You had me at "bartender". | Death! |

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Every little thang… is gonna be alright…
The velvet tendrils of night-swathed grasses tickled her pads as she passed on by. Ferns sprouted generously from seemingly cracked and barren splotches of sand, tiny pebbles and grains of dust tumbling from the roots of newborn flowers, their buds inhaling the evening air. Another step, and she kicked a decaying blossom to the sky, sending it alight in silver flame, and breathing new life into its starlit petals. A grin flashed her features, gaze narrowing in.
“AHA!”
A seemingly decent pounce was thwarted by gravity, and her body sunk to the earth with a splendid thump. The target—an agile moth—twirled in its taunting laughter before fluttering away to more urgent matters. The wolf remained on the ground, dirt smeared across her fur, glaring vengefully at the fluttering insect.
“Next time, little man.”
Gotta love relaxation time.

[Sivoncé™]

Aimlessly, the spectral wolf ghosted through the bustling forest as it wakened with the night. He strolled past casually, the experession on his features expressing the most painful of boredoms. He sighed heavily as he watched a pair of rabbits dart frantically away from him as he slid past. To any other wolf, maybe the sight of plump, nearby prey would've cued the hunting instinct immediately. Death, however, had other hungers gnawing at his mind.

I came here for a purpose, he thought as he gazed, forlorn, at the surrounding grasses. I know I did but...then why am I not doing anything? I know it started as a grand adventure to save the packs but...
Death frowned deeply. I know that's not it, there has to be another reason...

Sudden, the sounds of a small scuffle snapped his attentions back to the world in front of him. A full-grown she-wolf laid in the mud a few feet away, spiting spite at a tiny bug as it buzzed about. It was completely bizarre. The corners of his mouth couldn't help but twitch into a small smile. At last, he'd found something different besides the expanses of boring old sameness.
"Er...excuse me, miss, but you've got a bit of dirt on your nose there."

[.Rabid Lycan.]

“Eh?”
There’s a disturbance in the force. Correct it.
Gradually, her conscious willpower overcame the death grip of gravity, and she rose to her haunches. Forcing a leisurely shake of her fur, a curtain of dust particles flew from her pelt, leaving her with, well… her normal dusty complexion. Only shinier.
She stared blankly at the newcomer, lacking (ironically) the pack instinct of territoriality and suspicion. Instead, she slowly tilted her head until it was nearly parallel with the ground. Her deep chocolate gaze focused in on the sideways figure, recognizing the demonic red eyes only second to the fluttering moth that circled over his head.
“WHOA, LOOK OUT!”
She leapt forward, batting at the air in an aggressive (or, rather, obsessive) manner. Her claws whistled through the still of night, and the darker smears of earth that Death had commented on were soon forgotten. And it seemed as if the poor thing’s luck had run out—after a quick ‘n’ lucky dive, the moth fell hard against the tip of her toes, and spiraled in stunned silence to the ground.
Wolfie stood over the figure, staring down at it with large, owl eyes. “…shh… it… stopped… moving…”

[Sivoncé™]

What the...?
Death ducked as she lunged for the bothersome bug. You'd think it's prey or something, the way she's going at it! When the chaos was no longer hanging over his head, he found himself unable to come out of the crouch. He stared, wide-eyed, at the spectacle before him. What is she? An overgrown pup? Can't be, no pup is that big....maybe there's something wrong with her head?
"I think it's dead," he said lightly, slowing blinking away he shock. Well, I have seen stranger things, haven't I? Maybe...well, now I'm not so sure....
"I'm Death, what's your--" His teeth clamped suddenly shut and he blinked at her fearfully. Did she hear me? Maybe not, I'll try again and hope she didn't!
"I'm...um...Deck, what's your name? And what are you doing alone out here, chasing a bug?"

[.Rabid Lycan.]

A lengthy stillness occupied the air space, Wolfie hardly daring to breathe as she stared down at the lifeless creature. Then, apparently lacking the sense to leave after that inspiring display, the male’s voice stole her attention. Tearing her attention away from the moth, she tilted her head to one side once more. A trickle of laughter exited her lungs.
“Of course it’s dead. But did it stop moving before or after it died?” She prodded the shell of a moth experimentally, wrinkling her muzzle slightly. “Distasteful little guys, aren’t they? And, er… hello… Death?” She paused, hearing the correction, and then grinned. “Oh, Deck. Erm, that’s… nice. Death’s a little more intimidating, though. Would’ve stuck to that one myself…”
The fae sauntered away from the male, sniffing idly at the various weeds, and happily inhaling the scent of nearby wolfnip. Then again, they were in a wolfnip patch—that was fairly a given.
“Peeps call me Wolfie. Creative, no?” She snuffled up something disagreeable, and sneezed before continuing her casual stroll and sniff. “I’m just taking a mini-vacation from my mini-vacation. It’s beautiful out here, no? The stars, the creatures, the… o-so-delicious fuel of life.” She had finally dragged herself to a halt, hovering over a rather large quantity of wolfnip. She flicked an idle ear while admiring her find. “What are you doing alone out here, watching a girl chase a bug?”

[Sivoncé™]

Slowly, Death came to the lovely realization that the name 'Death' had absolutely zero significance to her. "Well," he woofed humbly, "To be honest, miss, my name is Death, but you see....that tends to creep a lot of people out." He shrugged and raised a brow as the femme pawed at the luscious leaves of intoxication. Ah, of course, it's the wolfnip, isn't it? Now why didn't I think of that? Wait...fuel of life? Maybe this isn't some "vacation" as she says...maybe she's just an addict.
Death pawed at the curious leaf, swallowing hard at the beckoning aroma. Already, the saliva was gathering in his jaws, lusting for the herbs that so aroused his senses. Sniffing indignantly, he batted it away and turned his back on it in defiance.
"It's mildly entertaining to watch someone who has been taking a little too much medicine, if you know what I mean."

[.Rabid Lycan.]

“Mmhmm, Death, then? That’s… nice…” She lapsed into an insurmountably brief silence, stripping the treasured grass from its earthy vessel. “…huh, what? You mean this?”
Her head shot up, nearly falling back from the momentum of her upward swing. The leaves cluttered at her paws, her skull fell to the side once more, her right foreleg lifting slightly to paw at the air. “I wouldn’t know what you mean. I haven’t really had much at all, today. Had to distribute my share, you know? A little disappointing, mind you, but an Alpha’s gotta do what an Alpha’s gotta do, eh?” A strained smile lit her features before she collapsed into a crouch, staring down at the magical substance. “Besides, Sandbox always says that you can never have enough. Not that we’d ever be in a shortage, anyway—we live on a goldmine. Life’s good, wouldn’t you say? Oh, and by the way—what are you doing in our territory? Where are you from?” Her rapid voice slurred into a stream of syllables, barely distinguishable between words.
Either she had taken more than she admitted, or she was simply being herself more than usual.
Or she had inhaled several tons of the stuff, which resulted in temporary amnesia.
Or all of the above.
Whatever works.

[Sivoncé™]

For a few moments, as the rate of her hyper-active speech suddenly galloped into chimpmunk frequencies, all Death, king of Hellfire and reincarnated specter, could do was stare at this bizarre creature that seemed to defy all previously learned and proved laws of nature. What is she?
"Er....I'm sorry, miss," he barked politely, so as not to provoke the territorial edge he'd heard in her tweet, "but...are you a packwolf?" The real question is, are you that high that you think you're a packwolf? Alpha of what, the Crack Pack? And who or what the hell is a Sandbox?

Ironically, said Sandbox was over in the next copse of tall weeds, taking in their sweet aroma and slipping into psychic trance.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

“Hmm? Pack wolf? Damn skippy, I’m a pack wolf.” She nodded furiously, gathering the wolfnip leaves with a series of tender sweeps. “I am the Alphess of Lupus Mist, pleased to meet you. Are you a member of a pack? One of those newfangled ‘Yozorans’ or ‘Siverians’ or ‘Sh-waddevayacallit’… I mean, nothing wrong if you are… but if that be the case, we’ll have to ask you to leave. Possibly chase you out. We have young’uns, y’see. Wouldn’t want to put them in jeopardy if you’re planning a hostile takeover, no matter how nice you seem.”

Denmark, too, rested nearby, sleeping off a wolfnip-induced coma, most likely. It seemed that his brother-sister sense was either offline, or ignored. Either way, out like a light, like any dutiful Lupus Mist member.

[Sivoncé™]

Oh my wolven. Dad, you're never gonna believe this. No, seriously, you won't. You'll think I've been sniffing the herb...put me in AA meetings and not listen to a word of it. In fact, I can't believe this is for real. Practical joke...? For a moment, he considered the possibility. But the comical seriousness of Wolfie's voice assured him otherwise. Nope. There's really a sixth pack in this valley....in the loosest definition of pack there is.
"Er...I'm not a packwolf. I've never heard of....um, Lupus Mist." He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to break into a fit of laughter. Where's Flame? This is a riot. "I'm sorry, newfangled? What's the difference between them and you if you're a packwolf, too?" The difference is one snorts and the other doesn't!

Snadbox was suddenly lost in the deep, seisure-like trembles of a true premonition.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Not comprehending the disbelief and quasi-skepticism/amusement rushing through Death’s veins, Wolfie simply smiled patiently at his inquiries. “Ah, I see. Well, our family isn’t quite as large or famous as the others, but we’re growing. Y’see, there’s a key essential ingredient the distinguishes the likes of us from the typical bland and casual pack wolf recipe, okay? We obey the true word, and teach the true history, as been passed down from generation to generation. Whereas all too many of these newer name-changing packs have forgotten their roots, we have not forgotten theirs. We are the single pack with goals not of bloodshed or futile conquering—no, it is about love, and fun, and the good word. Y’see, we follow Lupus Mysticism. And, erm…” She trailed off, nose twitching. “… actually, it’s probably better if Sandbox explains it to you. He’s our guru, after all.”
The chocolate locks of fur swaying as she leapt to a stand, she tilted her head back and let out a resounding call. “SANDBOX! WE HAVE A VISITOR!”

Denmark rolled over, groaning in his sleep.

[Sivoncé™]

A sudden wave of bile rose in his throat. Lupus Mysticism. Though he'd never heard it called that particular name, it was an apt title for the original, cultish and experimental religion of his own former pack. He was dizzy with a sudden bout of de ja vu. But at the second reference to Sandbox and the debut of the word 'guru' cut the uncomfortable thoughts short, and he heaved a gigantic sigh of relief. Once again, the bubbling amusement lighted his eyes. After all, no Blood Mist wolf was ever dedicated to love, fun, and spreading the good word.
"Sure...um...I'll meet this guru of yours. What exactly is a guru, though? Don't most packs have something more along the lines of an herb healer?"

Sandbox was in the midst of deep prophecy. At Wolfie's call, he suddenly jolted into awareness and rose, barely conscious to his paws. His senses were dazed, still buzzing with revelation. Somehow, his paws knew what direction to carry him. When he reached them, his eyes never left Death. He stared with wide, round eyes. Once or twice, he rubbed at them with his paws and trembled in shock.
"I HAVE SEENETH A GREAT AND GRAND DESTINY!"

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Pleased at Death’s agreement to meet her packmate, Wolfie swished her tail to one side in a slow wag. “Well, “herb healer” and “guru” are… how do I put this… we don’t have a herb healer. But our guru acts as one, as well as our spiritual leader. He possesses the ‘vibe’, you know? He’s very in tune to the very heart and soul of the teachings—he receives many prophecies, as with the coming of Lu—ah, there he is!”
She loped casually to Sandbox’s side, eyes widening at the words spilling from his maw. Softly, she murmured her explanation with a respectful bow of the head. “Oh, Sandbox, tell us more. Explain what you have seen. There is a newcomer here who has yet to have his eyes opened to the teachings of Lupus Mysticism—please, pass the word, dear friend.”

[Sivoncé™]

The vibe? The vibe of what, overdose? Death opened his mouth to inquire about this so-called 'vibe', but was suddenly taken aback by the appearence of a sandy-colored wolf who seemed to be gaping at him as if the world depended on it. Death shuffled his paws with discomfort, only able to hold the guru's gaze for a moment before looking to his paws, then looking to Wolfie for help. Staring...well, that just wasn't wolfish. What is with this guy? Or better yet, what is with these wolves?!

Sandbox reluctantly drew his eyes away from dark and disturbingly transparent stranger to address his alpha. "W-Wolfie....I have forseen a great future -- one greater than anything we've ever imagined! Our prayers will be heeded, in due time, but there is a great blessing to be bestowed upon our pack. The blessing is to come with the arrival of a stranger...." He trailed off, eyes once again locked on Death.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Apparently dismissing Death’s discomfort—or, more likely, simply not noticing his discomfort altogether—Wolfie sprouted a remarkable goldfish likeness as Sandbox continued to speak, her glossy orbs boggling like a pair of plastic googly eyes. Every word, every breath, was cherished as if a child of Lupus had waltzed right up and spoken to her.
You know, something completely ridiculous and spiritual like that.
Slowly, Wolfie’s gaze dragged to Death, following Sandbox’s stare. A sort of respectful awe glowed there now, and she could barely hide a grin. “Do you think it’s him, Sandbox? I think there’s something special about him. He might be a little pale, sure, but there’s still a chance, isn’t there? That he could be a sign?” She blinked, as if just realizing that Death was in hearing distance. “Hey, Deck—or, erm, Death—would you like to stay for din—”
Instantaneously, a sharp cry burst from a nearby thicket, distracting her words. The fiery pelt of an emerging male flashed briefly before the entire creature came crashing down upon the group. Overprotective brother senses seemed to be in prime form today.
“Huh? Wha? Who’s this guy, Wolfie? Where’d he come from? Are we under attack? Is he bothering you? And why’s Sandbox all… himself?”