Aldo had been soaking in the hot tub for... he glanced lazily at the clock. Around three hours. For part of the time, he'd been half asleep and laying nearly completely under the water, with everything above his chin, of course, above the surface. From time to time though he switched, like a napping wolf, into a state of alertness, before slipping away again, and as the morning continued and the pack became more active Aldo slowly entered a more awake state. He listened silently to the happenings; the hot water had done quite a bit to relax the man but now that he was waking up and becoming more alert, the events of last night started to trickle back. There were humans in the house, and not the good kind that he had been when he was a human and his long-dead friend was one of the Odessa Pack.
His sensitive ears (although he was deaf compared to his lupus form) picked up the rushed thuds of feet bounding down the stairs, the source of which he couldn't place until the pleasant but faint smell of Vashti diffused into his nose. With more ease, he heard heavier, more assertive footsteps; he didn't need to smell the Ulfric to know it was him, to feel his energy. The footsteps headed downward, into the basement, and Aldo shivered.
A smell of rotting hit him, and he decided that now was the time to investigate. He lifted himself, dripping, out of the hot tub, draped a towel over himself carelessly. And then he arrived in front of two dead werewolves and wished that he had never gotten out of the water. Trying to swallow back a whimper of distress as well as the urge to shift, Aldo stepped back and looked sharply away. He'd gotten a glimpse of their wounds. "Faen," he snarled, and took a tense seat nearby. He was trembling and trying as hard as he could not to shift, digging his fingernails into his palms. And simultaneously, he was fighting the urge to vomit. Judging from the feeling in his stomach it wasn't going to be a winning battle.
The smell of food wafted toward him, but Aldo couldn't fathom why anyone would want to eat when there were two dead members of their own pack lying on the floor. Slowly he turned his head toward the kitchen, unsure of how to respond to Acacia's apparently-buoyant mood. A fairly-sharp tooth was digging into his lip until it bled and released the scent of yet more blood, although this time fresh and not very much.
His sensitive ears (although he was deaf compared to his lupus form) picked up the rushed thuds of feet bounding down the stairs, the source of which he couldn't place until the pleasant but faint smell of Vashti diffused into his nose. With more ease, he heard heavier, more assertive footsteps; he didn't need to smell the Ulfric to know it was him, to feel his energy. The footsteps headed downward, into the basement, and Aldo shivered.
A smell of rotting hit him, and he decided that now was the time to investigate. He lifted himself, dripping, out of the hot tub, draped a towel over himself carelessly. And then he arrived in front of two dead werewolves and wished that he had never gotten out of the water. Trying to swallow back a whimper of distress as well as the urge to shift, Aldo stepped back and looked sharply away. He'd gotten a glimpse of their wounds. "Faen," he snarled, and took a tense seat nearby. He was trembling and trying as hard as he could not to shift, digging his fingernails into his palms. And simultaneously, he was fighting the urge to vomit. Judging from the feeling in his stomach it wasn't going to be a winning battle.
The smell of food wafted toward him, but Aldo couldn't fathom why anyone would want to eat when there were two dead members of their own pack lying on the floor. Slowly he turned his head toward the kitchen, unsure of how to respond to Acacia's apparently-buoyant mood. A fairly-sharp tooth was digging into his lip until it bled and released the scent of yet more blood, although this time fresh and not very much.