FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE—

[cesarlazkano]

𑇛 ۫ ៹  𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑧𝑘𝑎𝑛𝑜  , a  private  blog  for  césar  lazkano,  an  original  character  set in city of ruin.  written  by  rora,  24,  she/her  pronouns.  

˗ˏˋ sideblog to enchaentingly,         prompt tag,         about muse tag,         pinterest. ˎˊ˗

name.  césar lazkano. occupation.  unemployed for now, professional annoyance </3. age.  35. sexuality.  bisexual, demi-romantic. species.  werewolf. pack?  harford. hometown.  port leiry, born and raised. relationship status.  single. personality traits.  impulsive, enraged, self-destructive, obsessive, petty, vengeful, unpredictable.

césar's familial bloodline is cursed, though he is not actively looking for a cure, he knows his brother, matteo is. césar believes he is too far gone to come back from the curse, as he cannot control the symptoms and continuously loses control fo his instincts, and going on rampages. these events typically come from high emotion, and come with a body count. depending on the severity, you may not be able to reach césar. the only one who has consistently been able to do so is his older brother.

On the night of the first kill — like a switch being flipped, their lives would turn nightmarish. Hallucinations would plague their conscious, whispers of brutal and vicious urges would rush through their ears — prompting them to act on their worst desires, feeding on their inhumane nature, on their primal instincts.

because of the curse, and other guilt he harbors, césar frequently partakes in high-risk behaviors. he frequently uses hard drugs, chainsmoking, or binge drinking as a clutch and distraction. sometimes they mute the horrors from the curse, and sometimes they make it far worse.

his most notable work is the massacre he committed in port leiry two years ago. it was while he was turned, suffering particularly from the curse, cesar hallucinated that the party was instead a warwick gathering. avi, a close friend,'s departure from warwick had made a fresh wound of rage in his mind, as well as every other gripe he had with the pack he felt he'd never fit into. césar slaughtered the distorted image of the pack, jeering and taunting him like a wild beast at a circus. but it wasn't real, the sounds were instead screams and the body's not one of werwolves at all, but humans at a college party, drunk in the woods.

warwick banished him out of fear that he'd attract attention from hunters, and any ounce of guilt he could've felt from any of the murders is immediately gone. enraged, césar leaves port leiry. two years later, he returns after news of his father's death finds him, despite could having done with more time away, and joins up with harford and their alpha, avi with intentions to avenge his father's pride.

What emotion does your character feel the strongest and what elicits that sort of emotion from them the easiest? partially due to the curse, césar is almost always overwhelmed in rage. his very being incites it from him. it’s not fair what matteo had to do to keep him safe, it’s not fair that their family has to suffer, warwick’s not fair, his father’s death isn’t fair, nothing is fair and it makes him so angry.

If your character is not human, how would they react to finding out about the existence of a cure to turn them human? this would be so complicated. does the cure remove the curse? he may have too much pride to stop being a wolf, and at the same time, he believes he’s too far gone to ever redeem himself.

What is their worst childhood memory? he was in high school, but 14, when matteo killed for him. a young césar had humor, money, and loved his life despite the horrors so thinly veiled from him. naturally, others grew jealous, poked the baby bear whose protective older brother was grown up and gone. of course, that hadn’t been farther from the truth, and when one bully took it too far, chasing césar into the woods and strangling him, nearly to death- matteo found them. and then he killed, for the very first time and césar watched as his brother turned into the monster he’d fought for so long.

timeline.

1981 - matteo lazkano is born to mario and sofia lazkano. he, like his father, is marked with the lazkano blood curse.

1990 - césar lazkano is born to mario lazkano and an unknown mother, a one night stand. he, like his father, is marked with the lazkano blood curse.

2004 - after finding césar in life-threatening danger, matteo kills his attacker. matteo completes his first kill, triggers the curse that marks the lazkano bloodline. 

2006 - overwhelmed with guilt over what matteo has done for him, césar completes his first kill via committing suicide. matteo finds him, and restarts his heart. this triggers the curse that marks the lazkano bloodline. he suffers horrendous side effects that he cannot control like matteo did.

2006/7 - burdened, cursed césar kills lucian goodwin’s father, and attacked his sister. he makes it out alive after a hunter arrived, with only a few wounds to lick.

2014/5 - addie lazkano is born to matteo lazkano and his wife. she, like her father, is marked with the lazkano blood curse.

2016/7 - matteo lazkano’s wife is murdered by a witch hunter.

2022 - matias echevarria is killed by his sister, yuisa. avi hassim, a close friend to césar, leaves the warwick pack because of it.

2023 - césar massacres an entire college party in the woods while turned, leaving behind gruesome evidence of the horrors that occurred there. the warwick pack banishes him out of fear of him attracting attention from hunters. césar leaves port leiry that night.

2025 - mario lazkano is killed by yuisa echevarria. césar comes back to port leiry.

full write up tbd.

reconnecting - césar's coming back after causing quite a ruckus two years ago, reuniting him with family, friend and foe alike is my main focus for now.

[cesarlazkano]

[ FIND ] : sender (elio) finds receiver (cesar) beaten and/or bloodied.

nonverbal prompts, accepting!  ˎˊ˗

        césar thinks he's doing well for himself, all things considered- taking to no man's land instead of digging his teeth into some innocent lamb wandering through port leiry's nightlife. instead of finding his way back to the docks, where lies the only blood that could ever truly satisfy him. no more babysitters, no more responsibility, no more holding him accountable. césar's a lone wolf, left to play without the consequences of his actions making their way back. well, at least they're not making their way back to him.

        there's a vampire in the pit that he's left behind in the dust. he won't feel the aftermath of the wolf's violence, because he's dead. césar doesn't even know he's bleeding until his finger brushes up to push away a dark curl out of his eyes that his hand comes back bloody. it doesn't surprise him, it's only warm against the heat of his skin, still pulsing from adrenaline. it's not enough, but the cooldown of a good fight keeps his heart pumping, and had gotten out a pinch of the rage- just enough that he can close his eyes tonight without seeing corpses on the ceiling. the rest will still come to haunt him in his nightmares, but if he can reach bone-tired, his need for survival might push through the curse. he spends his days seething, and exhausting himself. the wolf makes it harder to want to come back to standing on two feet.

        he knows he's left when fresh air tickles the back of his neck, whispering to him something wild. he takes a beat in the alley, shoving his head to rest against the brick. césar doesn't know how long he's standing there like that, but he knows, soon enough, there's another heartbeat in the alley with him. he pushes off the wall. he smells like a wolf, this boy. looks like a sad, sad motherfucker. césar smiles, shadowed under the moon. " they got another one for you in there, boy. y'lookin' for a fight? "

[howlthorne]

“Been there a couple times. Never the death matches, but the crowd’s decent, and I’m not new to fight clubs.” He used to get involved in all sorts of circles, in every town he’d lived in. He might have tried his best to be good in this town, keep himself out of trouble, but a fight in a ring with someone else looking to work out some issues on his jaw was usually preferable to picking fights with randoms in bars. “Lots of vamps. I’ll stick around for the daylight fights, but I’m not into the shit that happens after dark.” 

Death-matches weren’t his thing. Even before he met Alcide and got his head on straight, he wasn’t much of a killer, not when there wasn’t a real emotional investment. 

He nodded, tapping the surface of the bar in an unconscious mirror of César’s own gesture. He understood perfectly, the need to rely on other people to keep himself stable. When he was alone, he tended to get... more caught up in his moods, fixations, stuff that would lead him down dangerous paths. “Yeah, I get that. I’d probably be dead in a ditch somewhere if it wasn’t for ‘Cide.”

[cesarlazkano]

        “ knew we’d get along, luca. ”  but, ah, there’s the difference. césar is a killer, has been since he grew his own teeth and claws. he’s a murderer, like his father before him, and, likely, his father before him. they’re wolves, they’ve always been endowed to violence to survive. it’s what they do, and césar’s never denied his monstrous nature, he certainly won’t stop now.  “ think it’d be fun, to bite one of ‘em into dust. just once. ”  he’s musing, mainly, which maybe isn’t the appropriate thing to do about bloodlust, but he’s only got so much man left in him.  “ you … eh … like it when they deserve it, yeah? any of ‘em ever try it with you, the vamps? or are they all just scaredy-bats. ”

        another strange bout of understanding finds césar. something like surprise wavers, unfamiliar, over his face. it’s not much, just in his eyes- he’s not used to it. quite the opposite, actually. césar’s not so much excluded as he makes an outrage of himself to avoid the pain of being turned away. he’s done it more times than he can count, and it numbs that wound just fine for him, doubly so when it’s blanketed by illicit substances and the kind of sex that leaves marks.  “ give yourself some credit, chico. ”  he takes a sip of his drink, eyes wandering away from lucas.  “ your ‘cide wouldn’t wantcha’ being gloomy about all that, would he? ”

[cesarlazkano]

the piers.

        césar's capable so far so long as you turn a blind eye between what he does in the meantime. he's productive so long as someone else's life is on the line. left to his own devices, with harford already in the water, he'd be walking through different warehouses. would've poured some blood in the water before it inevitably drowns him, too. but people are counting on him, apparently, which leaves césar's self-destruction to wait for another night.

        avi promised him blood. months ago- if he behaved, if he cooperated, eventually, it would happen. they just needed more than violence, more than an attack that manifested all of their shared pain. but césar isn't willing for the blood to be his alpha's, so he doesn't take any warwick lives with him when he seeks avi out by the water. it's close enough to the piers that he'll be there when they need him to be- but, first, someone else needs him.

        and maybe it's not césar that he needs. maybe he needs that suit of his back, and his comb. his smile, that if he stays here, césar won't ever get to see again. this heist is the start to a long road they can't take back, and if anyone deserved to get out of this before it started- before he lost anything else, it was avi.

        not césar.

        maybe it's matteo's voice that crawls out of him, low, and rumbling, from some place césar can't name. somebody else, inside his body, tells his best friend to go. leave, without looking back. walking towards something new, he's always been the one with so much ahead of him, while césar sits in his own festering rot. avi says the name of some boy that césar doesn't remember, with grief in his eyes as the two of them stare out at the water- steps away from where yuisa murdered his heart. he doesn't know this boy, he doesn't know where avi's going- he'll find out -, he doesn't know if he'll come back. césar, even selfish and possessive, wants him to be happy, and he knows better than anyone that it can't be done here. his approval is all the goodbye that césar can give him, before he heads to the pier.

        when he turns his back on avi, césar finds that all of that roiling anger and violence in his chest has turned to molten pain. all he can do with that is steal a damn boat.

...

        by the time codie and flick find him, césar's well enough figured his way around the boat to get them out of here. the need to survive crawls up his spine, sharp with paranoia. with the water, comes familiarity, and a rush of adrenaline at making out of this alive with something to show for it. still, there comes the weight that they'll never stop running after this. not until somebody's dead. césar's fine with that life, he's spent a fair bit already living it. it's a different, foreign feeling, now, knowing there's other people involved. a pack, that means something more than birth and pride.

        codie's got something with her, but now's not the time to figure it out. it doesn't surprise him that they'd found some kind of treasure, even if césar had been more in it to ruffle feathers, paint 'em with blood. whatever it is, it's not his problem. all that matters is that she doesn't have it anymore.

        the engine of the boat whirrs to a start. to him, it sounds like a growl as he turns the stolen key, and pulls all three of them, the boat, and whatever that stupid fucking pelt is away from the piers- away from warwick.

[manuel-amador]

Whatever chunk of his mind thought it’d be cathartic to see the emptying husk of his old home ought to be fired. Or removed. Or— whatever, he was probably killing it right now, along with most the rest of his brain cells.

It wasn’t worth it, but he was stuck here now. Manuel couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten here — there was some blurry memory of pulling into the driveway and slamming a car door, but he couldn’t find any car keys on him, just the key to this goddamn house. A place technically under construction, but he couldn’t be assed to care. It was his damn property. He could go where he damn well pleased, and if he wanted to enjoy its destruction wasted, he’d do just that.

It was boring, though. Nothing jabbed at his memory quite like it used to, and he wasn’t all too thrilled to see it bare like he thought he would be. Manuel was bored easily, especially these days. He took another bump off the side of his hand as he wandered out the back door, having lost interest in blank slate his childhood home was becoming. For as long as he’d been stuck here as a child, he’d never really explored the surrounding property.

(Mírame, padre, estoy fuera. ¿Contento?)

He stumbled into the line of trees, unbothered by the looming darkness. How hard could it be to find his way back? He ambled along, shuffling his feet through dirt and fallen leaves littering the forest floor. It was chilly out, and quiet save the occasional owl. Not too bad a night for a walk.

[cesarlazkano]

       the wolf noses around, seeing if any particular step or turned over leaf reveals more of the scent, or perhaps a closer trail to the meat of another prey. when the night’s air picks up into a breeze, the wind lifts a thousand smells and sensations with it. for the moment, it tucks away the sound of footsteps in its own wild howl, but césar can feel someone coming closer, unsuspecting, through the way of the ground. nothing is as strong as knowing who’s approaching him, knowing he doesn’t realize.

       el viejo from the bar has enough meat on his bones to satisfy a hungry animal, but that’s not the kind of cruelty that he’s hungry for. he’d be a better man if all he fed for was to survive- but he’s not a man, he’s a wolf, and césar craves to dig the soul out of someone else, so they might suffer the same as a cursed monster might. and he does this knowing it will never be enough, but it feeds more than viejo’s life would. the wolf will take that flickering, snuffed flame from the bar and turn it into a supernova until he burns himself out.

       a leaf crunches underfoot, and the wolf’s head snaps toward the sound. from deep inside his frame, a rumble starts, and the saliva gathering between rows of teeth tells him that a hunt’s begun, the human doesn’t have chance. but, like, at the bar, césar can’t help but play with him first. maybe his fear will be as pathetic as his anger, and he’d like to watch it kick up, make him think he has a chance. it doesn’t take long for the wolf, large and dark, to find him. in the night, his eyes are the thing that stands out the most. big and violent against the tranquility of the sleeping wood, knowing that only the cruelest creatures come out to hunt, this late.

[cesarlazkano]

who: @manuel-amador . ♡ when: November 1st .

the man is dead, and that leaves only the wolf to prowl about the night, hungry for anything that’ll scream when he sinks his teeth into it. the wolf decides he’s suffered enough, and it’s time to ruin something else- go too far, be devastating, catastrophic. the kind of thing to tilt the axis of the world and set it on fire, using the matches he regretted not setting the warehouses alight with. he’s left a trail of corpses in his wake, little prey animals getting ready to hibernate for the winter, to hide from monsters like him. give it a few months, he’ll be crawling into burrows, waking them up with a greeting between his jaw.

the wolf is still hungry, and he catches the scent of human in the wind. whoever he is, he tastes like alcohol and dust. césar remembers that smell- viejo -but the wolf creeps forward towards it, because he only smells blood, and flesh to bite.

[cesarlazkano]

        césar eyes the cut on his lips, and the bruises he can see forming over his skin. he trusts avi to know that whoever gave them to him was rewarded in kind, and his boy’s got the same flame in his eyes as césar. so he lets it go, for now. he’ll wait until the rest of the pack have dispersed, mostly safe, before he starts on avi with hot pokers of questions of every detail that césar had missed. for now, avi shoving him off is only another frustration to add to his burning bonfire of them. and, tonight, there are greater crimes to punish in the names of brothers and lovers. and for them, the escaped and banished.

        the sound of the picture shattering against the ground is ultimately too satisfying to ignore, and he watches as avi’s attention is also drawn to it. it’s a shame, though, that the photo doesn’t tear along with the glass, and the wood. still, it’s only paper, and they have claws and lighters to deal with what doesn’t break from mere force, and echoes of their vengeance for all they’ve lost in the name of warwick.

        breathing heavy, the wolf watches avi’s reaction, the most submissive to an alpha that he’s ever been. even his father had to shove césar down with force, making him respect his betters through unforgettable pain. now, the black sheep waits for avi, lets him grieve the picture, first. the air thins with a snap as he keeps a steady eye on avi’s face- as he throws and destroys and flips the desk. there’s no judgement in the dark of his eyes, but there’s no hungry, dangerous smile, either. because what césar recognizes in this moment is his pain. this- this is what avi needs. to join the violent path for all of tonight. the parties, the promoting, the politics and the polite handshaking and suits and keeping his pretty face clean and hair combed will never feed him in the same way that this will. they could burn it all down, the two of them. that’s how to do away with the grief. then, avi’s on the floor. césar joins him, without thinking, or breathing.

        he curls around avi, and doesn’t deny the protectivity of it.  “ ey, enough’a that. c’mere. ”  at his back, one hand over his shoulder, speaking into his ear as avi mourns matias in the photo.  “ she don’t have a heart, but this- this is her heart. we can take it away. we are, just by being here. if we made it in, that’s proof. warwick can’t be as good as she thinks if a bunch of cocchoros slipped under the radar. ”  they’re going to finish the job, because they’re wolves, and it’s what they do. but at this point, they’ve won. to césar, they already have. made it back to warwick territory without a collar or noose around his neck, without the fear of banishment.

        when they stand, they stand together. césar peels away from avi, but not before he takes the picture into his hands. he tears it, splitting matias away from the rest of them; yuisa, emilio, and the little one that he doesn't care about so long as she carries the warwick name. he presses matias' piece to avi’s chest, where his heart’s still beating.  “ ‘s yours. ”  he picks up a heavy little statuette from yuisa’s deck, and starts moving in obedience with avi’s realization. everything on the walls within his sight comes down. glass shatters, frames splinter, he leaves dents in the walls from where he misses, or goes too hard. images of warwick pride, water, docks, boats fall down, until césar reveals a safe standing out sharply against the color of the wall, hidden behind a photo of the olympic serval. bingo.

[cesarlazkano]

...

        it's not long after the picture of the ship is sent shattering against the floor of the office that césar sends avi away. they reach an understanding, there, that césar's fine to finish the job on his own. and, besides- césar knows where he's going, he'd steered him there, himself.

        every digit his finger presses into the safe feels like fire, but he finishes typing in matias' birthday anyways, with the heat of anger burning in his skin. the safe clicks, then opens, revealing the key inside that he knows they'd came for. the metal sits in the palm of his hand before he's even realized he'd reached for it.

        with the key in hand, césar takes a step back, studying the damage done to yuisa's office. of course, it's not enough- nothing would ever be enough to satisfy him besides blood and flame. total destruction. but césar doesn't have the time. there are people that need him- at least one wolf, in particular -and they need to keep this moving.

        césar sets off to deliver the key to princesa flick and the sunny lobita, adrenaline buzzing along his skin enough to keep his feet walking away from yuisa's office.

[cesarlazkano]

unfortunately for everyone involved, this is the most fun that césar has had all week. from the first moment the old man’s hand had brushed his shirt, he’d been grinning ear to ear, anticipating a violence that feeds him, spurs him on more than food and drink. he gorges on blood, on vengeance, on terror, and there’s only so much starvation he can take.

old man pulls them down, but a twitch of that all natural wolf instinct puts césar on top, and gives them the attention of the crowd. had he been another kind of monster, maybe the bartender would’ve tried to stop him, but he was a cursed, feral lazkano. he’s untouchable. for the moment, he’s some kind of king. somewhere on the way down, the wolf decides he’s had his fill. césar snaps to his feet with one last bout of tipping the scale to manic laughter. “ adiós, viejo. ” césar tips chin like he might with a hat, before departing from the heron club. “ ten cuidado la próxima vez.”

[manuel-amador]

Manuel hits the ground and — fucking hell, he’s not meant for this kind of shit. Everything hurts now, and there’s a dizzying sense of fear that this sonuvabitch might actually kill him.

The other man finds his footing far too quickly. Manuel’s still flat on the floor (he’s definitely bleeding, he’s sure of it). He meets the other man’s eyes more by coincidence, and he really wishes he hadn’t. Something… terrible gleams in the man’s eyes. Vicious and predatory.

He gets back up to his feet on his own, no help from the gawkers surrounding him. They’re all watching him, with an imitation of that man’s smug, knowing expression. Like they’re all in on some secret he isn’t. Manuel slaps a handful of cash down in front of the bartender (probably enough) and hurries out.

Ten cuidado la próxima vez.

He shivers as those words echo back through he head, as he’s impatiently on his way back to his crappy little apartment.

(First, a run in with some crazy woman throwing him in front of some hungry, horrible… thing. Now, a bar fight with a man that seemed more gleeful than pissed to throw him around. Whatever strike was coming third, it didn’t bode well for him.)

END.

[felicityvanbrunt]

"Fair enough," she says, tonguing spinach from between a canine and a cuspid with a bit of mild annoyance. She's certainly not going to shine Cèsar's shoes - might stomp on them though, before the night's over. For all his protesting though, he's a very good date for the evening, barely growls, barely scratches himself in company of others. She totes him around like she's proud of him, even though the fine hairs on her neck are as alarmed at the volatility as everyone else in the room ought to be.

"That's tough," she replies, waving to somebody she recognizes but doesn't remember. He reflects the question and she shrugs. "Casper won't speak to me, which is just as well, I don't particularly want to speak to him, but I do need him to come get my sister before she gets one or both of us killed."

Zoë isn't a lost cause, maybe, but she is playing with fire in a lake of gasoline.

"One more lap of the place, and you're free to go, I promise. You see them over there? Ex-Varcolac. Looking to invest and they want a piece of what Warwick's offering." She turns to Cèsar, smiles. "Feel like tarnishing the good Warwick name of Lazkano for them? I could definitely turn my head the other way and forget to baby-oh, oh Jeez is that Miley Cyrus?"

She turns, leaving Cèsar to his own devices, wandering off to investigate, or rather, disappear for long enough to let him make what he will out of a moment without a chaperone.

[cesarlazkano]

        tonight, he doesn’t care about casper. another day, he’d want to know about him- some big brother that’s not his. but tonight, she’s asking enough of him by keeping him on two legs, clothed, and still. not high, drunk, or otherwise fucked out of thinking. he doesn’t care about her promises, either.

        césar blinks, and his date is gone. her perfume, her hair, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. all of it. with her, flick takes the only tie keeping him on his best behavior, chained to cinderblock. so, he’s alone, but unsupervised. still … she’s left him alone in a party of strangers, and the paranoid, territorial wolf doesn’t like that much. no better way than to put that defiance to work, but part of him hungers to reject even her suggestion- like even that is a demand.

        still, he’s been ruining other people’s lives and plans since before he was even conceived. hijo bastardo, oveja negra, hermano menor- what-the-fuck-ever. all it means is that he’s got a talent for it, césar- he takes the opportunity she’s laid before him like a trap, knowing the only jaw that’ll be closing is his.

        squarely, he manages nearly everything but sinking his teeth into varcolac’s caballero. he swings an arm his suit-covered shoulders, nearly purring into his ear, acting quite a bit drunker than he feels, but about as much as he should, given this was literally any other time. he’s not so much acting, really, he’s being entirely himself. rough, rude, and wild. sloppy conversation surrounding warwick, lazkanos, echevarrias, hassims. they’re all wolves here, but césar pushes the boundary hard enough, and he sends the other man off on his way, to sniff up another pack’s tree. he tells him his name is matteo. he feels too obedient, not nearly done enough shoving around to get what he needed from it. césar supposes, in the end, he was raised right, some part of him wants to see to it that he doesn’t get them all kicked out tonight.

        césar finds her again.  “ ah, ahí estás, princesa. one more lap, y’think? too long and people’ll be asking for me- asking for matteo. ”

[tenderrage-remi]

Trick or Treat. The question seemed to hang in the air at the party, sticking to Remis skin like the sweat of the rave, crawling through their veins in an uncomfortable ever present reminder. A flip of the coin into the universe about how the evening could go. Harford and Warwick had been on Remi's mind the entire evening. All the possibilities of how things could go wrong playing on repeat. Remi hoped a couple drinks from the bar would help down out the worry.

Amber liquid was half way to their lips when they heard the voice of one of their pack mates broke the ever grinding noise of the party. Remi shifted slightly so César was on the side with their good eye.

"Hey César." Remi tilted their glass in a mock toast before taking the shot. The older wolf unnerved Remi slightly. The lines blurring between wolf and man, tangled ever in each-other.

"Not exactly my normal haunt, but I'm also not gonna leave anyone hanging. Are you… ready?" It felt like a weird dance. Not openly acknowledging everything that was simmering under the surface. "Drink for luck?"

[cesarlazkano]

their concern is so potent that césar can taste it as he approaches them. it’s not surprising, given what the wolf knows. he nods his head, once, at remi’s greeting, before taking in the state of them. it doesn’t surprise him that the tender hearted firefighter doesn’t frequent raves, but he’s glad they’re here. if only that césar could lay eyes on them and confirm that they survived yuisa. he hopes they got a bite in, but survival is a good enough prize. for now, at least

“ you worried, remi? don’t be. ” he doesn’t care for luck, but he drinks, anyway. “ no skin in the game for remi, no problemas. ” like everything césar says, it comes out teasing, cruel. some part of him, though, means to be placating. they don’t need to worry, césar won’t let anything happen to their not-so peaceful little pack, and he’s violent enough to make good on that promise. tonight, they’re in warwick territory, and while césar’s more destructive than he is protective- both of those things bleed with equal intensity under the light of the moon, fueled by plans he’d known about for months.

[manuel-amador]

That it, viejo?

He's never really known how to fight back. All this bravado, it's all bark and no bite. Violence shuts him down - maybe it's just always been easier to take it without resistance. It's fucking pathetic, is what it is. He's a coward. God knows how much he'd heard that before. In that split second before it all catches up to him, he burns with humiliation.

Then the glass slams into his head. (God, he's already regretting this, and the pain isn't even registering yet.)

Maybe the blow kicks something loose. Maybe he's just concussed and too stupid to walk away, now. Maybe this is some last-ditch attempt to not die like a total fucking wimp.

He scrabbles to keep his grip as he's reeling from the hit (is he bleeding? he might be bleeding) and hauls the man out of his seat - bringing himself crashing down to the ground too, unintentionally.

[cesarlazkano]

unfortunately for everyone involved, this is the most fun that césar has had all week. from the first moment the old man’s hand had brushed his shirt, he’d been grinning ear to ear, anticipating a violence that feeds him, spurs him on more than food and drink. he gorges on blood, on vengeance, on terror, and there’s only so much starvation he can take.

old man pulls them down, but a twitch of that all natural wolf instinct puts césar on top, and gives them the attention of the crowd. had he been another kind of monster, maybe the bartender would’ve tried to stop him, but he was a cursed, feral lazkano. he’s untouchable. for the moment, he’s some kind of king. somewhere on the way down, the wolf decides he’s had his fill. césar snaps to his feet with one last bout of tipping the scale to manic laughter. “ adiós, viejo. ” césar tips chin like he might with a hat, before departing from the heron club. “ ten cuidado la próxima vez.”

[aviofruin]

Avi shrugs César's grip off - for a moment, Avi thinks the other wolf will press, that he'll make him speak, confess the shame still burning under his skin. But then his grip loosens. Even he seems to understand they're on borrowed time. Later, Avi tells himself. When it all doesn't sit so fresh, when the lump in his throat isn't lodged there like stone.

He forces his attention back on looking for a key, a keycard, something, but the frustration is beginning to rise to the surface. The pressed and ironed suit that sat over Avi's rage had been shrugged off the moment he stepped onto the docks, and Avi isn't so sure he can deal with his own turmoil and be César's grounding point.

Then César sends a frame to the ground, the glass shatters, and when Avi shoots it a glance back, he knows what has the other man so hot. Family. The Echevarria family beneath splinters, smiling from the time they were still whole. Among it, Matias' mop of hair. It punches the air right out of him.

César's right. She's taken everything from them. Matteo. Anish. Evie. Matias. Pack. Family. She's taken it all and she's still starving for the scraps they've got left. For a moment, Avi thinks he should let César loose. Let him feast and rend, let him drown in the violence he craves to his core.

That grief he'd put a stopper on swells hot through his chest, rage bleeds into it. He yanks open a drawer, hurls it at the wall. The contents scatter with a crash. Another drawer follows. Then another. And when there's nothing left to throw, Avi grips the desk and heaves until it flips backward.

The motion stretches his torso in a way that makes his injuries scream, and Avi stumbles forward, ends up crouched down with his breath ragged, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. From the corner of his eye, that fucking picture lays on the ground. Shaky fingers reach out for it, and Avi slumps onto the ground once its in his grip.

He's never vulnerable. It's not his thing, especially not when he isn't drowning in drink. But it's just him, César, and their shared pain here. It spills out anyway.

His thumb brushes over his love's jaw, the line of his grin, before he turns it over in his hands just because he's afraid of what he'll burn down if he stares too long. On the back of the picture, there's numbers scrawled. Avi squints in the dim light, between glazed over eyes. Matias' birthday etched across.

Well, would you look at that...

"César, look." His eyes shoot up to the rest of the frames along the wall. "Everything. Knock everything down," he says, hopping up to his feet to show his person the scrawled text. It's just Matias' birthday, and maybe it doesn't mean anything, but maybe, just maybe it means something today.

[cesarlazkano]

        césar eyes the cut on his lips, and the bruises he can see forming over his skin. he trusts avi to know that whoever gave them to him was rewarded in kind, and his boy’s got the same flame in his eyes as césar. so he lets it go, for now. he’ll wait until the rest of the pack have dispersed, mostly safe, before he starts on avi with hot pokers of questions of every detail that césar had missed. for now, avi shoving him off is only another frustration to add to his burning bonfire of them. and, tonight, there are greater crimes to punish in the names of brothers and lovers. and for them, the escaped and banished.

        the sound of the picture shattering against the ground is ultimately too satisfying to ignore, and he watches as avi’s attention is also drawn to it. it’s a shame, though, that the photo doesn’t tear along with the glass, and the wood. still, it’s only paper, and they have claws and lighters to deal with what doesn’t break from mere force, and echoes of their vengeance for all they’ve lost in the name of warwick.

        breathing heavy, the wolf watches avi’s reaction, the most submissive to an alpha that he’s ever been. even his father had to shove césar down with force, making him respect his betters through unforgettable pain. now, the black sheep waits for avi, lets him grieve the picture, first. the air thins with a snap as he keeps a steady eye on avi’s face- as he throws and destroys and flips the desk. there’s no judgement in the dark of his eyes, but there’s no hungry, dangerous smile, either. because what césar recognizes in this moment is his pain. this- this is what avi needs. to join the violent path for all of tonight. the parties, the promoting, the politics and the polite handshaking and suits and keeping his pretty face clean and hair combed will never feed him in the same way that this will. they could burn it all down, the two of them. that’s how to do away with the grief. then, avi’s on the floor. césar joins him, without thinking, or breathing.

        he curls around avi, and doesn’t deny the protectivity of it.  “ ey, enough’a that. c’mere. ”  at his back, one hand over his shoulder, speaking into his ear as avi mourns matias in the photo.  “ she don’t have a heart, but this- this is her heart. we can take it away. we are, just by being here. if we made it in, that’s proof. warwick can’t be as good as she thinks if a bunch of cocchoros slipped under the radar. ”  they’re going to finish the job, because they’re wolves, and it’s what they do. but at this point, they’ve won. to césar, they already have. made it back to warwick territory without a collar or noose around his neck, without the fear of banishment.

        when they stand, they stand together. césar peels away from avi, but not before he takes the picture into his hands. he tears it, splitting matias away from the rest of them; yuisa, emilio, and the little one that he doesn't care about so long as she carries the warwick name. he presses matias' piece to avi’s chest, where his heart’s still beating.  “ ‘s yours. ”  he picks up a heavy little statuette from yuisa’s deck, and starts moving in obedience with avi’s realization. everything on the walls within his sight comes down. glass shatters, frames splinter, he leaves dents in the walls from where he misses, or goes too hard. images of warwick pride, water, docks, boats fall down, until césar reveals a safe standing out sharply against the color of the wall, hidden behind a photo of the olympic serval. bingo.

[codie-mohren]

Easy enough, the plugs in the order into the tablet set up on the register - hears a couple of groans as it comes through, but pays them no mind. Everything's mostly pre-made anyways. Instead, her attention is towards the big guy inquiring about her wolfy home. She still hangs, but she's made the jump from them to the amusement park.

With a sniff, and ever-present easy-going look on her features, she leads him away from the front desk so they can finish cleaning some stuff up, at least. "I still stop by there sometimes, but mostly I run with other people now." Best to just out and say it, right? "Harford. I'm with Harford, now. I liked a girl who was friends with the guy in charge and met Lucas."

She hopes names are okay. "What about you?"

[cesarlazkano]

        it’s impossible to ignore the sound of her fingers tip-tapping away on the tablet, so he filters it in with the rest of the smells and sounds of the restaurant. a meaner smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, curling up as he hears the sound of annoyance from the back. he’s never claimed to be a good man, at least he has the manners to privately delight in the misery of others.

        his grin … changes as he listens to her talk- shifts, maybe, to something more comfortable, less offending … almost familiar. césar has always sorted people in his life into three categories: the people that he needs to protect, the people he respects enough to lead him, and everyone else. lobita and her sunshine smile falls firmly into the first category, just by mentioning avi.  “ i knew you were. ”  he muses,  “ you smell like him- avi. just a ‘lil bit, but enough. i’m harford, too, since … march. ”  luca’s fun, too, but he doesn’t compare to avi. césar remembers something about a little cursed-ass-witch friend of avi’s, he decides that’s codie’s point of connection, as opposed to flick.  “ avi brought me in, when nobody else would, that’s why i’m here. ”  here, in port leiry. but here, at her little pizza corner, for his brother, the one he shares marred blood with.

[aviofruin]

THE WAREHOUSE

continued from here who: @cesarlazkano where: warehouse, yuisa's office

Yuisa's moved shit around, hid doors, made a maze of her own warehouses. But Lucas's notes and a set of keys finally gets them through a side entrance to the last warehouse on the list, César at his flank.

Adrenaline's kept his jaw loose, but his shoulders are still tight, and he's in a foul ass mood after getting his head knocked around. Still, there's a job to be done, so he wills all that to the side, focuses up.

“Yuisa’s gotta have the key somewhere stupid,” he mutters, riffles through drawers, yanking papers and ledgers and tossing them to the floor.

A quick look shot to César, then a half-grin that doesn't make it to his eyes. “We're tearing the place up after, yeah?” He's sure he doesn't even need to say it. The look in César's eyes tells him he's already rearing to rip everything apart. "Won't have a lot of time but...I want her to know we were here."

[cesarlazkano]

        avi makes good timing, catching him before césar digs his teeth into someone less deserving than the warwicks that surround the party- or at least are attempting to. if avi’s here, alive and walking, then, clearly they haven’t done their job. he can smell yuisa’s rage among the sea foam that floats from the water. it makes him smile.

        the darkness of the night hides avi from him until they hit yuisa’s office, the light flooding out after avi unlocks the door reveals the evidence of his previous run-in with yuisa’s security measures. even filled with rage, even thirsting for the blood that avi promised him many moons ago, his attention snaps to his friend with a sharpness that will not be forgotten.  “ ey, ¿qué te pasó? ”  when the wolf grabs for him, he shakes his shoulder. 

        avi starts on the desk when césar lets go, but he heads for the walls. the thing that catches his violent eye first is a family picture, among the rest of less offending frames. the very first swipe he makes is knocking that shit off the wall.  “ she shouldn’t get to keep that, not when she’s fucked all of ours up. ”  family. there’s something scrawled on the back of the frame, but his eyes blur with red, burning anger, before he can read that.

[howlthorne]

“Pretty often.” Lucas said, shrugging. “I’ve got a big mouth, and that tends to be enough for some people. I just give 'em what they're looking for. Better that it's me and not someone who can’t put them through a wall, I say.” 

When it came down to it, fighting was just another way to interact with people, get a feel of what they were like and who they thought they were. Lucas was always a social sort of guy, but being able to say things without words was something he put a lot more value in than most, even if that something was fuck you, I’m going to break your ribs. 

Fighting was fun. Easy little bits of catharsis all wrapped up in a neat little package, and with the way he bounced back from injuries, he didn’t have the sort of long-term consequences other guys might be getting. 

He brought his drink to his lips, considering César’s question. “Nah, that’s a fair question. My ex-husband got into town a few months after I did. He’s the best person I know, and he’s got enough trouble from me already. I’m not gonna let this shit get to him just because I’m throwing myself into it.” 

[cesarlazkano]

        he likes this luca. maybe someone else’s teeth gave him access to the wolf, but it doesn’t change that he’s got the fire, now. maybe he’s an easy man to like, given that the rest of their little pack is sunshine and lollipops. this time, césar does trust avi’s judgement. the wolf smiles, laughing a bit.  “ ‘s funny, avi tried to get me into the no man’s land bullshit- you been there? ”  to get out all of the festering rage from the curse, but he feels like that’s kind of implied. there’s some shared interests here. césar inherited his mouth from his father, and he chases violence like a dog. and maybe lucas is a better man than that, but césar is not.  “ got a little too busy this summer. ”

        he’s intrigued by the ex-husband, césar has never left behind anyone without leaving claw marks- burn marks, in some cases. existing in peace like that, after separation, isn’t something he’s used to. best person i know, though, reminds him of his brother. enough trouble from me- that protectiveness, does, too.  “ ‘s good enough reason to care. i’m a live wire well enough, but the people i care about keep me … ”  he pats the surface of the bar. it makes sense to him. solid, mostly still, smooth to touch.  “ dunno’, i’d be worse, without them. ”

[manuel-amador]

He should back down.

No, he needs to back down.

There's something uncanny about this man here, and Manuel's not the kind to win fights even when he knows what he's getting into. Especially with the way this man is so clearly asking for it, like he can't wait for a chance to fuck him up.

But liquor's not the only thing in his system these days (not after that fucking night, with that- that crazy bitch), and even then, he's had plenty enough this evening to quiet what little sense he has.

(Besides - even if he dies, better it be by his own fucking choice, than some creepy night-thing's whim.)

He slides the glass away and grips a fistful of this asshole's shirt. "I dunno. Why don't we find out?"

[cesarlazkano]

        there we go. there he is. césar awaits the man’s breaking point with a vicious, hungry smile. a starving shark- a wolf. he wants to watch him destroy himself, and césar doesn’t care if he makes it out with a few scratches for watching him burn. still, the man at the bar manages to disappoint him. likely disappointing the other wolves in this den. if he’s going to put up a fight, he may as well make it a good one.

        “ that it, viejo? ”  really, he wants to know. all that shit, all that pointing boring little fingers- and he’s going to grab his shirt? come on- even with the man’s hand in his shirt, césar doesn’t shift much. but in his rushed movements, he slides the glass away. the bar light’s glinting against the glass does get his attention. césar takes the glass, and slams it into the side of the man’s head. see how he likes that for all his bitching. 

[felicityvanbrunt]

"See you there, do not scuff those shoes."

—

This stupid thing, she doesn't even know what they're hawking here. Or fundraising for. Or trying to push through the human halls of governance. Just that it's a money race.

She also kind of feels like one of Snow White's dwarfs next to César, which isn't fostering any sort of grumbling inferiority complex, honest. She picks him up at the appointed hour, and he's surprisinly punctual, and they do all the obnoxious pretentious bullshit of meeting the important people to meet and Flick, practiced as she is, does the work of acting like she knows people whose name she was memorizing off of a cursory google search a few hours earlier.

"Your shoes are scuffed," she says, finally, when they have a second alone. She's loathe to ask, but it feels as shitty to avoid the question as it does to pose it, because the answers obvious is the rumor mill's at all correct. "How is your brother holding up?"

Avi, César, herself. It sucks how much this stupid clash is tearing houses in half.

[cesarlazkano]

there’s something wild curling up in his chest every moment that he spends in wait. it starts when he’s with his brother, babysitting- nursing that’s turned into more of a welfare check. césar runs his fingers along his neck, looking for a pulse. he sets out a meal, water, a clean change of clothes. matteo’s too old for him to make him do anything, at least, not until césar returns for the night. then, once he’s spent the evening playing a man, he’ll come back with wolf rage and a fire-like intention of keeping his brother alive.

flick says something about his shoes, césar doesn’t even look. “ if you’re not gonna’ fix that for me, princesa, don’t worry about it. ” maybe he’ll take them off, start running. some part of him, distant and whose voice is more of a hum than anything solid, appreciates flick walking him around the event like a dog on a leash, doing all the talking that césar only has to agree with. the other parts of him still turn feral with defiance, césar keeps it in his shoulders.

for that, he feels he owes her the truth. that, and that flick’s a friend to avi in all the ways that he can’t. “ he wants to die. ” then, “ i won’t let him. ” the wolf turns to face her. “ what about you, and yours? ”