1963-11-13 - Not Their Ways
Summary: A meeting of two wolves after a couple thousand years of separation.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
skali hrimhari 

East Village opened up to her, the blurring pavement identical to any other street of a thousand cities she had traveled. The low idling purr of her motorcycle throttled into slumber as she turned the key, stepping into the thick of Mutant Town after the kickstand had been dropped. Dark brown hair fell in a whip of chaotic curls around her flushed cheeks, the safety of a helmet abstained from and thus her appearance wind-blasted and weather beaten. It only enriched her wild beauty, a power in every drop of her boots that cleared the sidewalk, even in this questionable part of town.

As the river's idle babble faded into the chaos of the city, her nose turned to the sky and she sampled the air, looking for someone that had no reason to hide from her. And yet, her life for so many countless years had been sublimation of anti-establishment instincts, manifest in living on the outskirts of Midgardian society. Perhaps it was loneliness, or the scent of Asgardian magic that now saturated the skies from time to time in her refuge of solitude, but Skali was taking the first step towards reclaiming a pack. She would be lying if she said she wasn't scared out of her mind in doing so.


The prince of wolves often finds himself in the East Village. He knows it is partly due to the leyline energy here — which he can trace to key locations, like the Sanctum Sanctorum, for one — and partly because the few friends he truly knows in New York… all live here.

Having left his apartment further in the city, he walks in human form — silver-haired and wearing an uncomfortable suit (they are all uncomfortable) — along the street. Hrimhari opens his mind to the other wolves and canines all around him… and listens.

That is what alerts him to the presence of another Asgardian mind in the same region…


Even foreign worlds understand aligning commonalities, threads that should be knit in the same weave. The slow turn of a head tugged her awareness along that golden string, and a few steps took her around the street corner setting their paths upon a course of intersection. The sidewalk framed her in, a study in contrast to suits, mid-calf boots fading into a pair of leggings, the pencil skirt seemingly counterintuitive to the rest of her attire. Just off work, on her way home, obvious impulsivity driving her to this fulcrum of fate.

She stank of fear, of sea salt and whiskey; nothing of wolf left in her except for the blood that flowed in her veins. Still she managed a smile of falsity, practiced politeness, and addressed him in deference.

"Hrimhari. It's been a while."



The prince lifts his chin, his nostrils flaring, then tilts his head to the side a fraction, golden eyes studying the wolf-in-human-clothing before him. It shouldn't really surprise him, to smell so little of 'the wolf' in his fellow Lupine Asgardian; she has been in Midgard a very long time.

"'Tis good to see you."

Rolling a shoulder to try and put his jacket into a more comfortable position (there is no such thing, with him), Hrimhari straightens up and remarks: "This one did not know you were in New York. Is this where you have dwelt all this time?"

The fear he smells upon her… he leaves for now. He can ask about it later, if the right moment presents itself. He briefly steps aside to let some pedestrians go by, then shifts his attention back to Skali.


The fact that he moved for mortals drew her glance, an eyebrow raised as she chuckled. The humor was earnest now, having always come easy to the playful beast, a step or two bringing them into more companionable distance.

"Hardly. New York was not even conceived conceptually when I first arrived here. I have seen societies form and empires fall. Fascinating creatures."

She paused in her consideration of mankind, unmoving as a businessman intent on reaching his mistress before the wife suspected where he was collided with her shoulder. The unyielding nature of her being became wholly evident, the much larger human practically pirouetting off of the rebound and wincing. There was a temptation, a threat of violence tightening his jawline as he took a step towards the two wolves, and then Skali met the man's eyes. He thought better of it.

When Skali returned her focus to the Prince of Wolves, her pupils had nearly been swallowed by the gold. A hand rose to run nails through her thick hair, as if smoothing hackles whilst she continued,

"They delight me. You are well, it seems?"


"This one blends in as best he may…" the prince remarks as he watches the pedestrians leave. Two-Legs will never, ever cease to puzzle him — no matter how long he walks like them, or wears their clothes. "Hrimhari is not here to rule."

Fat chance of escaping it, it would seem. The moment he had shown up in New York, canines had gone bonkers all over the city… at least they do not 'dog' his every step now.

He pauses to watch the man who had bumped into Skali — as well as her reaction. Aye, even all this time among them she is still not as 'Two-Leg' as she appears. Even the anger in her response is almost… gratifying to the prince, despite his being the gentlest of souls.

No wolf would merely 'bump' into someone — then again, wolves do not cheat on their mates. Two-Legs are truly… strange. Hrimhari communicates as much via the bond between wolves, but says nothing aloud on the matter.

"This one is well. You, however, smell… what troubles you, Skali?" he asks should she wish to speak it in words. "If this one has aid to lend, Skali has but to ask."


A thick swallow seized her throat as she considered the question. What troubled her?

The scent of juniper and thick woods she had forgotten, opening over the skies of New York city only a week before, magic saturating her pores as the Enchantress played at divinity once again with the lives of mortals. The way a demon burst forth from the Hell Mouth knew her by name, by the emptiness that ached in her gut and begged to be released, stripped her of anonymity with barbed words and then threatened to vivisect the only refuge of companionship she had found on Midgard. How the wolf no longer slumbered, but paced and bristled and stared at its kin now through eyes traced by mascara, shadowed by the newest shade from Maybelline.

A lot troubled her. There was only one thing she could ask of him though.

"I think I am tired of solitude. It is disquieting to spend this much time alone. It is not in our nature. I understand formality and protocol has never been my strength, and I fear time on Midgard has not improved such things - Hence I request your company from time to time, when your schedule permits here. And patience in such company, as I am certain court protocols have not relaxed in my absence. I don't wish to return, I just want-"

She trailed off, struggling to define what exactly she wanted but hoping coffee could be a good place to start.


The prince smiles, and rolls his shoulders again.

He really does not like clothes.

"We are — ," and he hesitates as more people approach along the sidewalk. This time, however, Hrimhari closes his eyes and immediately the dogs in the yards alongside the street start barking.


It is enough that the pedestrians all cross the street to the far side, and the prince… hardly smiles or smirks or any such gesture. His golden eyes, however, glint. "We are wolves," says he to Skali, head lowered a bit, peering at her from beneath his silver eyebrows. "Our ways are not their ways, the Two-Legs." Court… protocol… he knows it — at least in Asgard — but it is still foreign to him, and always will be. Forming a thin-lipped smile, he adds:

"You have no pack. This one… knows. 'Tis an ache that will not be healed by words or the company of…" Hrimhari's gaze tracks toward the humans as they leave, and the dogs calm down. "Others. If ever you need Hrimhari — call. He will hear thee, 'though Realms stand betwixt, and he will come."


The sudden cacophonous swell of noise and sound, the call of domesticated tongues risen to song by the will of their royalty, it brought laughter to her nervous expression and the sound was full of the wildness her persona restrained. When their eyes met again, she dipped her head in an honest display of both deference and gratitude,

"I do not pretend that my loneliness can match the importance of your other tasks. I would like to show you a restaurant a Midgardian Prince introduced me to. Their steak is divine and they know how to serve it properly rare. Then perhaps-"

A hesitant pause, a hopeful look accompanied by a tilt of the head. For all the ferocity she certainly possessed, there was a fragility in the question posed now,

"-a run?"


Hrimhari smiles.


"The scent is caught and the prey awaits," says he in agreement. Then he gestures down the street with one arm, while glancing that way, then the other, before adding: "This one is pleased to join thee."

A nearby dog barks, eliciting a brief frown from the prince. He turns aside to a bull terrier sitting at the fence, and shakes his head. "Nay. Not this day. This one can smell thy dinner already awaits thee." Hrimhari lifts his head, nostrils flaring once he identifies the tinned 'dog-food' soon to be given to the bull terrier.

He frowns.

"You have Hrimhari's sympathies." He turns then toward Skali and nods. "Shall we go? Tell me of this land ere the Two-Legs turned it into… this? It must have smelled better…"


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