WHO'S THAT POKEMON? [open, joining]

[Jonathan Crow]

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[glow=grey,2,300]JONATHAN CROW -- TAGS[/glow]
Fear. It had it's own life, it's spirit and heart. Fear was primal, instinctual, one of the more powerful of the human emotions, and one of the oldest. Fear both created, and destroyed. And in this case, it had forged a creation unlike any other. The man was garbed in plain clothing, a thick grey jacket with dark ski pants and black boots that crunched through the snow of the valley. The atmosphere was chilled, but tolerable. In fact, he was actually a bit too warm beneath his thick clothing. Jonathan uttered a sigh, and his breath turned to mist upon the whispering breeze. He felt strange without his weapons, his large backpack containing his costume and his sharpened scythe, but he had been to Flintlock before, and while he had been informed of their newfound location, he knew their policies were likely the same. They'd want to disarm him, search him perhaps. They'd find nothing, not even a simple dagger. He had stashed everything away in a hollow log further down the mountain.

Under the cover of the night some time in the near future, he'd slip away to recover his items, but before he could do that, he'd need a home, and a safe place to store them. In the meantime, he had to get into Flintlock before he could move on to anything else, so he trudged onward, until he could see lights in the distance, man-made structures amidst the sparkling white, sun-kissed and shining. He was nearing the village. Should he stop, pause, wait for a patrol? Jonathan decided it would probably be more respectful if he did, so he hesitated, coming to a halt near a clump of rocks. Moving closer, he leaned against a particularly large stone and watched the landscape stretch around him.

thes code

[sharkbeak]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 500px; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify;"]Fear forged steel within Lupin. Years of pressing down turned brittle bones into a fortress unlike any other; he's not immune, but he does not bend, does not bow, does not break. The cold is unpleasant — the threat of slipping and falling down the mountainside is worse. But when one is pushed to their limits, driven over the edge, they learn that genuine complaints scarcely get them where they want to be, unless that destination is ultimately a place of more abuse. For Lupin, solutions have often presented themselves in the form of running away; he wouldn't call it cowardice, but he used to. Cowardice kept him alive, and now, it's a combination of old experience and his wits that prevents him from succumbing to an early grave. He's already outlived the expiration date his father had planned for him, but that was stubbornness, more than anything. Somebody tells him he's to do something and he won't; similarly, all one has to do is doubt his abilities and he'll take that as a blow to his pride, an irredeemable offence that must be proven wrong. Perhaps reasoning with him is as simple as reverse psychology — but he's not that stupid. Just daring at best, and bull-headed at worst. Either way, his nature cultivates productivity, and in a world where missed deadlines can't always be afforded, that's more a blessing than a curse — and one he doesn't take for granted. Work ethic is always appreciated in the mountains.

It isn't very often that people approach the village. Perhaps that's due to accessibility reasons, or maybe just a hatred of the climate. Either way, Jonathan is a rare sight — both simply for existing, and for being so damn tall. Lupin can't remember the last time he had to look up to see somebody, but he knows it will have been some time during his early adulthood, and that's a sour-enough thought for him to abruptly turn his attention to something — anything — else, like the simple fact that this man appears to carry no luggage. Lupin wonders how he survived so long without any sort of supplies, but decides not to dwell on that for now. There are more pressing issues — such as his reason for being here (though the director feels as though he already knows those motives). "What brings you to Flintlock?" he asks by way of greeting, rubbing his hands together and ultimately choosing to clasp them behind his back. At his side, one of the village's many dogs noses curiously at his sleeve.

[Jonathan Crow]

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[glow=grey,2,300]JONATHAN CROW -- TAGS[/glow]
A cold wind brushes past his lanky figure as eyes of a glacial bitterness surveyed the landscape. A figure against the sparkling white of the sun-kissed snow snagged his attention, and his focus centered upon the approaching individual with a chill. Keeping his hands at his side to avoid mimicking an authoritative posture, Jonathan took an unassuming, passive stance, his limbs loose and relaxed from where he leaned against the frost dusted boulder. As the inquiry reaches his ears, Jonathan prepares to scrape together a response. He wondered what fears haunted the stranger in front of him, whether the thought of death brought pain or relief. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke.

"Hello." He greets, but his voice was dark, gritty, lacking a warmth that seemed to leach away the remaining heat in the air. Jonathan paused, clearing his throat, a sound hardly audible. "I'm here to join." His dark pupils shift, wavering with an attentiveness upon the dog. "How many dogs do you have?" Came his curious, questioning words, breathy, nearly whispered, but loud enough to reach the ears of the other man. The canines could pose a problem. Did they guard the streets at night? Would they bark if they saw him slip away in the midst of the chilled darkness? Clicking his tongue, Jonathan attempted to lure the hound closer so that he could run his hand along the animal's head in a gentle display. While he wasn't fond of dogs, he appreciated how loyal they could be.

thes code

[sharkbeak]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 500px; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify;"]That's little surprise. Most that crawl their way past the threat of avalanches are here to join; Jonathan is no different, regardless of how infrequent his breed are. Granted, the iciness of this man, well-suited to the terrain as though made out of the very snow they stand upon, is a little disconcerting, but Lupin can't exactly call himself an open, eager individual, so he has no real right to question such reservedness. "Make yourself at home," he replies, the closest to acceptance he can get without outright stating Jonathan's claim to citizenship. "I'm Lupin. I take it you have a name...?" Again, he's all subtleties, failing to ask the unrelenting. It isn't hesitation, nor is it a need to sugarcoat, but words sound heavy and awkward when swung about like sledgehammers. It's much more entertaining to vary broken-record lines.

At Jonathan's encouragement, the dog slinks closer, snuffling curiously at his fingers. "Would you look at that - she likes you." Lupin nods at the dog's steadily-wagging tail, raising one brow. "Uhh... a few. At least fifteen - we have more dogs than people." He slides his hand into his hair, fingers at the back of his neck. "But they're all pretty friendly, and none of 'em bite. You won't have to worry about them bothering you." He pauses then, tugging at the hem of his shirt and pushing his hands into his pockets. "D'you need showing around? I can help you find a place to stay, if you'd like." Duty calls, after all.