WereWolf pack //Roleplay thread//open//

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The meek may inherit the earth,
but at the moment it belongs to the concieted
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Lanner cried out in pain as a bullet skipped the top of her wiry right shoulder, but vigorous adrenalin was quick to numb all feeling, even the aching in her fingertips from clutching the stock of the crossbow too tight. She quickly looked down at the mahogany red blood that had innocently spilt onto the floor of the cabin in sticky ruby droplets—it looked so wrong. Lanner’s blood didn’t belong on the floor of a cabin she would probably never see again, it belonged in her. It belonged in her cheeks, to display a rose blush, in the mauve veins barely visible on her wrists, or on the tip of her nose, colouring it a light scarlet in the cold.

It was as wrong as the tornado of havoc that was encircling the woods. Lanner didn’t dwell long, as the door of her cabin, which has served as an asylum for so long, was swung open. Her bedside lamp was shot in the commotion, shattering into fragments of porcelain on the floor. Before the hunters cry of frustration had reached her ears she had dived out the window and disappeared behind a thick tree, only a blur of red, the blue of her shirt and the void black of her weapon. She crouched down beside Marco, reloading her weapon and shooting the silhouette of the man in her window. The arrow planted in his shoulder, the next one in his heart. She was becoming sloppy with her archery, and she knew it. She hadn’t felt threatened in so long that she had almost forgotten about it.

Lanner remembered when she was seventeen, only a year after she had taken up the sport, she and Cora found an alley on the south side of town, crates lined either side, where her dead best friend would sit and do her trigonometry homework. And a phone pole at the end where Lanner had painted a bullseye in nail polish. They would stay there for hours, talking about petty nothings but blissfully content. Those were the days where her archery was at her best standard but to this day she couldn’t decide if this was a good or a bad thing, it was the time of her life where she felt the most perpetually afraid.
Lanner ducked around the tree, shooting as fast as she could pull arrows from her quiver. Her breath was hard and faulty, more from her stampede of adrenaline and the fear than exhaustion.

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[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#0 bordercolor=#0 borderwidth=0px; background:url(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pini…9cf25a903dfc00e5e8ee6.jpg); height: 220px; width: 460px; border-radius: 3pt 3pt 3pt 3pt;][fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; font-family: andale mono; font-style: italic; font-size: 30px; margin-bottom: 13px; letter-spacing: 2px;text-shadow: 2px 2px 2px #000000; margin-top: 190px;][color=white][ Lucius [ Blue ] Jordon ][/fancypost][/fancypost]

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I'm bigger than my body. I'm colder than this home. I'm meaner than my demons.
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OOC: I'm sorry, but I really have absolutely no muse for Blue as a character, I really need to develop him more before I actually do a roleplay with him. But it's honestly a shlep having to write his posts and I don't enjoy it at all, even if the people he interacts with are awesome. So I'm sorry but I'm going ot pull him out of the roleplay, if someone wants he could get killed of he could just kind of get pulled out like he was never there. ]
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[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 500px; color: silver; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 9pt;][hr][justify]"Marco! Stop being foolish!" Antonio's exclaimed sounded angry to anyone who didn't know him. And it was, but those who knew him would know that half of the anger was to cover up the worry he held as he glared at his brother, orbs flickering with worry, back to anger, onwards to disappointment, then back to worry and the cycle continued. He wanted to shake him in frustration at the same time he wanted to drag him to a medic.

He'd never imaged the shock he felt when he, after breathing deeply in relief when the humans retreated, discovered his brother leaning limply against a tree with lots of bullet-holes in, a matching bullet-hole in Marco's bicep, the blood thickly covering the skin around it and down his arm, hand almost as completely red as his bicep and lower arm. At first he had believed him to be dead, eyes closed and breathing near nonexistent at that time. Or maybe it was just the panic keeping him from noticing the unsteady, shallow rise and fall of his muscled chest.

After shaking his brother awake, Marco had quickly informed Antonio that he was perfectly fine, with a foggy look in his dulled eyes, pain twisting his pale face. The slurring of his words and the heavy accent was only increasing the frustration Antonio developed towards his brother.

"No, Marco, stay down! Sto- Marco! You- No- No! Marco, you cannot go help the others when you look like death and probably feel like it as well. Mar- Stop, stay down! Argh!" Antonio's frustration only increased as Marco began getting more and more determined to get up on to his shaking legs, and help the other injured of the pack. Could he not see the waterfall of blood on his own flesh? Could he not smell the overwhelming scent of his own blood? Could he not feel the pain which was twisting his usually calm facial expression into one of pain? Did he not notice the sickening white color of his skin, the absent look in his dulled orbs and the constant dropping of his eyelids?

Yes, yes he could. Antonio knew that. Marco was very observant. But he also knew that he was shoving away his own concerns in the favor of worrying and caring about others. He knew it would end his brother some day, but it was too early, too soon!

"Marco, lo giuro su Dio, ti lego a questo albero, se si tenta di ottenere una volta di più. Io faro '! No, Mar- Scendi! Vedi? Non si può nemmeno stare in piedi senza appoggiarsi contro un albero e ondeggianti. Ottenere. Giù. Adesso.*" Antonio's rather frustrated and angered voice echoed slightly as he fought with his brother, who had decided to attempt getting to his feet. Marco only achieved in standing on his shaky legs, leaning nearly all his weight on to the tree, eyes scrunched shut and mouth twisted into a pained grimace.

* "Marco, I swear to god, I'll tie you to this tree if you try to get up once more. I'm gonna do it! No, Mar- Get down! See? You can't even stand without leaning against a tree and swaying. Get. Down. Now."[/fancypost]
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[align=center][font=times new roman][color=white]Marco's Tattoos: