Member
Pen Name
wanderingwolf
Argetlam350
Noctis
Mae
hanzo
The Raven Calls
Dragonsforever
Mixtape Ghost N
"Rok, let me get that," said a husky, bearded man with dark, scruffy hair peppered with gray. His hand shot out and grabbed the luggage handles before Marrok could, pulling them out of the latter's reach. Marrok smirked and obliged. This sort of treatment wasn't uncommon. He was the son of the pack's Beta, afterall. Everyone tended to make an extra effort around him.
"I appreciate it, Stan," he said, offering thanks. Stan had no wife or kids. He was middle aged, single, and drunk more often than not. That said, he was the only one in the pack (other than his own father) that Marrok would have been willing to take the ridiculously long plane ride with. Having no family of his own, Stan became a sort of Uncle to Marrok.
"No worries, pup. 'sides, you'd just tire out after five minutes and make me carry it anyway," Stan claimed with a grin that made no attempt to hide the fact that he was going to continue busting Marrok's balls for the entire trip. Marrok let out a single huff of laughter in response before continuing onward through the Heathrow Airport terminals. In stark contrast to Stan's white button up shirt and beige slacks, Marrok preferred darker clothes, wearing a black shirt, blue jeans and a leather jacket as their feet patted out a rhythm on the hard floor. Heathrow Airport was one of the most crowded airports ever. It took active effort not to run into people that were coming at you from the opposite direction. As they continued on, Marrok turned back to see that Stan was falling significantly behind. He shook his head and stood in place, giving his buddy a chance to catch up. Should have let me take the luggage, old mutt. As he was watching, his eyes fell on a rather imposing figure in a long black coat as he shoulder checked Stan with such ferocity that it knocked the latter to the ground. Marrok's eyebrows dropped as his eyes widened and his lips reeled back in a snarl. The switch has been flipped. His adrenaline immediately surged. Marrok sprung forward, his hands balled into fists.
"Rok! No!" Stan shouted as Marrok bounded past him. His vision was tunneled. All he could see was the back of this jerk's head as he continued striding off to wherever he was going. Stan pulled himself to his feet and, at first, attempted to chase after Marrok before quickly surrendering to the fact that he'd never catch him. "Whatever," he said to himself. "Pups will be pups." He slowly picked the discarded luggage back up and looked around, his eyes falling upon a pub across the way. "Well, well. Don't mind if I do!" With a whistle, Stan started walking toward one of the bar stools.
"HEY!" Marrock shouted, gravel in his voice. He had closed the distance between he and the stranger very quickly and was not slowing down. As the guy turned, Marrok found himself looking at a very fit man standing nearly 6'7" with a dark complexion and chiseled muscles that were apparent even through the shirt he was wearing. The look on the stranger's face started as that of annoyance but quickly changed to a visage one would wear if they saw a train coming at them. Marrock leapt up, his fist oscillating backward and then up, like a sledgehammer before coming down on the stranger's nose with a sickening crack. The stranger fell back and Marrok found himself on top of him, snarling. "You knocked my friend down back there," he growled, watching the strangers nostrils leak crimson. "Don't let that happen again." The stranger was speechless. Everything happened so fast, that he really wasn't sure how to respond. Marrok pulled himself up and stood for a second, giving the guy an opportunity for revenge. As he just laid there in shock, his own fluids leaking on his face, Marrok finally turned and started walking back, not even bothering to give the stranger a second glance. Pussycat.
"'ey!" Stan shouted as he slammed down a shot of whiskey, waving Marrok over as he saw him walking passed. Marrok raised an eyebrow and started walking toward the pub as Stan fished some money out of his pocket and left it on the counter. "You fuckin' idiot. Was that really necessary?"
Marrok stared at Stan for a silent moment before stating as a matter of fact, "Yes. It was."
"Hmm. Well alright, then. Ready?" Marrok nodded and they continued their trek down the terminal.
Marrok found himself sitting in a van with three other people and an English driver. He had given Stan his farewells at the airport parking lot and the two went their own separate ways; Stan back to Texas and Marrok to his new home for the next few years. Stan's eyes had gotten glassy when Marrok shook his hand for the last time, but he quickly steeled himself when Marrok gave him a glare that silently demanded it.
As he looked at the other faces, he immediately locked on to the other male in the vehicle. The two of them were comparably sized. He knew there would be a lot of competition at this school so he became a little excited to see one of the many he would be up against. Eventually they came to another stop and a young woman came aboard, maximizing the occupancy of the vehicle. Marrok gave her a once over. Certainly attractive, but he choose to remain silent for now. Everyone in here was a potential threat to his goal. He had to keep that in mind. Observe, analyze, prepare, react. And just as he was thinking that, she spoke...
"Where are you guys from? I come from New Orleans. The Bayou Wolf Pack out there was my home." Marrok noticed a subtle sense of pride in her voice.
"Houghton, Michigan. Little mining town in the U.P- my pack kept to the forest," said the other, larger candidate. Marrok chose not to respond, instead using his thumb to pull down on his finger, clicking each knuckle on his right hand individually as he returned his gaze out the window. Soon enough, the mansion came into view and the councilor gave them a rundown of the rules.
Marrok quickly got out of the van and grabbed his baggage, slinging it over his shoulder as he trudged toward the two who seemed to be exchanging introductions. "Excuse me." It was more of a command than a beg for pardon as he marched passed them, heading toward the men's dormitories.
