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

[Sivoncé™]

How the hell did I get myself into this?
Tall dark and handsome, sure, but Death had given up his 'mysterious object of prophecies' clause long ago. He began to back slowly, nervously away from the wolves who, remarkably, were just noting his abnormally 'pale' nature. And then, yet another one of the hooligans sprouted from the weeds. I'm trapped with a bunch of crack addicts.
"Look," he started, "I don't know who or what exactly you think I am, but I'm pretty much just a regular old guy who's got nothing magical or mystical about him. I don't have any blessing to give you." He couldn't help but wince as he said the words -- most of it was an outright lie. If these wolves ever sobered up, perhaps they would even begin to see that for themselves.
And then I'm gonna be stuck here forever. They'll probably make a religious sacrifice out of me in the name of Lupus Mysticism! Dad would be so proud!

Sandbox shook his head and chuckled softly. "Heel, Denmark. We have the son of prophecy in our midsts -- I'm certain of it." Turning back to Death, the guru's features warmed in an expression of zen and serenity. "Prophecy works in strange ways, child. Most wolves never know greatness until it is thrust upon them!"

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Listening silently, a skeptical twitch reverberated through Denmark’s facial features. As Death’s refute and Sandbox’s assurances came to a temporary close, his eyes nearly rolled from their sockets. “No offense, O Great ‘n’ Powerful Guru,” Wolfie glared at him, “but he doesn’t exactly seem like prophetic material. I mean, he looks sickly, if anything. And it’s not like we need another body on our paws!”Denmark paused to study Death, an unimpressed criticism glazed over his eyes.
A soft growl of annoyance emptied Wolfie’s throat. “Hey, what’s the fault in seeing how things go? Sandbox is trustworthy, and who knows? Death doesn’t need to raise wolves from the grave or something, he just might signal the arrival of something… good. I don’t know—maybe he’ll be like our little puppy over here.” She nodded to the invisible Georgie at her side. “…or, rather, the little puppies.”
At the final words, Denmark grimaced, acute paranoia compelling him to glance over his shoulder, searching for the sight of his beloved flower. Or something like that.
In any case, it seemed these wolves had a knack for speaking about Death as if he wasn’t in the room, and Wolfie happened to suddenly re-notice his presence. Hooray.
“…erm, so… yes. I mean… would you like to stay for dinner, or something? I mean, we’re not going to tie you down to this… or keep you captive, carve your heart out, and feed it to a bear, or something.” She blinked, dismissing some intruding thought that fluttered into her head at the moment. “’sides, everyone is special, don’t ya know?”
“Some are just more “special” than others,” Denmark grumbled, eyeing Sandbox.

[Sivoncé™]

Sandbox sighed heavily and shook his head at Denmark, expression downcast. He addressed the beta in a voice that was both grave and solemn, "I understand your concerns, Denmark, but I have been a gifted guru my entire life. There is a reason my talents have shown me what they have." Denmark was being faced with Sandbox's all-terrible disappointment.

Death turned and narrowed his eyes dangrously at this 'Denmark' character. Already, the wolf was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. But why should I care what he thinks? It's not like I really want to stay, anyway...gotta find Flame and...save the packs or something... Outwardly, he winced at his thoughts. Well, it's not like I have anything better to do, anyway. Better check these bozos out and make sure they're not endangering everyone's health.
"Fine. I'll stay for...er...dinner or something." He glared defiantly at Denmark and smirked. Not prophecy material, huh? Oh, if only you knew...

A little ways away, Fertile Crecent and Mesopotamia were bickering incessantly.
"My hormones are bad? PUH-LEASE, honey, you can only use that 'I'm Pregnant' excuse for so long!"
"I CAN USE THE I'M PREGNANT EXCUSE IF YOU CAN USE YOUR MONTHLY VISITOR EXCUSE!"

[.Rabid Lycan.]

“Ugh, Denmark,” Wolfie groaned, rolling her eyes and prodding the wolf in the ribs, “stop being so rude to the prisoner… chosen one… guest.” She smirked playfully. “It’s not like we need even more emotional influx in this pack. And, erm, speak of the devil…s.”
Panicked at her concluding words, Denmark sprung to a stand, finally tuning into the nearby chatter of the resident faes. Or, well, the resident faes that were single, didn’t narrate anything, and did not include his sister. The hormonally imbalance duo. “Oh, no.”
“Relax, loverboy—show some spine. Let’s go see if we can gather together a hunting party…” She forcefully nudged her sibling with her nose. “…you first. Ah, and Death, come meet the rest of the family. Don’t be afraid.”
“…much,” Denmark breathed, finally managing to make his way toward the two females. “Hey, ladies—anyone up for a little search for snacks? We have a new visitor.” Don't kill me, please.

[Sivoncé™]

I think all of my thoughts will start with 'oh my wolven' from here on out...or at least for however long I'm in the prescence of all of these addicts!
Death, looking severely anxious, looked from one wolf to another. He wondered at Denmark's hostility, but deducted the wolf was not a real threat; the way he tiptoed around the ladies suggested he'd been put in his place at least once in his lifetime. Smirking at Denmark, he nodded slightly. "It'd be my pleasure, Wolfie." I'll show them.

Sanbox was utterly delighted by this new direction. He chuckled cheerfully to himself, though maintained a watchful and potentially disappointed eye on Denmark and the ladies. "Well, I'm Sandbox, pack guru, at your service! And I assure you, we are eternally grateful for your prescence." He looked like he would say more, but the guru simply winked and nodded, his eyes whimsical with prophecy.

Fertile Crecent peered at the newcomer over Mesopotamia's shoulder. She sniffed with contempt as he spoke. "Denmark, look at him! He's such a gentleman! Why don't you ever talk to me like that? I am a lady after all--"

"Hey sugar!" Mesopotamia smirked widely, eyes glittering with interest as she studied Death. "Well, aren't you the ruggedly handsome type!"

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Denmark dragged his eyes from the ladies to the intruder, a flicker of annoyance lighting his features. But… I’m handsome too, right? RIGHT?? “Well, erm, I’m just saving the romantic slang for special occasions, babe. Wouldn’t want to get used to it, would we? That makes the words all the more meaningful when I do say them.” He offered a hopeful smile toward his mate, tail lowered slightly.
Nice save. Wolfie rolled her eyes before nodding to each of the wolves. “Alright, Deathie-boy, here’s the scoop: you’ve met Sandbox and my brother, Denmark. This here’s Mesopotamia, and there’s Fertile Crescent, our resident mother-to-be. Erm… and… anybody seen the others?”
“Atlantis and Narrator probably just wandered off somewhere—you know how they are,” Denmark murmured. “I’m guessing they took Autism and Georgie with them.”
“Hurm… I hope so.” She cleared her throat. “Anyhow—everybody, this is Death, and he’ll be our dinner guest for the time being. That said, I need some volunteers for elk hunting. Erm, Death… since you’re our guest, you don’t have to hunt. Unless you want some sport, that is.” A smirk passed her maw. “And Denmark, you’ll replace Atlantis in our hunting formation.”
A low groan emptied the male’s maw. “Yeah, because I really want to get an antler to the face, Wolfie.”
A broad grin split her maw, her tail swishing to one side. “Think of it as contributing to the greater good. Now, like I said, anyone else interested in not starving?”

[Sivoncé™]

Fertile Crecent blinked back at her mate in geunine surprise. A small, warm smile appeared on her lips as she approved of his answer. "I suppose you're right," she woofed softly. Mesopotamia rolled her eyes dramatically and pretended to gag.

Death was momentarily distracted by the strange display between Denmark, Mesopotamia, and Fertile Crecent, which also led him to be momentarily distracted by the plethora of strange names. Ah, plethora. Love that word <3 However, he was jarred back into attentiveness when Wolfie began speaking once more of food. His stomach gugrgled in earnest. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head when she suggested he stay behind. "It's no trouble at all, Wolfie -- I'm game for a hunt. I wouldn't want to burden you and your...er...packmates." Well, there's certainly enough of them for a small pack...and there seems to be a sort of pecking order. I wonder if the real packs know anything about them? Either they do, and don't care, or they're completely clueless...

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Delighted with Death’s answer, Wolfie lightly swished her tail against his soldier and added, “Welcome aboard, then, ye matey.” Scanning the neighboring faces in a single sweep, the fae twitched an ear and nodded to herself. “Alright… Mesopotamia, if you’re up for it, I’ll ask you to tag along.” Then again, I did hear something about monthly visitors when we were walking over here… if that’s not just an excuse, maybe that’s not such a hot idea…
Oh, well. I can always leave Denmark to deal with her. She should be fine… as long as she doesn’t molest Deathie-boy over here. ‘Ruggedly handsome’?
Shaking the thoughts from her head, she cleared her throat. “Erm, Fertile Crescent, you should probably stay… and Sandbox… do whatever you’d like, dear guru. The rest of us, let’s go—and keep an eye out for the others.” Atlantis, where are you when I need you!?
Wolfie slipped away from the group, heading—head-low—in the direction of a formerly noted game trail. A couple miles, and they should be around there…
Denmark shrugged, tiptoeing around the hormonal faes before heading after his sister.