Waking up covered in blood and broken bones is pretty much the worst way to come about. That's at least what Varg thinks when he is making his way to the harbour. It took a god damn hour to get it all off of himself and he's still shaking a little with the aftershock of realising that he's done it again and he has to move, leave the city as quickly as possible.
The wolf usually is docile enough that he doesn't go berserk on a wolf moon, but there are times when the beast is just feral and if he didn't manage to get a night off for the festivities, it tends to break out violently.
He huddles in the light summer drizzle for a while to stare at the boats in the harbour, trying to decide which of them is going to leave soon. He pulls the hood of his jacket further over his head while he perks his ears to listen to the sounds coming from the boats. Finally he picks the one that has several foreign languages in the mix, hoping that this means it would be the best bet to get as far away from here as possible.
He waits until the night and then hefts his guitar case higher up on his shoulder before slipping into the boat, quiet as the night, he sneaks under the deck and into the farthest corner he can find, drawing a tarp over his head. It takes hours upon hours to wait for the boat to leave the harbour and eventually he passes out. Despite his nerves being on the edge, he finds that having almost no sleep the night before helps along the process. Too much so in fact. He'd hate to wake up while being thrown over border.
Rune walks around the ship at night when he can't sleep, which is often. He's used to being on the sea, of course, but he's nervous. He's never been to Finland before, and never been on a real mission like this. The pathway between Tromsø and Oslo was mostly clean now thanks to the Norwegian influence, and it was well-traveled as well. So this is new for him, and it makes him nauseated in a way that he couldn't remember being since he first started sailing.
He sits with a cup of herbal tea trying to will himself back to sleep so he can be bright and ready tomorrow morning; peering up at the stillness of the stars and the liveness of the grand expanse of water really helps to settle his system. Out of the corner of his eye, something keeps annoying him about this tarp. He isn't sure why, but he feels a little off about it, which is getting more and more odd the more calm he is about everything else.
He's pretty sure it's just his nerves playing on overtime and making him paranoid, but he makes his way over and peels it back as one would do to a shower curtain after watching a horror film.
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ainomieli2018-07-30 04:22 am
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Waking up covered in blood and broken bones is pretty much the worst way to come about. That's at least what Varg thinks when he is making his way to the harbour. It took a god damn hour to get it all off of himself and he's still shaking a little with the aftershock of realising that he's done it again and he has to move, leave the city as quickly as possible.
The wolf usually is docile enough that he doesn't go berserk on a wolf moon, but there are times when the beast is just feral and if he didn't manage to get a night off for the festivities, it tends to break out violently.
He huddles in the light summer drizzle for a while to stare at the boats in the harbour, trying to decide which of them is going to leave soon. He pulls the hood of his jacket further over his head while he perks his ears to listen to the sounds coming from the boats. Finally he picks the one that has several foreign languages in the mix, hoping that this means it would be the best bet to get as far away from here as possible.
He waits until the night and then hefts his guitar case higher up on his shoulder before slipping into the boat, quiet as the night, he sneaks under the deck and into the farthest corner he can find, drawing a tarp over his head. It takes hours upon hours to wait for the boat to leave the harbour and eventually he passes out. Despite his nerves being on the edge, he finds that having almost no sleep the night before helps along the process. Too much so in fact. He'd hate to wake up while being thrown over border.
no subject
He sits with a cup of herbal tea trying to will himself back to sleep so he can be bright and ready tomorrow morning; peering up at the stillness of the stars and the liveness of the grand expanse of water really helps to settle his system. Out of the corner of his eye, something keeps annoying him about this tarp. He isn't sure why, but he feels a little off about it, which is getting more and more odd the more calm he is about everything else.
He's pretty sure it's just his nerves playing on overtime and making him paranoid, but he makes his way over and peels it back as one would do to a shower curtain after watching a horror film.
He screams.
"Who the fuck are you?!"