Shroud of the Lost too much candy gonna rot your soul (m)

The other wolf turned the query right back unto him, but graced him with some details all the same. He might've thought he painted a rough image, but Clouse found nothing off-putting about his modest humor. Quite the opposite, in fact. He giggled again, tail tamping the snow alongside his dark legs.

"Loach," he repeated in a musing tone, testing the name upon his tongue.

"I've a cousin named Mothman. Another named Stick. At least Loach has personality."

Or maybe it was simply the wolf himself that made the name fall kindly upon ears, thoughts and demeanors far more attractive to the Archer than appearances or titles could be. He finished off his treat, not at all anxious about the chance of overindulging, and licked the stickiness from his fur and skin. He slapped a paw against the snow.

"I wouldn't presume to narrow ya down to any type. But I do have to ask," his metallic eyes took on a competitive glint, "think ya can go shot for shot, then, cap'n?"

His blood bubbled with warmth. It radiated in his cheeks and his gaze. Warmth all for his company.

He blinked his eyes. What had he been thinking of?

Aye, don't be raggin' on Stick, y'hear. His laughter was a touch louder now, warmer and vibrant. A good stick could change the day! But, ah, I don't know 'bout a Mothman... His orange eyes twinkled with his cheeky humor. Certainly hoped that good ol' Clouse here would not take offense!

Then he was offered a challenge.

His salt and pepper fur seemed to fluff slightly. Practically electrocuted with the energy given to him. What kind of cap'n would I be if I couldn't? He picked up a soft apple in his mouth, prepared to mash it between his jaws when given the go.

His tail lashed behind him and the sweet sour apple mush already began leaking, dribbling down his chin.

More laughter issued readily from Clouse's chest at the innocuous claim that 'a good stick could change the day!', finding it to be an awfully endearing jest. These were the interactions that made the more lonely stretches of his sojourn worth it. Loach's participation agreed to, the contest was readied to begin. Happily he scooped more of the corrupted fruit up out of its cradle and into the space between them both.

When his opponent was clearly prepared, Clouse grabbed a glob of alcoholic mush and downed it in a single swallow, grinning toothily at his newfound friend as it hit his stomach. This wasn't his first competition of such a nature, and felt confident that despite his smaller frame he would outlast the other. Even if he lost, though, it'd still be just as much fun.

"What's brought you inland, Loach?"

(This post was last modified: Jan 15, 2023, 04:53 AM by Clouse.)

His jaws smashed down, the apple oozed freely in his mouth. Boozy warmth welcomed by him entirely.

Ain't a clear answer for that. Sometimes I wonder what brought me inland. He snorted, licked his lips and allowed his head to drop for the moment. Content to gaze at the man from his comfortable spot upon the earth.

But whatcha doin' here, Clouse? This place seemed mighty empty not so long ago and now I got more faces than I thought I'd see away from packs in winter.

His tail continued a slowing, thoughtful sweep behind him. Softly he reached for another apple.

Vague as the words were, they were still an answer all the same. A fellow free spirit, perhaps? He continued the volley, and Clouse thought maybe Loach had expected to be lonely too. He hoped the other man was just as pleased with the change of anticipated pace. Claiming and sinking his teeth into yet another helping, the answer that jumped to mind caused him to start laughing before he could even say a word.

In fact, with some help from their pilfered treat, Clouse cracked himself right up.

"You uh, y'see those mountains?" he asked, motioning with his muzzle toward the distant peaks of Mount Dire and its brethren. His words bubbled with humor.

"I was supposed to stop in the forests this side of 'em and I uh, I just didn't?"

Another bout of laughter shook his shoulders, and he shook his head.

"Man, I have no idea what I'm doing!" they had that in common, it seemed, "and it's great!"

At first he looked south, expecting to see the Daybreak Peaks. Then he adjusted his gaze to look towards where Clouse had actually pointed. A lazy little smirk planted on his features.

Aye, listen up! You ain't be stoppin' anywhere till your soul or belly be tellin' you too. His gaze was wild and brilliant with its warmth. He had seated himself upright some more without having realized it. There be so much here, yet to be seen. And, no offense ter Mouthman or Stick or whoever... His accent became increasingly thick, took on more of his sea dweller sound. But this gotta be better than the forest, eh?

A warmed look and a soft wiggle of his brows, that may have mortified him any other time.

Clouse did indeed listen, slurping down another serving while wide, silver dollar eyes watched his company with absolute fascination. Loach could have launched into an explanation of how dirt was formed and the young Archer would have regarded him with similar interest. The more the fermented mush seeped into his system, the more his enjoyment was amplified. Soul or belly, Mouthman, the pitch of his wolfish brows- it all had Clouse practically rolling with laughter.

He settled onto his side, and reached a jet black paw up and out to boop Loach's chin fondly.

"Think somethin' was drawin' me here alright, but I gotta confess, I ain't got a soul," he answered playfully, a hint of flirtation to the words.

"Quite happy with where I've found m'self all the same."

Clouse blinked up at the other wolf then, it occurring to him to ask, "have I won yet?"

Clouse reached for his chin and Loach could not help himself from offering teeth kindly. Warmly, playful. Nipped politely at travel worn pawpads that had touched his chin.

Aye, no soul either here. His chest rumbled with a chuckle. Then he allowed himself to lay down his head again, somewhere closer to the man he shared the sour delights with.

But a winner?

Naw. Maybe? His tail offered a few larger thumps behind him. Do you feel like you've won, Mister Clouse? Loach peered up from his spot on the ground. A bit doe-eyed, a bit...smitten, he dared to think.

Clouse enjoyed the return of his sprightly antics, wriggling closer with a wicked, toothy grin in order to be able to nip at the other man's own paws. They smelled of earth and ice and musk, and he couldn't help the more devious thoughts that such a mixture of drink and proximity encouraged. He gave a soft, affable growl at that initial naw, a paw moving to reach for another chunk of fermented fruit but paused as Loach continued.

Maybe?

Clouse considered his companion, and giggled drunkenly as he was once again referred to as Mister. He flopped over onto his stomach gracelessly, the advantage of height now his for a rare moment, and smirked down at Loach. His competitor wouldn't distract him so easily from the facts of the contest, the young wolf assured himself, but- oh those citrus eyes. They made him pause, gazing up at him like that, a world of possibility sitting just behind them. He blinked back.

"... depends," Clouse finally found the word, before inching even closer and taking the chance to plant a wolfish kiss along the side of Loach's muzzle. A plunge into waters he hoped would be warm and welcoming.

Loach had been endeared already, smitten as stated. He needed no more warming up as the man meant to kiss him. And Loach was not one to shy away from the warmth of his own kind.

So he kissed him back, washed in the scent of drunken apples and the man's cologne. Utterly devoted to the scents at that moment.

You're a heartbreaker, ain't ya? But the lazy spread of his lips said that maybe he would be okay with a brokenheart. A night of fun and warmth exchanged for memories in the morning. Even if that dying ember in his heart said such a companionable man would make good company in the long, winter nights.