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.

OOC

Altair

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The midday sun shimmered through the cascading canopy above, and Calyx's vision would dance, flickering high to low as he pondered his next move. Masterful and mindless, the Cheshire cat clicked his teeth, remembering to return to unraveling the satchel just as the voice of someone half-familiar danced through his senses.

"Comfortable?"

The playful flicker of his shimmering golden gaze would turn toward the familiar face. The Boss of the Big-Fucking-Mountain.

Boss-Mountain. Fucking-Boss-Mountain. Mountain-Fuck-Boss.

Calyx would smile.

Quite, I think, he'd offer with congeniality, feeling the rough scrape of the bark on his underbelly. It was unconventional, his comfort, but so were most things he did. And just before Calyx could offer the man some space, Mountain-Fuck-Boss helped himself to the place at Calyx's side. What do you think? Bark is a bit rough on the belly, but I think the view is worth it. The words gently vibrated in the pit of his throat as his spoke, resonating like a purr from his lips.

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

That gaze dropped to Calyx's pouch, and a gentle paw would manipulate the pelt to reveal the contents to a curious mind. Calyx could share — mostly. I do like to offer a full experience, he'd tease in cryptic response to Altair's words. "What's even in that?" A little hm!? slipped past his lips, eyebrows raising as his gaze drifted back toward the other male.

You don't know? Oh, you should be wary of these. What is Medicine for some is Poison to most. His voice was a bit hurried, but not rude. More so... rapidly informative.

Calyx would quickly move the jimsonweed away from his future leader, unwilling to toxify the man's liver on their first time hanging out together. What was left were the remains of some of the psybicilin he kept handy. A paw would point toward the Meidince — Jimsonweed. Use with caution. But this — his hovering paw would shift toward the mushroom caps. Enjoyable ... A pause. Comfortable. Softer. For most.

A smile.

For you, if you want them. A gift.

Always so generous. Plus, they would make the scraping of the bark feel all the more tolerable.

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