Posts by SANTINO

A school? Drawing up besides Zezmos, Santino peered at the letter. Whoever had brought it had used a lot of words to advertise their new school, but he supposed that made sense: they wanted to make it seem interesting. Personally, Santino felt that he'd learned everything he needed to know at the School of Hard Knocks. Formal education might interest some, but to him, that was more than adequate. "Interesting," he mused, although his voice betrayed a lack of excitement. "Do you plan on attending?"

The guy was hostile. Santino hadn't fully expected that, and it got his blood boiling. What reason did this Tagg fellow for treating him with such blatant antagonism? If he'd done something to earn the glare, that would be one thing, but all he'd done was make himself known. Shifting his stance aggressively (for Santino believed in fighting fire with fire), he snapped, "Manners! I asked you a question, is all. You looking to get into a fight?"

He was lost, and it was beginning to snow. The combination didn't make for a happy Santino. When he'd left the Kinship Circle earlier that morning, the bicolored canine had intended to spend an hour or two exploring the area around his new home. He'd even asked a clanmate for directions to one of the group's allies, figuring that he could kill two birds with one stone, and learn a quick route to a friendly Clan. Instead, he'd gotten hopelessly lost.

Shaking his broad black-and-white head, Santino sent a thunderous glare skyward. He was rewarded with a thick snowflake against one eyelash. Letting out a low yelp, he blinked rapidly. If the snow got any worse before he found shelter, he silently vowed, he was going to punch something. Even if it accomplished nothing else, the action would at least make him feel better. Icy crystals crunched underfoot as he continued plowing through the desolate landscape, dark eyes hardened with frustration.

The snowfall became heavier and the path more treacherous. A string of curses fell from the Aidi's mouth. Forget finding his way home. For now, he'd settle for finding somewhere warm to defrost.

// lumineer this can either be outside the exiles' territory or he could have crossed the border, whatever you prefer!

Santino wasn't really one for cooking. He liked cooked food and all, but the act of making said food was needlessly complicated. Considering that he could survive easily off of raw meat, the tall Aidi was happy to let others make him meals when they were willing, and when they weren't, refrain from cooked food altogether. Lately, however, he had been hungering for something baked. The Circler had the vague idea that a cake recipe called for varying amounts of sugar, water, flour, oil, and eggs, and after a good twenty minutes of solid searching, he'd located the kitchen and those ingredients. It was time for the baking to commence. Eyes screwing shut in thought, he tugged a large bowl toward him, and began to fill it.

Once he'd dumped everything in, Santino grasped a spoon between his jaws and began to vigorously stir the mixture...too vigorously, it turned out: the batter slopped out of the bowl and splattered over him and the counter.

The first (and only) mention Santino had heard of ambassadors was at the most recent meeting, when it had been announced that there would be two slots per group instead of just one. Approaching the border, he was met with his second introduction to the term, this time in the form of Archer.

Like him, the other male was a dog, but that was about where the resemblance ended. Santino eyed him warily for a minute, gaze flickering toward the gifts, before speaking. "Ambassador? Where you from?" Not the friendliest of starts, but he didn't know this guy from Adam, and no matter what the philosophy of his group preached, was going to keep that in mind until someone reassured him that the canine had good intentions.

Blackheart Rouges. Santino nodded almost imperceptibly: he'd heard of the group before, and in fact seemed to recall

that one of their number had played a prank on Blackroses. He'd heard whispers of a joking marriage proposal, or something of the like. "Santino," he returned.

The gifts, despite arousing Atlas' interest, seemed rather bland to Santino. He was no stranger to the idea of gifts as a token of friendship. Back home, his family had often traded gifts to prove their loyalty to other families. It was also a simple matter of one hand washing the other—see, I'm bring you these nice things and helping you out, now do me a favor and cover me here. He couldn't say that he disapproved: it was something he'd grown up with, even if he wasn't sure what the plants were actually for. Medicine, Archer had said, but he had a poor idea of how healing worked, and didn't know if that was true.

"Thanks," he nodded, shifting slightly to crane his head up at Atlas. The polar bear seemed better at these things than he was: Atlas was a friendly guy, the kind everyone liked. Santino was fire, sometimes warm and companionable, sometimes too rough and burning. "You, uh, want anything t' eat or drink? Trip here musta been tiring."

Even if Wenceslas hadn't sounded exhausted, Santino would have turned toward him when he began speaking. The Golden Retriever was old enough to be his father, but he'd always seemed spry: it was unusual for him to sound so weary.

He wasn't sure about the others, but he certainly wasn't going to hold the now ex-deputy's retirement against him. To be able to retire peacefully, well, that was something. Santino didn't think anyone had seen it coming, but it wasn't a bad thing. "Does that mean you're gonna be spending more time in the Heights now?" he asked. "That's where your son lives, no?"

// congrats, meri! it was a pleasure playing with wen, and i'm looking forward to whenever you do pop by with him!

Whirling around at the sound of Wenceslas' British accent, Santino nonchalantly tried to rub some of the batter off of him. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved that someone had stopped by: this wasn't exactly a look he wanted going around, but he could definitely use some help here, even if it was only to clean up. "I was cooking!" he responded defensively, moving slightly to block Wenceslas' view of the rest of the kitchen. "It's a thing people do. To, uh, make vary their diet."

Rising into a crouch, Santino brushed off his knees. They were stained dark by the dewy grass; he'd have to change when he got home. Eyes flicking between Atlas and Rabbit, he asked, "Are you any good at frog catching?" At this point, he'd take any help offered. "It's my daughter's, she musta left the tank uncovered."

If Santino took the time to think about it, he would come to the conclusion that he'd been feeling under the weather ever since his run-in with a certain dark furred Exile. Only a few days had passed since the sudden snowstorm that had left him cooped up with the vampire, and he'd slowly been growing weaker. Bouts of dizziness interrupted his day: it had become almost common to see the black and white canine stooped against a wall, head down as he fought nausea. Being who he was, he'd refused any concerns that had been voiced, and bounced back up as soon as he could.

This morning, as he left his quarters, the Aidi was noticeably tired. His fur was dull and mussed, and his dark eyes were glazed. Santino surveyed the camp listlessly. It was a warm day, thankfully, and it wasn't long until his gaze had alighted upon someone he wanted to speak to. Dragging himself upright, the dog wobbled slightly and vomited, an expression of surprise crossing his face as he stared down at the pile of sick before him.

Glancing dully at Blackroses, Santino spat a gob of saliva to the side, trying to clear his mouth. Ugh. Not a pleasant taste. "I'm fine," he tried to reassure the leader, although he doubted they'd have much of an impact. If it had reached the point where he was willing to admit to himself that something was wrong, it had definitely reached the point that others could tell. Smiling wanly, he nodded at Atlas and explained, "I think I caught your cold."

Blackroses was like a mother hen, and in face of her concern, Santino couldn't muster up the energy to argue. Instead, he nodded weakly; privately, he wasn't sure if he would follow through. Her comment about the Exiles worried him: he couldn't have caught the disease they'd brought, could he? He hadn't even been around during the initial release of plagued rats. He'd joined a day later. Shifting uncomfortably, he switched his gaze to Poinsettia. He thoroughly agreed with her viewpoint. When he'd first heard what the Exiles had done, it had taken considerable effort on the parts of Zezmos and Wenceslas' to keep him from thundering after the rogue group and extracting revenge.

"Nah," he refused politely, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of nausea rolled over him. "Just - Just give me some space, please." Space, however, was something that he wasn't given, especially with the arrival of Khel. Even Santino, with his head pounding and gaze feverish, could see that the healer wasn't feeling well. Not feeling well. Ha. Major understatement. Staggering back a step, away from the infected male, he shook his head. "N-No. If anything's wrong, he's just gonna make it worse."

His head was pounding and his nose was runny, and every few moments Santino had to stop and gasp, fighting back nausea. If his symptoms persisted, he'd probably be quarantined soon, and declared another victim of the plague the Exiles had unleashed. That said, he probably shouldn't have headed toward the Amalfi Heights, but he'd recently been appointed ambassador to the other group, and Santino took his duties seriously. Th black and white domestic dog staggered more than walked, and by the time he came into sight of the Heights, he was obviously winded. With fever-glazed eyes, he took in the open expanse before him, before finally, shakily, sitting. "'Ello?" he groaned, figure weaving slightly as he fought to remain balanced.