OOC

Altair

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The Big-Fucking-Mountain was the place of dreams.

No one questioned him.

Everyone wanted to know him.

He thought softly, dreamily of Aisling ...
... the pull of a dangerous smile on his lips.

And he would saunter, paws tumbling ahead of themselves as he danced toward the heartland of his new home. There was a distinct rhythm in the way he moved, the smile on his lips contagious as he slithered forward.

He would approach the base of a nearby tree, its trunk mighty and wide ... and his jaws would part in a dangerous yawn. With a swift motion, his paws would extend upward, his head leaning backward in an exaggerated yawn. A soft sound would press past his lips, his whole body wiggling in the stagelight.

¡Sonrisa! (Smile!) he'd laugh, mostly to himself as he stretched upward and then leapt into the lowest hanging branch of the tree.

With a soft sigh, he'd rest his belly against the base of the branch, feeling the cool scratch of the bark. A beat would thrum in his head, and a smile would extend upon his lips. And under his paw was the small purse he kept, full of his Treasures.

His Medicine.

And he'd smile.

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I am homesick for a home that i have yet to create
3-3-3 OC

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Speech Emotional Actions Thoughts

Altair knew that scent anywhere.

Even before he stepped through the treeline, the sharp, peculiar sweetness curling through the mountain air told him exactly who had decided to make a spectacle of himself tonight.

Calyx.

Of course.

He paused in the shadows long enough to watch the familiar display unfold—the exaggerated stretch, the theatrical little wiggle, the effortless sprawl across the branch like the tree itself had grown there solely for his convenience.

Some things, apparently, never changed.

A quiet breath escaped Altair’s nose, something between amusement and resignation, before he finally stepped into view.

Comfortable?

His voice cut cleanly through the stillness, low and dry with practiced patience.

Moonlight caught along the dark planes of his frame as he came to a stop beneath the branch, pale eyes lifting to settle on Calyx with the sort of measured stare usually reserved for particularly inconvenient problems.

Not dangerous ones.

Just inconvenient.

The faintest smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth.

I’m trying to decide whether I should be concerned, offended, or impressed by the consistency.

Then his gaze dropped to the little pouch tucked beneath Calyx’s paw.

There it was.

The likely answer.

Altair huffed softly, shaking his head.

What's even in that?

The words carried no real accusation—only the familiar skepticism of someone who knew Calyx's family enough to expect chaos as a baseline.

Still, there was unmistakable warmth beneath the dry edge of his tone.

No challenge.

No territorial warning.

Just the easy authority of a Zenith addressing one of his own. His tail gave a slow flick behind him as he looked back up.