@howlinglucas location: New Rome notes: Catlas
Andreas was in a coma. Attacked by his own brother, the alpha of the Lupo pack. On four legs, Catlas wandered into the woods, just another creature of the forest as he followed his nose back to the waffle house that he’d been frequenting for weeks. He’d come to find that most people overlooked cats, there was a strange man in the city that bowed to him whenever he passed but there was one person in particular - a lycan - who’d taken a particular shine to Catlas. He meandered through the hamlet, wandering under the fence before he leapt onto the post and watched the pack and various citizens of the town go from here to there. The meeting hall, the waffle house, the bar at the end of the road. Their alpha was injured, recovering.
He sunbathed in the windowsill of the meeting hall as discussions were traded back and forth, rolled his head back into a particularly warm ray of light as he heard the rumblings about Alek’s surgery and the machinations of The Eye. The fallout from the dispute where some of their council had voted to side with the hunters while the other refused. Stubborn dogs, Catlas thought only to himself as he felt a wash of fatigue. His metabolism was ideal for these sorts of conditions, he could survive for long periods of time and expend a limited amount of energy - but like many cats, he didn’t want to.
Catlas wandered through the woods, hopped over logs and ducked under bushes. When he reached the door of the man that had garnered the moniker the fanatic, often Catlas’ last stop on his sleuthing endeavours, he meowed. Loudly. Then he rammed his head into the door with a loud thump.
