Fantasy Hotel Tussen Vanderheim (Open - Jump in!)

[Malhyanth]

Kry poppet AuthorSINpie

The werewolf whimpered a little in his throat, hearing the agitation in his friend's voice. Was was slight, but the werewolf had been around this demon long enough to recognise these nuances, and it worries him that another Demon resided in the castle, and that he had irritated Fyren to such an extent. The hand that gently caressed his ears made the werewolf lean into the other for a moment. It was unintentional, but whom could resist a good ear scritching? Certainly not Bones, and he'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of the offered affection, if only for a moment. It wasn't often his comrade would give such attention to the wolf, even if the giant white beast often sat beside him and pawed at him for such. It was part of the reason the werewolf missed Rosalind so much. She had always taken the time to run her slender fingers through his fur and make the young werewolf feel special.

The wolf's ears perked as his friend approached the girl, and declared her an elf. His fleshy, liver coloured nose twitched, and Wy'Ziot tilted his head the other way, watching Fyren approach her. He stayed back, not wishing to crowd; the corridors were spacious, but he was huge in this form, even on all fours, and Fyren's wings weren't exactly small! They would soon fill the space, and it would be intimidating even to the most hardy of visitors. He wanted to approach and sniff at the girl, get a little more knowledge from her, but he satisfied himself with just scenting from his seated position, outside Fyren's closed bedroom door. As Fyren greeted, Wy'ziot waved a little from his position. His stubby hand-like paw, with its set back opposable thumb, the size of a plate, settled back onto the soft carpet beneath him as he waited to see the reaction of the girl.

As he sat, he could feel his stomach gurgling into a grumble. It sounded like a growl as it rose up his oesophagus, and echoed as a burp. His red eyes widened in shock, a paw raising to his mouth as he lowered his ears and narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was an embarrassed smile on his canine features. "Exsshcusshe me." He muttered around his paw, as he lowered it to rub at his stomach. "Changing in sshuch 'asshte ash I did 'assh left me famisshed. I er... I sshould go... replasshe my clozhessh..." The werewolf looked at Fyren with a quick indication of his current state. Were he to turn back to human, he would be naked as a jay bird, and he didn't feel like sharing THAT much with this new girl. He stood and stretched out on all fours, brushing his long body up against Fyren's hip as he walked on. He turned his head back at the end of the corridor with a stern look. "Be nisshe to zhe new people, Vyren." Again, the werewolf cast his odd little smile, and left the Demon to it.

Wy'Ziot walked calmly to his own rooms, and entered carefully, starting to change as soon as he entered. Pops, cracks and stretching could be heard, as well as the occasional grunt or groan, as his body realigned itself, returning to a human form. He lay, pale, sweaty and naked, on the fur covered floor, feeling the prickle of the elk hide at his back, caressing it slowly with his strong hand, the other still holding his bone machete. He missed his fur when he was human. His scarred body was not one others touched, not on purpose. But when you had luxorious white fur that people wanted to bury into and smooth down! It was something to be missed!! Slowly, almost painfully, the werewolf managed to get to his feet, and plodded to his en suite shower room. The wash was fast, at least compared to his original night of visiting. He was not as dirty, and his dreads not as matted. The red dye paste he used was rinsing out now, and it almost looked like he had white roots coming through, though the paste was more of a dark red clay mask than a dye on his dreadlocks. He would reapply it soon, but he didn't feel it necessary yet. The hot water eased the sore muscles from his ferocious change to race to the girl's aid.

The girl.

Violet was such an oddity... Her face, so familiar and yet so different. Her hair, white like his own, and like her's. A fist slammed into the tiled wall. Why did she look so like Rosalind? Was she truly the descendant of his foster mother? Was she truly the girl sent to save their home? She seems so innocent, so pure, just like Rosalind when she had first arrived. She had radiated such warmth, kindness and strength, she had melted the heart of Vanderheim, and the decree to protect humans had been raised. Never again did humans come to the Hotel as a meal; occasionally a strangler practiced in magicks would find themselves here, but they had always left knowing they had meant to find the place and learn what it was they needed before moving on.

The werewolf turned off the hot water, and exited, shaking himself in a most animalistic way. He needed to find clothes; things that Violet would feel comfortable to see him in. His face flushed a little remembering his partial dress when he'd tried to help her before, and how she had been embarrassed to see him like that. He selected a long sleeve top, a little torn, as with all his clothes from accidental tearing with claws. This one held a photorealistic image of a wolf's snarling face. Bones liked it a lot. A pair of dark tracksuit bottoms finished his look; comfortable and covered! He looked around his room, and collected a few items that had been tumbled about and righted them. His taxidermy desk was cluttered, but it always was, so he didn't mind that so much. The bird he had been working on was still sitting in its wired pose, preparing for an eternity staring off into the distance, preparing to take flight, but never quite making the jump.

Moments captured in time. It was an odd concept, and the wolf didn't particularly enjoy such deep meditative thoughts, being, as he was, quite a wild, and uncivilised beast!!! At least, Fyren often told him so!! Wy'Ziot didn't mind it so; the demon was right. It wasn't the werewolf's nature for deep philosophical theories. It was why their friendship wasn't deeper, the werewolf felt. The Demon simply felt a sense of companionship, as one would a pet dog; something not as intelligent, and more prone to flights of fancy. After all, how often had the wolf taken himself into the woods for weeks at a time and not informed the Demon he would be disappearing? The wolf sighed, and scratched at his head, the dreadlocks clanking together where the bones collided. He sat at his desk, watching the glass eyes of the jay on his desk, daring it to move and prove to him it really was still alive. Violet would join him at some point. He should probably head down for food, but he felt melancholy, and needed to prepare his mind and his memories for the girl; she would have many questions for him, and Wy'Ziot needed to focus and try to answer them for her.

 

[Roleplay Skittle]

Hacathra's feet moved with no purpose. They carried her petite frame through the grand entrance of the hotel whereupon they seemed to dance slightly as she wandered about the foyer of the castle. With blood red lips puckered slightly in thought, she surveyed the architecture and decor of the immediate vicinity, scrutinizing every last detail from the color of the stone to the fabric of the draperies and anything in between. She paused in her gallivanting beside a pillar with a long crack in it, her hand grazing the column as her gaze followed the crack upwards to the ceiling, her slender nose released a soft snort as she moved away, her soft fingertips rubbing against her thumb as though she had collected some sort of grime from the aged stone.

Steadily her steps carried her to the check-in desk where again, her fingers brushed over the surface of the counter top, claw-like nails gently raking along the surface without marring it but still making a sound. When she reached the center of the desk, she tapped her fingers against it lightly, not uttering a single syllable until the hotel manager glanced up from the registry.

"You would like a room?" his brown eyes scrutinized her as they peered past strands of his brown hair. The question he asked phrased as a statement, after all, this was a hotel and she did come to the front desk so why else would she be there?

Hacathra offered a toothy grin, the mood of which was hard to discern as it appeared slightly wild. The basket she had been carrying was set on the desk and both hands were placed on the counter in front of her. She didn't say anything, only stared, that grin remaining plastered on her porcelain features.

The hotel manager didn't say anything for a moment, only returned the gaze, his eyes squinting after a moment. He wasn't unnerved by the grin, nor was he particularly interested as to why she was giving it. After a moment his attention drifted away from her and back to the registry that lay open in front of him, his pen returning to the information he had been previously filling out, "if there is nothing I can help you with, I must return to matters that are more important than having a staring contest."

The Abyssal touched Elvish oddity was unfazed and let out a whimsical giggle that was marked by a few slightly throaty squeaks at the beginning, tilting her head to the side as her grin settled into a more coquette smile, "oh my darling, there is plenty you can help me with, and all could be notably more important than a staring contest or..." she extended one finger decorated by a deeply red painted and sharply filed nail which was then followed by each of her other fingers as they rolled out to assist in her gesturing towards the registry, "that."

Slightly taken aback, while he did not jump, the manager's eyes widened slightly at the sound of her sudden outburst of laughter, his pen stopping its motion as his gaze drifted back to her. He snorted softly and it was only a moment before his gaze returned to the registry before him since he either had no idea how to respond or he was just completely unwilling to.

Again, Hacathra was not deterred and yet still persisted on this course of action with the intention of... well even she wasn't certain what the end goal was because for her it was purely for entertainment and even the manager's lack of any very notable reaction was still amusing to her. One of her delicate hands, despite the sharpened to a point nails, reached out and gently stopped the manager from writing, careful not to damage his script as she merely wanted to tease him and not annoy him, "come now, a cold shoulder is certainly no way to welcome a guest," her voice commonly had a distinct lilt to it and now was no exception as she spoke sweetly to the hotel manager, the fingers of one hand tiptoeing gently atop his before she removed it all together.

The manager put his pen down, his eyes closing as he spoke, "madam, you are not currently a guest here, though if you were I sincerely doubt that my demeanor would change in the slightest as a guest you would be and I am merely required to be polite and not exceedingly over accommodating."

"Not even a little?" She pouted, the fingers of one hand curling against her cheek as she rested her chin on the ball of her palm.

"Not even a little."

Hacathra's eyes glinted mischievously, it was a challenge and a challenge was in no means to go unanswered, the grin she had previously worn when she first approached the desk was replaced on her features, though it was toned down some, "very well," she spoke nonchalantly, "I would like a room and I would like a tab to be kept," she had completely changed her mannerisms and was treating the hotel manager with the same indifference that he had been treating her with as though the previous interaction between the two had never even occurred. It was then that one of the hotel's soulless dolls approached, Hacathra hadn't noticed her before as she had previously been indisposed, but now with her head slightly tilted, a snobbish look on her own notably doll-like features as she watched the woman lift her basket from the desk as though seeing this were nothing new.

 

[Kry]

Malhyanth

When Wy'Ziot drew attention to himself with that stomach grumble, Fyren's eyes drifted down the hall to the werewolf. The demon's expression was almost troubled for a moment, and then completely unreadable, but he seemed to be scrutinizing the other. As if coming to a sudden realization about something or other that pertained to the werewolf, but it would be impossible to tell if that's what he was thinking about. His expression was calm and neutral, but his stance was slightly tensed. Something, other than that Asveth fellow, was bothering Fyren and he was trying to hide it. Normally he was great at hiding things, but it was a bit harder at the moment.

That other demon had him on edge. Fyren nodded slightly at Wy'Ziot's words, and when the werewolf approached, brushing against his hip, Fyren's body relaxed almost instantly. Completely. His expression changed for the briefest of seconds but it was gone far to quickly for anyone to tell what kind of expression it had been. His hand had moved, fingers gently running along Wy'Ziot's back as the beast moved past him. Fyren found comfort in the companion in a rather absent, take-for-granted kind of way that most people feel towards a pet. Fyren would have denied there was anything more than that, Wy'Ziot had been around for years and years, and though they were close, and Fyren would consider Wy'Ziot a brother if asked. Their relationship felt rather hollow to the demon. Hollow but very real.

He watched the werewolf pass, and glanced to the female he had attempted to welcome to the castle. A frown touched his lips, and then he was walking away. Those long legs carried him towards the room Wy'Ziot called his own, but only after the wolf had entered. Fyren took up a position against the door to that room, his arms crossed across his chest and his wings folded carefully behind him. Pressed between his back and the door. The demon's head was tilted slightly to the sound, and he didn't realize it, but his lips had drawn into the slightest of pouts. Orange eyes were filled with nothing but a deep concentrating look in them.

Fyren would wait, because he wasn't sure what he wanted himself.

Pain stabbed at his heart as he thought of things better left buried under the sands of time. He missed Lord Vanderheim greatly, but not as much as he missed Rosalind. He had loved her far too deeply, but those were feelings better left unsaid and hidden, and though Violet looked so much like Rosalind, all he felt when he looked upon her was hatred. His arms uncrossed from his chest and he turned to face the wolf's door. A hand lifted, and laid gently against that door. This castle, and Wy'Ziot they were the only true links to Rosalind that still existed. He leaned forward, his forehead resting on the door now.

Wy'Ziot had called him 'brother' earlier. It had probably happened a few times before, but Fyren was thinking of that instance now. For the first time he felt that word held true meaning. Though he wasn't sure what kind of meaning. The demon decided it didn't matter, he also decided he had nothing to say to the beast behind the door. Instead of walking away, he straightened himself a bit, and that hand reached for the doorknob. IF it turned, if it wasn't locked, the demon would open it, step inside pulling it closed and then lean against it. Fyren would look uncertain, as if he had no idea why he had just come unannounced into Wy'Ziot's room.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'ziot's room was never locked, the Wolf in his heart didn't like the idea of it. As the door opened and closed, and the demon pressed his back up against it, the werewolf sat up, his eyes wide for a moment, before creasing into a frown. Why was the demon here? His head tilted a little, before he stood, pushing his chair back from his desk and striding up to the demon, wrapping him into a huge embrace, careful of his wings, and holding tight to his friend. He didn't know why, but the feeling of needing to embrace another took over; he was a wild creature, but he was part Wolf, and something as simple as a touch to someone considered family, or friend, was enough to calm frayed nerves.

His nose picked up on Fyren's scents, and before he could get too carried away, he released his companion, a sheepish grin on his face, and backed up, taking his large frame back to the chair at his desk. His face stayed turned away from Fyren's gaze, knowing he was probably going to get told off for carrying out his fancy then. He fingers set to work removing the wires from the Eurasian Jay's wings, as the bird had dried and stiffened enough to maintain its own shape. His eyes flicked back, occasionally to his friend, and he indicated the chair to his left, before he lent back in his own seat, and smiled.

"It's been a tough few days, 'uh?" He finally commented, smacking the wires against his broad hand a few times, averting his gaze once more. Fyren had always been an intense starer, and that did seem to be changing any time soon. Those orange eyes bored into the side of Wy'ziot's head, as he drummed the wires against his palm. "I'm not sure I know vhat to zhink of zhe 'ole situation." The werewolf used one of the wires to scratch at his stubbled jaw, his mottled white-blue and dusky pink eyes turning to look at his companion.

"Vhat do djou make of it all, Vyren?"

 

[Kry]

When Wy'Ziot rose and approached him, Fyren turned his head down, as if ashamed of entering the other's room unannounced. Normally Fyren would never be so rude as to just enter someone's room. It was far from proper gentleman fashion, and the demon took great pains to be a gentleman. Most of the time. He did not expect the wolf to hug him, the action caught him by surprised and startled him for a few moments. It felt good to be embraced though, he had needed that. Hadn't even fully realized that was what he needed until it had happened. His wings twitched slightly and he lifted his arms to hug the wolf back, but it was ending quickly.

There was a bit of color to Fyren's cheeks as the wolf pulled away, embarrassment for a myriad of reasons. It faded quickly, and he watched as Wy'Ziot returned to his seat. The demon remained standing even when the other chair was indicated, and his eyes did not leave the werewolf, oddly enough the demon did not scold Wy'Ziot for the hug. He also didn't seem inclined to speak even after the other had spoken, Fyren merely stood there and watched. His only movement was the occasional twitching of his wings, and a brief glance around the room once or twice for the most part those orange eyes were focused only on the wolf.

"...I..." He moved now, those long legs bringing him closer to Wy'Ziot, he stopped when he was still a good two feet away. His wings twitching with agitation. "I feel as if I am caught in a whirlwind, I can't get my feet under me. I can't tell up from down." His right hand clenched into a tight fist at his side, and his expression for a brief moment showed fear, then it was replaced by vulnerability. These were things Fyren never left show if he could help it. "I am lost and I am alone." Perhaps it was cruel to say he was alone to that wolf's face. That wolf, though he left from time to time to prowl about the forest or who knows what for days on end, that wolf always came back.

He was the only one that always came back.

This realization seemed to dawn on Fyren as soon as he had said the words, a bit of surprise clouded his features. "You're the only one that always comes back." The words were spoken quietly as the demon realized this truth. Why had he never paid attention to something this important before? It was simple really, before the Rosalind look-a-like had shown up, Fyren's emotions had been locked away. Now he felt like an emotional train-wreck. He had been hiding it decently he supposed, but it hurt to much, and the only one he could talk to about anything was the wolf. But Fyren wasn't really one to talk about these things, things that made him appear weak or vulnerable.

Fyren took a step back, his intense gaze, now startled and confused, dropped to the floor.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot watched the man quietly, the wires he'd been playing with being set to the side as he watched the man, feeling the pain and confusion radiating off of him. It stung, a little, when the demon stated he was alone, but the Wolf simply smiled at him, and reached out his hand, taking the wrist of the demon and physically dragged him to the table, and forced him down into the chair. His wild eyes held the demon's, or at least tried, for as long as he would hold the gaze. His large hands held the other's shoulders, squeezing them in what he hoped would be identified as a comforting motion.

"Djou are as strong as any man I 'ave ever come up against. I come back because I see myself in djou, Vyren. Ve are alone, last of our kind, our tribes, but ve alvays 'ave each ozher. Djou alvays 'ave time for me." The werewolf grinned his lopsided smile, where the scars crossed over his features, wrecking his appearance. The werewolf slowly released the demon, though he kept one of his knees in contact with the demon's leg, feeling vulnerable himself, and in typical canine fashion, he craved the touch of someone he felt was his family. He leant back, watching Fyren, gaze intense.

It was interesting the demon had only now realised that the Werewolf always returned. He wondered what he had thought prior; whether he even had ever noticed. Whether it was just expected? Would the demon have just expected the Werewolf to be there? Even notice if something happened, and he failed to return? The werewolf turned his face away for a moment, struggling with that thought. He didn't want to think of his brother in that manner. The werewolf stood, and walked to the window, looking out over the gardens. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and he looked down at his bare feet.

"Vhat do djou make of zhe girl?"

 

[Kry]

Fyren didn't resist when Wy'Ziot grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, practically putting him in the chair. As the demon sat, those wings folded against his back gently. The werewolf's hand squeezed his shoulder a bit, and the wolf's knee touched Fyren's leg, the demon didn't move. His orange eyes were intense and filled with a myriad of things he would rather keep hidden, but if he had wanted to hide things why had he even come in here? He was frowning slightly at the words spoken by the werewolf. He had never truly considered it before, but Wy'Ziot was probably more lonely than he.

The demon had a tribe, or rather a clan, but they were far away. Planes and realms away, the wolf wouldn't have known that though, it was not something Fyren had ever discussed with him. Wy'Ziot was truly the last of his kind, without a pack. Fyren had never considered that before, in all the long years he'd known the wolf, he had always taken the other's presence for granted. He always just assumed the wolf would be around, but also would not have been surprised if Wy'Ziot had never come back from his long trips and treks. The castle was falling apart, the magic that had once held it was leaving as well. Fyren was sure that one day, he would be the only thing left standing in this place.

Fyren was quiet, watching Wy'Ziot with an almost thoughtful expression in his eyes, eyes already filled with many other emotions. He didn't stand when the wolf stood and moved to the window, but his body tensed and he growled lightly when the other asked about the girl. Fyren hated her. Her visage reminded him of things he'd rather not think about and so he hated her for it. It was wholly unfair for him to be that way, very ungentlemanly as well. He stood now, and moved towards the wolf. Fyren was tall, but that werewolf was taller still, not by much but it was a noticeable height difference. He pressed himself beside the wolf, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

"I'm not strong at all, and I hate that girl. She's a poor imitation and I can't stand looking at her." The words were spoken with a vicious bitterness, and his orange eyes were on the scenery outside the window though not really focusing on anything out there. His tone softened, "I do not want to speak of her. I only want to apologize to you. I have always taken you and your presence here for granted, for that I would like to apologize." That head tilted up, those orange eyes lifting from the outside scenery to stare sincerely at the werewolf next to him. Fyren's heart ached in his chest, and he couldn't quite name why.

It was a sincere apology, and he was also sorry it had taken him so long to truly appreciate the wolf that had always been at his side. If that girl had never come here, it was possible that Fyren would have never realized how much he took that wolf for granted. True he was always kind, always there if the wolf needed someone to speak with, but that was true for any of the guests in the hotel. Fyren was nearly always available to those that wanted someone to talk to and he always tried to be gentlemanly to all who were here. He was studying Wy'Ziot's face as he waited for a response to his apology.

 

[Malhyanth]

The wolf looked over at the demon, pressing his hands against the window frame, leaning into the space, looking down. The words coming from the demon seems so un-Fyren. What had the girl done to upset him so much, other than look like Rosalind? Seemed harsh to hate her for that only. But the demon had his own reasons, and if he didn't want to explain it to Wy'Ziot, the werewolf wasn't going to push. He sighed, a bodily sound, rocked his whole frame as he stood in the window, looking down at the rose gardens he'd made a start on earlier that day. He could see, faintly, where his forced change had torn up the lawn.

As the demon approached, and leant against him, he wrapped his long arm around the man's shoulders, and pointed to it with his limp hand. "I'll 'ave to go down and clear zhat area; make it right, so zhe grass grows properly." The wolf didn't mean to avoid the apology, he just didn't feel it was necessary. The arm around the shoulder and neck of the more slender man tightened as he sighed again, pressing his dreadlocked head against the back of the demon's head as he pulled him in to his chest. His nose sniffed at the nape of his neck, the scent of that shadow demon still clinging to him slightly, where he had used his friend.

That elicited a growl from deep in his chest. He wasn't used to smelling another upon his friend. He removed his face from Fyren's hair, and rested his chin upon the slightly shorter man's shoulder, watching the scenes around the hotel. Birds flitting this way and that; a few deer slowly tip-toed through the grounds, a few rabbits bobbed their tails as they skittered this way and that. "Vhat is 'appening to our 'ome, Vyren?" His voice was quiet, sad, and he tightened his grip around his friend, nuzzling his nose into the hair by his friends' ear.

 

[Kry]

An arm wrapped around him, and then his attention was being directed to the torn up grass outside. Fyren didn't really care about the scenery outside, the damage that had been done earlier. Wy'Ziot would fix it, the wolf seemed to know a lot about that sort of thing. His wings were folded close and tight against his back, comfortable but still a bit awkward, and he leaned closer to Wy'Ziot. The demon was quiet, his apology had been brushed off and Fyren didn't press the issue, though he was almost tempted.

His body relaxed when Wy'Ziot sniffed at him and nuzzled him. It sent a shiver down his spine from the sensation, but when the wolf asked that sad question, Fyren's body tensed with frustration. "It's falling apart around our ears, and I can do nothing to hold it together anymore." Anger at himself as well as the frustration of knowing what was happening and being unable to change any of it had filled his voice. He grit his teeth, those orange eyes now set in a glare at the scenery outside the window, as if it were somehow the forest's fault. "If I had more power..." His tone was almost dangerous as he spoke those words.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought of acquiring more power. There were ways to do it, but it was dangerous, too much power and a person could lose themselves. He had considered it before though, if he had more power, perhaps he could free himself of the tether that bound him to this mortal plane and return to his own plane that as so very far away from this place. Now he considered it in order to save the castle, perhaps he could do both. Save the castle and break his invisible tether. Fyren hesitated, he wasn't quite ready to leave this embrace yet.

This embrace, it was warm and Wy'Ziot's arms were strong, it made the demon feel safe. Safe and almost like it was okay to be weak. It filled him with a warmth he couldn't entirely explain. A warmth akin to the kind that would spread through his body at the simplest and briefest of friendly touches from Rosalind. Fyren grit his teeth again. "There must be a way for me to acquire more power." He began to pull away from the wolf. There were books, both in the library and in Fyren's room that might help. The demon was about to start walking a very dangerous path.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot allowed the demon to move away, unwrapping his arm from him and returning to watching out the window, pressing his hands against the cold stone. His head was bowed, and he didn't want to look at the demon, not after those words had left him. Where he'd been pressed against his chest was now cold, and it made the werewolf shiver a little with the lack of touch. The wolf turned from the window, and leant against the window sill. His temple pressed against the stone, and his mottled eyes watched the demon.

"Vyren. Please don't do somezhink zhat could put djou in jeopardy. I 'ave seen djou 'urt enough to last me a vhile now." One large arm wrapped across his chest to hug himself now Fyren had stepped away. The werewolf looked down, flexing his toes, cracking his neck as he watched his friend's retreating back. "I von't stop djou, but I 'ope djou vill be careful. Djou're planning on playing vizh dangerous zhings, aren't djou?"

The werewolf stood, and motioned to him to lead on. "Come. If djou're going to dabble in dangerous zhings, I vill vatch, and ensure djou are safe." His bare feet padded across to the door, to open it for Fyren, with a sad grin.

 

[Kry]

There was something in Wy'Ziot's voice that made the demon hesitate, but only for the briefest of moments. His wings twitching lightly behind him, and his face was expressionless, almost as if it were made out of stone. It was hard to force away the storm of emotions that threatened to engulf him, but he had to be strong, he had shown enough weakness and vulnerability already. It could be dangerous, most likely it would be very dangerous, there was a chance that the power he wanted to try to tap into would destroy them all instead of save the castle.

"It's worth the risk." He sounded confident in his decision while also just the tiniest bit uncertain. He wanted to protest at the wolf joining him, but he doubted anything he did or said would stop the other from coming with him. As the door was opened, Fyren moved through it, his posture straightening up as he passed into the hallway. For all appearances he was his normal stoic self. The demon's destination was the large library housed inside the castle, and if he couldn't find the books he needed there, surely some of the ones in his room would be helpful. He glanced at Wy'Ziot as they moved through the castle.

This was a mistake, that thought nagged at the edge of his mind. Fyren was an intelligent creature, he knew things of magic, had been studying certain aspects of it nearly his entire life on this plane in the hopes of finding a way back to his own plane. He had yet to find something substantial, or rather something that wasn't extremely dangerous. The demon's body was tense again, and he stopped rather abruptly, suddenly rather apprehensive. Channeling that much power could destroy him, he lifted a hand and flexed his fingers a bit while he stared at it, at the very least that much power could destroy this humanoid body.

This was a terrible idea. The thought hit him hard, no longer nagging at him. Only bad things would come from this course of action. "...But...What else can I do?" That hand had lowered, and those eyes were on Wy'Ziot. Fyren looked lost, so very lost, his wings hung limply behind him, as if matching his forlorn mood. Everything was all wrong, and somehow, in Fyren's eyes that girl's presence here only made things worse.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot followed behind the demon, quiet, thoughtful. His friend was headed to a dangerous place, one the werewolf wasn't sure he could follow, but he would be there for his friend. He had to be. Fyren had been in his life for as long as he could remember; was his dearest friend. Wy'Ziot wasn't about to let him destroy himself in order to save this place. It may be their home, but ultimately, it was stone, and mortar, and plaster, and it could be rebuilt, or they could find somewhere else. What held them were memories; memories that trapped them, held them prisoner. It was way Wy'Ziot returned to the forest with increasing regularity, to remind himself, first and foremost, he was supposed to be an animal, not a person.

Why Fyren stopped, Wy'Ziot almost walked into him, but put out a hand to stop himself just in time. He stepped around the twitching wings, and saw the fear in Fyren's face. It hurt to see his usually strong, stoic friend so lost. Wy'Ziot took his hand, and wrapped him into another hug. The Wolf didn't know what else to do. He just remembered when he had been this fearful, or when he'd lost his way, and couldn't work out if he was a Wolf or a Man, Rosalind had done the same to him. Wrapped him up so tight it felt like he was going to fall into her huge heart and nestle there forever. Surrounded by her love, her security. He stroked the wild hair of the demon, trying to soothe him. He didn't know if it would work; Fyren had been an adult from the moment he stepped in this place, not like Wy'Ziot, whom had entered as a forgotten, crazed wild beast of a child, always dirty, always moody, always spoiling for a fight. That wasn't to say that streak of him had disappeared, but he appreciated his friends and family in this place now, like the world revolved around them.

The hug was long, and the werewolf didn't say anything. He drew back slowly, and held his friend at arms length. He grinned at him, the scars of his face pulling it into an odd shape. "Let us not jump into somezhink so 'astily, Vyren. Zhere is a reason she is 'ere. Zhis castle, it does not bring people 'ere for no reason." He leaned in, and placed a soft kiss to the forehead of his friend, before taking his hand and dragging him down towards the kitchen. "Come on. I feel vhat ve need is a drink, and some raw meat, and a chance to calm. I know djou 'ate 'er, but I feel... I feel she vas brought 'ere by somezhing."

Wy'Ziot dragged his friend on, down the slopping steps, and through the multitude of doorways towards the vast kitchen. It was late, and the chef had left for the night, to return to his room until the night shift people rose. Wy'Ziot grabbed one of the rabbits he'd brought with him, and threw it to Fyren, before rummaging around in the liquor cabinet, finding a fine red wine. Shaking it at Fyren, his infectious, sharp toothed grin across his face, as he collected two glasses, as he motioned for them to head out into the evening, to sit in the sun set.

 

[Kry]

Fyren didn't move when Wy'Ziot engulfed him in a hug. So much physical contact between the two of them in a single day already, the demon couldn't remember the last time they'd been so clingy at each other. He appreciated it though, enjoyed it even, found comfort in the closeness but that was not something he would readily admit. Part of him wanted to push away to prove that he was still strong, that he could accomplish everything on his own, instead he didn't move. Orange eyes blinked lightly at the kiss to his forehead and he almost blushed, still he remained standing there.

The demon finally moved when Wy'Ziot took his hand and led him towards the kitchen. "We don't need that girl. We've survived well enough without her for a long time, we don't need her now." He almost sounded angry, and a little uncertain. The girl was a descendant of Rosalind, and she had shown up now when the castle was beginning to show it's disrepair more and more. Perhaps she was needed or something, Fyren didn't want to admit that they needed that Rosalind imitation. The demon was frowning, his brow knit together in thought.

He barely noticed when they reached the kitchen, and only his quick reflexes saved him from being hit in the chest by a dead rabbit when the wolf tossed it to him. Orange eyes blinked rapidly for a moment as he came out of his daze of thoughts, Fyren glanced down at the rabbit for a moment, and then his eyes were on Wy'Ziot. The wolf had a grin on his lips and shook a bottle of wine at the demon, Fyren almost smiled at him. He shifted slightly, wings twitching a bit, and headed out before he did smile at the wolf. A nice long sit with a drink and meat might do him some good, and Fyren glanced down at the rabbit in his hand, not quite sure how hungry he was feeling at the moment.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot knew the grounds well; spent as much time as he could out here. As a child he'd run around just experiencing the gardens, as children did, exploring and playing, often alone with his own thoughts, other times, with Rosalind. Once or twice the Demon by his side has joined them. Never Vanderheim. He knew his companion doted on the vampire as much as he did Rosalind, but the Werewolf had always been wary of the the dark haired, porcelain skinned man. Something about him never seemed to welcome the wild beast of a child that had turned up one day, and as Wy'Ziot had aged, and turned into the handy man and gardener where required, when simply 'magicking away' the problem seemed too much like hard work, Wy'Ziot still felt there was a critical eye on him. That vampire had never trusted the werewolf not to eat his mistress, he guessed. Werewolves were, notoriously, single minded at times when it came to their base instincts. But Wy'Ziot knew he could never hurt Rosalind. He'd made that Promise to her, to never hurt a human unless it was to protect his life; he'd already killed too many humans for her liking, as justified as he'd been.

Finding a spot near to the hedgerow labyrinth, where the last of the sun's rays bounced off the stone walls of the Hotel and radiated heat through the mist that still swirled, the Werewolf threw himself down, uncorking the wine, and pouring the glasses, his face a grin. He needed, and wanted, to see his friend return to his usual, boring self; and by boring, he meant the guy that stalked the castle with the sour face, and made people jump. The Werewolf didn't like this emotional version of someone he'd always deemed to be so strong. He settled the bottle of wine safely, so it wouldn't spill, and lay back against the incline of grassy dirt that rose up to the wall edge of the castle. It was just the right level of incline to make a comfortable lounging position to watch the sunset. The first gulp of wine made the werewolf wince and gag; he was not really a drinker at all, and with his intuned senses, he could identify all the weird little tastes and flavours. It was always intense to begin with, until the alcohol did its job of numbing the heightened senses. He raised a hand to the Demon, flicking with his wrist to indicate he join him in this comfortable show.

"Come, Vyren!! Stop brooding, or I shall 'ave to call djou 'Grumpy'." The Werewolf laughed, and indicated the rabbit. "Come on, dig in and share!! Not all of us can go days vizhout food! I zhink djou can see zhere is a lot of me ve needs to keep fit and active!" Wy'Ziot couldn't help being the fool. It was like he'd taken on a role when he come to this place. He'd never been overly jovial and lighyhearted with his Tribe; and most assuredly not when taken by Man and turned into a pit fighter. His history there in that pit alone, as a young child struggling to control his Wolf, should have given him a lack of humour! But still, to took the role and made it his own. And he knew few could grasp his strange jokes, and looked at him with skeptical eyes. The Werewolf didn't care; he had a purpose and a role, and he had to stick to it.

"Speak vizh me, Vyren! About anyzhing. Everyzhing. I 'ave been avay so long, djou must 'ave some tales to amuse me vizh. Zhis place is never dull!" The Werewolf sipped more drink, and again, another struggling wince, but it was better than before; his tongue was numbing to all the little notes and hints of tastes this wine was delivering to his brain. He could feel it's warmth spreading out from his belly to his extremeities. He chuckled, and remembered a few past drinking sessions between the two friends, and how they'd ended with a very drunk albino man struggling to stand up, never mind walk!

 

[Kry]

The demon settled down near the werewolf once a suitable spot had been picked, that rabbit still in his hands. His wings folded themselves comfortably against his back as he got comfortable beside Wy'Ziot. Those orange eyes watched the wolf intently as the other spoke and poured the wine. When the wolf mentioned eating, Fyren glanced down at the rabbit he still held, the demon stared at it for a few moments before ripping one of the back legs off. The rest of the rabbit was handed to his companion while Fyren kept that single leg. He still couldn't decide if he was hungry or not.

"There isn't much to tell. Usually the place isn't dull, but the magic is fading and I feel the others can sense it. There really hasn't been much of anything going on lately. More guests leave and fewer come to take their place." Fyren's expression was grim, he really wanted there to be something exciting to tell the wolf about, but nothing had happened. Nothing other than that girl showing up but Wy'Ziot was here for that, and even that wasn't exciting to Fyren, it only made him angry.

He set that rabbit leg down and grabbed the bottle of wine, not bothering with the glass, he drank straight from the bottle. Long deep gulps. A very ungentlemanly way to drink the wine, and Fyren often prided himself on being a proper gentleman. Even so, the demon had always seemed to have an immunity to getting drunk, and drinking too much wine would make him sick. He liked the feel and the taste of the wine, and not for the first time, he wondered if it would be nice to be able to get drunk. To forget things for a while. Fyren finally set the bottle back down, it was nearly empty. It had warmed him a bit, was making him feel a small bit nauseous but he was still very much sober.

Silver eyes closed for a few moments as Fyren sighed, when they opened he tilted his head back to look up at the sky. "I was a prince in my realm, but that's different than being a prince in the human realm. A demon isn't born a prince because his father is king, it is a reward based upon power. Kings are the strongest among us, but I was well on my way to reaching that point. All that was need was to kill the current king to prove my power was greater." His gaze shifted from the sky to the werewolf. "Before I could even announce my challenge I was summoned to this world. An oddity in and of itself, for it would take an extremely powerful caster to summon a demon prince to the mortal realm."

Fyren looked away from Wy'Ziot, staring off in a random directions, silver eyes slightly cloudy with the memories. "The man was indeed a powerful caster, but incompetent. Of course I was in a fit of rage once I emerged in this realm, but the ritual used was supposed to bind me to the man that summoned me." A dark, almost sinister smile touched Fyren's lips. "He made his summoning circle wrong, I was not bound to that man, and so I killed him immediately." That smile faded from his lips quickly, as his brow furrowed slightly and he frowned now. Still his eyes refusing to meet the werewolf. "I was bound though, to this plane. This mortal realm, and this form. That caster was far too powerful for his own good, binding a demon such as I to anything should be impossible for any mortal." Anger flashed in his eyes for a moment, then it was gone. "Once I realized I could not leave this mortal realm, I went into a blind rage."

Fyren licked his lips slightly to moisten them. "I murdered, I obliterated, I destroyed entire cities and villages of humans. Death and destruction were left in my wake no matter where I went. Hunters of demons were sent after me, and I killed them too. Until one of them managed to catch me." Fyren grit his teeth a bit. "I stupidly walked right into his trap, but he didn't kill me. He bound me with special wards and artifacts that work surprisingly well against demons. I had never encountered that sort of thing before." Fyren's gaze had returned to the sky. "He didn't kill me or turn me over to his order of demon hunters, he kept me and I was subjected to all manner of gruesome torture day by day for a number of years. Though one day he never returned from a hunt, and the power infused in the wards that kept me weakened. I was able to escape, and again I murdered but I started with that demon hunter's friends." Fyren looked towards the forest. "Once they were dead, I fled from them and ended up finding my way here. Lord Vanderheim and Rosalind welcomed me with open arms." He knew Wy'Ziot had wanted to know his story, for the demon hardly ever spoke of his past, and now seemed the right time somehow to share it with the wolf. Fyren's gaze was intense as he continued to stare towards the forest that surrounded the castle.

 

[Malhyanth]

The werewolf remained quiet as his friend downed the bottle, trying not to giggle, as the wine started to affect him. Big he may be, but he was canine essentially; alcohol affected him quickly! The rabbit that was passed to him had its other legs pulled off, as well as the head, and then the body was split into two; these parts were all put between the two, and the werewolf grabbed one of the legs and started to tear at it with his teeth. He crunched on the bones, grumbling with happiness, and listened intently. He'd asked this question, and finally, his friend was opening up to him; was it because they were drinking, and he knew how Wy'Ziot was affected by booze? Probably!!

"Zhat sounds awful, my friend." Wy'Ziot smiled at him, and petted the Demon's shoulder, thinking through what he'd said. "I understand zhe need to attack zhings... zhough, like djou, I promised Rosalind I vouldn't attack 'umans ever again..." He watched the sun set quietly for a moment, and stroked the furry rabbit foot in his hand. He grinned at the sun, closing his eyes and basking in the light. He flopped back, and began to chuckle inanely.

"Vhat a veird life ve lead, Vyren!!" The werewolf sighed, grabbing one of the front legs, and chomping it happily. He picked up the wine as well, and sipped from his glass.