The wolf's ears flatten, staring blankly at him. When his face starts to heat up under dark fur, he's not certain if it's another product of the confusion or — something else. "Grayson?" The more emotional part of him insists that this is some joke, but his mind won't allow him to take that risk. As the leopard circles him, his own paws move in tandem to keep him well within his range of vision. Even as quick as he is, as prepared as he is, it's not quite enough to keep him safe. Not when Honeyguide had been ready for this.
A jump out of the way isn't quite enough to leave him unscathed. Curved claws part his fur and then his skin, red springing up quickly from the middle of his rib cage to his shoulder. The injury is light but painful, stinging and stinging and stinging. He hisses with it, just a little breath, but even that is easy enough for keen ears to catch. The next time the leopard's paw comes around, he's ready. As he swipes, Wash twists and lowers his head, teeth bared and then moving to snap down on the cat's foreleg. He doesn't know the strength of it in a real fight. Would it be enough to hold, break skin, break bone? He doesn't plan ahead, too caught up in the moment and the confusion, betrayal starting to twist in his stomach. To him, this wasn't all too entertaining.
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｢ WHERE CAN A DEAD MAN GO? ｣
[color=black]INFO | A QUESTION WITH AN ANSWER ONLY DEAD MEN KNOW