Sept. 30 '78: Put It All On Red: Elara

[Fenrir Greyback]

▶︎ sh*t, life ain't fair, go figure

rather drop dead than be a quitter...

[following: your own kind]

The light of the moon was cool and bright as they surveyed the home at the end of the lane. Far from the road, isolated, a thicket of trees to the back and enough to the sides to provide what coverage they needed. The last of the lights turned off - like clockwork, indeed, the house's pattern confirmed - and the rooms inside were cast in shadows. Including the children's - at the northwest corner - and the parents - due north. On their next visit, they would strike. Fenrir motioned to the other two and, with the quiet of a lifetime's practice, led them further into the woods, and back towards home. Talk of finalizing plans emerged when they were at a safe distance, and shifted into jibes and idle talk from the younglings the closer they came to the village. Sylas, broad and bold. Arden, sinewy and sly. He kept an ear on their chatter, proud of their collective excitement and preparation.

The cycle of their pack continued, as did that of the moon, and these pups who had been granted a new life by him only a few years before, had proven themselves ready to join him in this moon's retrieval. Should they succeed of their own accord, they would be welcomed back with the celebrations they deserved - and should they fail, an equally deserved punishment would follow. While they knew that accepting the challenge of this rite of passage was a gamble, and that turning the children was only the start of their responsibilities, they were filled with the enviable optimism, fervor, of youth, and easily fell into their usual brotherly patter. The trio parted ways as the deer trail turned into broader foot paths, leading to homes built into the trees.

In the nights that led up to the full moon, with the height of their power close enough to grab, the village was alive and awake long into the night. Fenrir scanned the homes as he walked, unbothered and, if anything, further fueled by the lengthy trek back. It meant that they were that much closer to growing their pack, to new lines beginning. And while that could, theoretically, mean eventual challenges to his grip on the pack - he had fought challengers before, after all, and they were now nowhere to be found. Such battles only strengthened his hold, or so he claimed. It was not something to concern himself with - tonight, at least. Tonight, he would find suitable company with one of the she-wolves, and he turned towards Elara's cottage at spying light from within. The wolf was a favorite of his, and had been since her return to the pack after graduation; young, fierce, loyal, striking, as his favorites were known to be. "Lara, it's me," he called through the door, rapping on it with impatience. 

[Elara Faolan]

It had been a long day. Putting up with her siblings this morning and finally giving in to her brother’s insistence on “borrowing” some money, Elara knew she wouldn’t be seeing that money returned to her and honestly, she was fine with that. She took on a mothering type of role for some of her younger siblings, particularly the ones she shared a maternal line with, though she cared for all of them to a degree. Elara had no plans of becoming a parent herself, she didn’t want to be tied down to raising a brood any more than she already was as the eldest of the Faolan children. She wanted to explore and go on adventures, to see the world. There had to be places out there where people like her were not only tolerated but accepted, not just feared but respected. There were cultures across the world who would surely see her kind as the god-like creatures they were, but for Elara to find them it would require funds and even without her brother whinging about needing a few spare sickles for a date every so often, her bank vault was not growing at a rate that would encourage any holiday planning.

She knew she was one of the better off wolves in their pack, having steady work as a bartender at the Wyvern. Not all of their kind could boast a regular post in magical employment and those who tried their hand at muggle shops often didn’t last long with their unexplained monthly absences. Truthfully, the men seemed the least adept at handling their shite when the full moon approached, but it was no secret that women were well practiced in maintaining the status quo for the sake of those around them. Her “luck” as some might call it, meant that she had worked a grueling shift and dealt with too many slobbering, drunk wizards who sloshed and splashed their ale around, leaving her with a stale stench hanging off her. Upon her arrival home, her first order of the evening was a shower which she intended to follow with a nice cup of tea but rapping at her front door pulled her attention from thoughts of the kitchen.

A deep, sexual voice called through her door for her, and Elara adjusted the towel wrapped around her still damp frame. Walking barefoot through the home, she reached her door and pulled it open without bothering to check through the window. She knew Fenrir’s voice by heart; it made chills run up her spine and tingles sent in all the best directions every time he spoke. He had a wild look in his eye tonight, no doubt he had been hunting or at the very least training tonight. The full moon was approaching and the whole village seemed to shiver with excitement each month as it neared. She smiled and stepped aside, pulling the door open further to allow him entrance.

[Fenrir Greyback]

"You won't be needing that." Fenrir grinned, green eyes glinting as they traveled up her body from her bare feet. The towel left her toned legs and arms exposed, little left to the imagination as it clung to the rest of her form, and he had to chuckle at his own state of overdress when compared to her. Elara could refuse him tonight, to be sure - they were heightened, moods shifting and unpredictable even a few weeks out from an eclipse - but with that smile of hers at seeing him, Fenrir felt nothing but confident as he stepped inside, fingers grazing the soft edge of the towel at her thigh. His hand curled in her hair, moving the damp locks aside to reveal her neck, and he bent his head to breathe her scent in deeply. It was no wonder she'd bathed so late in the night - he would have too, if he'd been unlucky enough to have a day in town. Just the faintest scent of that other life remained on her skin, the stale, sweaty sweetness of the pub and its patrons, and he was eager to replace it with something of their own making.

She lived with them, but it was as though she had one foot out with that job. A job that paid. The littlest pup of her father's litter was still in school, needing all manner of things that could only be purchased on wizarding streets, and Ulric spent more time chasing tail than providing for any of the children. The duty fell onto the strong shoulders under his scarred hands, and Elara bore the burden as she felt she had to. Apart from becoming a mother herself - not a desire, he well knew - with any luck, once the little one was done with school and with them fully, Elara would have enough reason to let the wizarding job go. They didn't deal with anything so trivial as coin in the wood, he couldn't imagine she would miss anything about those duties. He didn't like the thought of one of his own being leered at, demeaned, by the wizarding drunkards. Certainly, she scared them off before they got too close, but Fenrir knew the kind well from his in-between time. Pathetic, persistent, self-important....

"How you don't just bite their throats is beyond me," he breathed against her skin, pulling back to meet her dark eyes with a flash of teeth. "What are you thinking of, all night there, to not go mad?"

[Elara Faolan]

His face was a welcomed sight after such an exhausting day, and as he took the final steps up to her front door and stepped inside, Elara was suddenly feeling much more energized. His rough hands trailing gently over his towel as the night wind blew in at them from the still open door. It was lucky that his plans for the evening, whatever they had been, had afforded her time to wash the smell of the wizard pub off her. Had she expected a visit she might have taken more care to make herself presentable, but his greeting had assured her that there was no need for the effort. Struggling to restrain the smile that ached to burst forth as she tilted her head, opening her neck to him, she could almost read his thoughts despite not having any training in such magic. It did not take legilimency to know what this beast at her door wanted from his willing prey. She pushed the door shut with a grin.

Hot breath warmed her damp skin as he simultaneously questioned and praised her restraint at the White Wyvern. “Who says I don’t?” Truthfully, there had been a good many times when she had nearly lost control of herself as one of the men hurled vile chat-up lines at her or, nearer the full moon, simply looked at her in a manner she disliked. But to her credit, and for her future’s sake, she had managed to keep her composure intact and thus far avoid getting sacked. “Some say madness has already taken me,” she chuckled, pressing her hand to his chest and feeling the faint thumping of his heart beneath well-toned muscle. “Today though,” she mused, tilting her head as she looked into his eyes, craving the attention the older wolf doled out to her in droplets and savoring every moment of it, “today was an easier day for distraction. I met a pup in the city who took an interest in me in such an oddly refreshing way. Not pervy,” she clarified, though she did sometimes like to see if she could foster any jealousy from him, this was not her current intent. Though she’d hardly stop him if he wanted to lay claim over her. Lara began undoing the buttons on Fenrir’s shirt as she spoke. “He was so innocent. He’d never met another wolf before, can you believe that?”

[Fenrir Greyback]

"You're that good at hiding the bodies, eh?" he asked in jest. Elara's hands were warm even through his shirt, and her laughter filled the scant space between them as Fenrir grinned. The rest of the world thought they were mad, the lot of them. They didn't prescribe to the accepted ways of being, they forged their own rules and society through the blood, sweat and tears of their folk. It was a hard life that few chose until it was their only option. And if Elara was already mad, where did that leave him and the rest of their pack? "Then we're all mad," he replied, voice low as the she-wolf started at his shirt. He was welcome, then, as he'd hoped; Fenrir listened as she began, her response giving insight and a story, and his dark brows quirked.

"That's not possible," Fenrir dismissed with a chuckle, amused by her ploy. This "pup" was a figment of her imagination, surely - or a revised tale, the pup substituting in for a child who didn't know his right foot from his left. None of theirs would be foolish enough to bite a child and leave it in the wizarding world. At least, none foolish enough to do so and not admit it to him, so things could be handled properly. Perhaps this pup came from abroad? On his own?...He'd been guilty of such acts in his youth, when he'd been even faster to let vengeance overtake him and damn the consequences - but there were few survivors. The ones who survived only did so because of another party's intervention, and he still bore the marks of curses of worthier adversaries. The parting gift from Lyall Lupin, a ragged line of scar tissue that ran from his back and around a shoulder, was revealed as he finished removing his shirt. He'd lived with the scar for over a decade, and rarely thought of it - or the sanctimonious bastard and the fate of the little boy. If the father was true to his beliefs, the boy would have "disappeared," as it had seemed.

A test, then, if only to sate his curiosity before it ran away with him. Fenrir paused her hands, holding them within his own as he looked into her eye with a loaded severity. What would it mean if she wasn't stretching the truth? "Did he give you a name?"

[Elara Faolan]

As he dismissed her tale of the orphaned pup, he shed the fabric that covered his glorious chest. Now one step closer to covering himself as scantily as she was in her white fluffy towel. Like so many of their kind, his strong frame was adorned with scars, some more prominent than others. She had long ago grown accustomed to jagged patterns of raised skin hidden beneath the tufts of dark hair the covered his chest, or the starburst-like patterns across his back where cowardly wizards had attacked from behind. Her own claw-like contributions had since faded, not as impactful as those from magic or otherwise lethal encounters but she appreciated a challenge and making her mark on this man for even a moment was a great accomplishment. She welcomed the chance to do so whenever he sought her out, knowing it was a privilege to be among the few he returned to.

Flattered and emboldened with a sense of superiority over the other she-wolves of the pack who were neither here to feel their inferiority nor in Fenrir’s presence tonight, at least for the time being. Lara was momentarily thrown when the older wolf’s expression turned serious and he stilled her hands on his chest. “I don’t remember,” she said offhandedly, her voice light and playful, not really trying very hard to recall such details. “Roman… or Remy or something. What does his name matter?” What does it matter when you're still in your trousers? is what she wanted to say, but she clipped her words to ensure she did not seem too eager.

[Fenrir Greyback]

Had Fenrir known that the she-wolf had information for him, he would have assigned someone else to prepare with Sylas and Arden tonight. One of his deputies could have covered the scouting mission, kept the youths in line, whereas this information? This was for his ears only, and there was laughter in Elara's eyes, she was distracted and wanted to play - she wasn't trying hard enough and boldly questioned him at the same time. Roman, Remy - it was close, but he needed to know for certain. 

His question should have been enough. He shouldn't have to explain himself, his reasons - not to her, not to anyone under his protection. 

You like her impudence.

    Usually.

His jaw clenched, vein throbbing at his temple, Fenrir stared her down. Waiting. Waiting for more, for her to understand, to give what he needed, to tire of the iron grip on her hands.

If Remus Lupin was alive, Lyall Lupin had allowed it - the information was gold, precious, something to be traded. The Dark Lord would do something with it, he was certain. Not that it sounded like he needed help getting a stronger grip on the failing Ministry, but he had ousted more influential members for less than hypocrisy. Hiding a bitten child. Breaking the law by not registering the pup...

If he had survived, he had been kept isolated from his kind - Remus had to be claimed, taught, taken in. A rogue, untrained werewolf was a liability to them all, as Fenrir knew all too well from his early years. 

Elara was no fool. She knew. She had to know, she could remember, he just needed the name -

She thinks it's a game?

    Motivate her.

With a huff of hot air, Fenrir took her face in his hands, and his lips collided with hers. He kissed her, lips hard and unforgiving against the richness of hers, and pulled her against him - only to stop. Pulling himself back to meet her eyes as they flickered back open, his hand closed on the towel at her chest where it tucked in. Waiting. "It matters. Try."

[Elara Faolan]

The handsome wolf gripped her hands tightly, his massive fingers grazing the edges of her scarred wrist, a lasting memento of her induction into the pack by her father when she was but a child. Her pulse was more noticeable under this pressure and Elara’s playful smile persisted, excited over the prospect of this man’s hands on her. If he would break her a thousand times, she would beg him for more. His strength, the power he possessed, was intoxicating. Never would Lara have wished to be restrained, to submit to any man’s will, but with this beast between her thighs she found her body yearned for a connection others might think violent. The pressure on her wrists was nothing more than foreplay, as evidenced by his sudden attack.

Evidently tired of this silly banter about her day, he claimed her lips and let the pretenses fall. She returned his kiss eagerly but just as suddenly as it had started, he pulled away. Her breath stilled, shocked from start and stop of the encounter. He was so close, his hand threatening her only covering, but he halted. She could have whimpered at being teased but his demands were made, and Elara knew from the look in his glorious eyes that there was only one way to get what she wanted needed from him now.

A name. The boy had given it so willingly. So disgustingly polite and mannered in the ways the wizards demanded. Handshakes and introductions and niceties that served no one and nothing. A name. What was his name?

“Remus,” she conceded. “He said his name was Remus Lupin.” Having acquiesced to his demands, she waited with bated breath. Would he reward her or were there more challenges to be laid before her?

[Fenrir Greyback]

Fenrir resisted the urge to repeat himself. That's not possible. Remus Lupin - turned, survived, alive. And announcing his kinship with the first wolf he chanced upon on the street. He was lucky it was Lara. If the fool was as loose-lipped as he seemed, how Remus had lasted these long years was beyond him. If Elara hadn't conjured the pup's name from his own mind, a symptom of a long-past revenge was returned to haunt him.

No. No.

    He needs us.

A solitary werewolf, a rogue without a pack, was not only a liability to the rest - but drowning for community, understanding, acceptance of who they were at their core, with no outstretched hands to grasp. Wizards feared them, turning them into warnings to keep their children from wandering out of bounds. Muggles thought nothing of the folklore that preserved their history, taking their truths and twisting them into fantastical, monstrous creatures solely controlled by bloodlust. They could only be when they were together in these woods, bound by bonds purer than blood.

The boy had to be a man now. Eternally lost, searching, not even knowing who - or what - he so desperately needed.

He would join them. Of that, Fenrir was certain. There was no other way, now that Fenrir knew that one of his own was not under his watch - had grown outside of his tutelage. Fenrir would have him. And the revenge would be complete, more satisfying than he envisioned it could be. The how of it all, however...

The how could not be from him. Not directly, not until they knew more. As if in answer to his yet ungiven assignment, the she-wolf's dark eyes shone up at him, trusting, willing; generous lips parted, breathless already. Elara allowed him to handle her as she would not allow another, Fenrir knew. He admired her strength, and itched for the scratch of her claws - but that her infatuation with him left such a powerful wolf soft as she waited to be released, for his acceptance of her offering? Just how he liked them. He grinned, excitement evident; a quick tug to her towel, and the damp little thing hit the floor.

"Good girl - was that so hard?" he teased in a rumble, arms snaking around to lift her bodily, lips catching hers in a mutual thrill now that new business was underway. As he carried her, Fenrir muted the barrage of thoughts of how to handle the situation of the child he'd left for dead. Even as a plan began to coalesce, it would not be resolved tonight, and he had to determine how much he would tell Elara of the boy. She was already curious, no doubt, at his insistence on the name. But he had only just begun to distract her, tire her. There would be time to prepare - after.