We're all wolves now.

Name: Syrus Infection: Smoker Alignment: Infected

[givenupfightingit-blog]

A growl. Predictable. Since before he could remember, Syrus was more surprised when a hunter greeted him in any way but a growl. Eyes narrowing faintly, he turned partway, making sure to keep the hunter directly in front of him. Though there was no indication that the predator was readying himself to attack, the smoker knew all to well how quickly they could switch to hostility and a pounce-ready crouch. He didn’t let his guard down.

Coughing under his breath, the smoker felt a scowl draw itself across his features. “Then feel free keep walking." Gesturing vaguely in the direction the stranger had been heading, he took a step back, folding his arms in a show of impatience.

[dontfeedthehunter-deactivated20]

Every inch of his being had the urge to launch towards the smoker and show him who was boss around here, to shut up that attitude and replace that scowl with a long line of bloody claw marks. He exposed even more teeth with the next snarl, body quaking from the effort to sound THAT TERRIFYING.

Was he gonna do what the smoker wanted him to do, and keep walking?

Nah.

Too stubborn for his own good, he instead makes to close the few feet between them and swipe at Syrus’s smug face. Even with the leg injury he could still pull a little speed out of his ass when he felt like it.

[givenupfightingit-blog]

The look he gave the hunter was torn between unimpressed, concerned, and pitying. A lot of things hunters did had lost their luster over the last while; things he would've taken at face value before were no longer a mystery, and the old terror that would've struck him in the face of such a beast was replaced with exasperation and a growing weariness. He still knew they were dangerous, of course, but the novelty of it had grown stale; he didn't need the hunter to growl to know it was a threat. Why had he bothered? Whether it was petty defiance or an urge to assert dominance, no everyday hunter would do what anyone else told them to. Even if it was exactly what they were going to do in the first place. When the stranger lunged, Syrus threw himself backwards, stumbling over a piece of trash but keeping his eyes on the hunter. Facing his palms towards the other in a show of surrender, he took another step back. "What do you want?" he asked pointedly, schooling his expression into one of neutrality. Just get out of it, Syrus.

[givenupfightingit-blog]

dontfeedthehunter started following you

Eyeing the hunter apprehensively, Syrus pursed his lips, picking at the collar of his jacket. “Can I help you?" he finally muttered, not too pleased to find he’s suddenly being trailed by another of their kind. Again.

[dontfeedthehunter-deactivated20]

The sound/sight of a Smoker would actually end up surprising him for once. Crawling oh so slowly over buildings while his leg took it’s sweet time to heel was not something he considered a fun time and the last thing he’d wanted was to see another infected of ANY kind at that point.

Lips curling over sharp teeth, he released a low, rattling growl as he took up a stance that didn’t show off how badly he was favoring his injury.

"Can help by buzzing off."

[givenupfightingit-blog]

A growl. Predictable. Since before he could remember, Syrus was more surprised when a hunter greeted him in any way but a growl. Eyes narrowing faintly, he turned partway, making sure to keep the hunter directly in front of him. Though there was no indication that the predator was readying himself to attack, the smoker knew all to well how quickly they could switch to hostility and a pounce-ready crouch. He didn't let his guard down.

Coughing under his breath, the smoker felt a scowl draw itself across his features. "Then feel free keep walking." Gesturing vaguely in the direction the stranger had been heading, he took a step back, folding his arms in a show of impatience.

[givenupfightingit-blog]

dontfeedthehunter started following you

Eyeing the hunter apprehensively, Syrus pursed his lips, picking at the collar of his jacket. "Can I help you?" he finally muttered, not too pleased to find he's suddenly being trailed by another of their kind. Again.

[hunterxing-blog]

And if Noah bothered to stalk Syrus anymore, he may have applauded the Smoker and crooned a song over how Syrus managed to nut up a li-PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAAHAH FUCKING HAH.

Nah, the Smoker was still useless and nothing more important than bait.

[givenupfightingit-blog]

And did he expect any bit of a different reception?

Not in the least.

[givenupfightingit-blog]

Long ago he had given up cringing at the alluring sensation that rose in his chest when he heard voices; more than just hunger, more than a craving, it was desire. It had frightened him before, but not now. There were still times when he wondered how he had survived for so long, clinging onto the ideals of a dead world. Change had ripped him from his life, and he had tried to claw his way back. Every obstacle had whittled away at his resolve, and bit by bit he had lost his grip. And finally he had let go. A cry for help. Now, he welcomed the drive it gave him, the energy to find the source. From his vantage point, he could see the layout of the ambush; a hunter, driving the survivors towards a concealed witch. Effective, if he could avoid being shot for another two blocks. Syrus followed along the rooftops, watching mutely for an opportunity to arise. Then, one of them broke formation; split away from the group and ducked down an alley. Quizzical, the smoker crept to the edge and peered down. The rest of the group was moving on; did this one intend to take out the hunter while it followed the others? Just as possibly, this one had decided they had a better chance of surviving alone. Syrus didn't care as much about their plans anymore, so long as his own were better.  Slinking along the edge, he waited until the hunter had passed the alley. No gunshots from the lone survivor, though they crept towards the opening. They wouldn't get far; a tendril of muscle lashed out, winding around a delicate neck and snapping taut around it. Choked of air and sound, the survivor scrabbled at the tongue as it hauled him deeper into the overcast of the buildings. From the shadows, Syrus watched as futile struggles faded into weak spasms of desperation. Finally, reeling the body closer, he gave a wrench of the tongue and snapped the neck clean under the skin. Winding his tongue back in, he watched as the body crumpled into his arms, completely limp. And deadweight. Grunting under his breath, he dragged his kill through the propped doors and kicked the box to shut them. In the lobby of the apartment building, he dumped the body onto a couch and threw himself down beside it, lifting his eyes to the shattered fluorescents on the ceiling. It had been a while since he'd come to town. [...] Pieces of the body, stuffed into a backpack and slung over his shoulder, were his only means of misdirecting the other infected. A leg strung from a lamp post kept them distracted long enough for him to get into another alley and out of sight. The witch he nearly tripped over tried to take his own leg off, but he managed to dance out of the way of her wicked claws before they found any purchase. Dropping an arm in a frantic gambit to appease her temper, he bolted up the nearest fire escape and didn't look back to see if it had worked. After that, he managed to keep a hold of the rest of his bounty by the time he came upon the mall. Looked the same-- at least, it did according to his waning memory. It didn't matter much. Stepping past the threshold, he stared into the corridor, mind drifting indecisively around the idea of the territory's self-appointed alpha. He'd left rather suddenly, although Noah certainly wasn't the kind that wanted updates on someone else's life; then again, hadn't he staked some sort of possessive claim on the smoker? So maybe he'd be mad that Syrus had taken off without warning. And how did Syrus feel about coming back? Was it like returning home, or like facing a due? Did he hope Noah would recognize him? -- Well, that was obvious; if he didn't, he'd treat the smoker like a trespasser. That was a no-brainer, he definitely wanted the hunter to remember him. But was it just so he'd avoid a thrashing? Sentiments? A habit he'd come into was whenever he overthought things, he moved forward. So, abandoning the cluttered thought process, he made his way deeper into the mall.