Multiple Settings Misty Mountain Wolves (Rp)

Juno was suddenly jerked awake by the cold feeling of her basement's floor on her cheek and under her hands. She sat up quickly—too quickly—causing her a brief dizziness to over take her. She groaned, running a hand over her face. Most people would be alarmed to wake up on the floor in the middle of their basement, but the young huntress was not. Strange happenings that this had occurred throughout the course of her life.

After a moment to let the dizziness subside, her sleepy gaze traveled up the old rickety stairs to the open door of the basement. She must have slept walked again. It was honestly kind of amazing how she hadn’t injured herself doing so yet considering her old Victorian home was, well, not very mobile friendly anyways.

Sighing, Juno slowly pushed herself off of the stone floor and padded up across the room. She carefully climbed up the stairs while holding the singular wooden railing.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, the sun-kissed woman started her morning routine just as she normally would. She dressed herself in one of her cute but casual outfits and fixed her hair into a half up, half down style for the day. She put some makeup on like plenty of girls did and sprayed herself with a little perfume. After making herself look presentable, she made her way to the kitchen where she put together her go-to matcha latte and munched on a bowl of fruit and granola. Luckily for her, she was off of work today so she could simply enjoy the morning for once.

Juno could have made the executive decision to stay home for the day but the medic wasn't that simple. Not long after she finished her breakfast, she was stepping out the door of her home and into the snowy wonderland on the other side.

The frigid air stung against her exposed skin causing a small frown to form on her lips. She wrapped her cream cardigan tighter around her body. Even though she began to question the decision, it did not stop her from moving farther from the comfort of her home and down the pathway that would eventually bring her into the thick of town.

LOCATION: Home —> Sidewalk | HOUSE | OUTFIT | INTERACTION(S): Open | MENTIONS: None

♢ ARYA WOODS ♢

interactions; @ open

By the time the sleepy glowing rays of the morning colored the town golden, the baker's bed had already been cold for a bit. There were no sounds or scents in the apartment itself, but the audible clues and faint scents of the inhabitant rose up between the floor boards, sounds of an oven lowly humming, dough being handled and a low tune being hummed, the faintest hint of a morning tea wafting around the room as hidden wisps.

Arya was always early up, often before the sun even showed its first rays, as she had bread to bake and cakes to make and tea to drink - oh, and some stubborn insomnia that kept her from sleeping too long, not that she'd tell anyone. She'd rather let them believe she was just very dedicated and passionate about her craft - which wasn't entirely untrue. Her movements were smooth and quick, clear with practiced ease as the third dough of the day was being formed and worked, the second portion in the oven and the first on the racks, cooling down before she'd bring them out into the store on display. The baker didn't only make breads and buns, but she was fond of making sweets as well, everything from cookies to doughnuts to more advanced layer cakes. She usually made whatever came to mind, and once that was all sold up, she'd begin on a new project or two. Therefore it was never certain what sweets the baker had in her windows, as it could change from day to day, but that was a part of the charm of the little bakery. Her selection of bread were always the same though, the same kinds of buns and loafs and breads, only occasionally there would pop up a new type or two for a limited amount of time. It gave her bakery a refreshing touch or tradition and stability, combined with touch of surprise and mystery over what the redhead had now experimented with regarding her cakes and desserts. In today's windows, other than the usual selection of breads, she had muffins, of three different sorts - chocolate, blueberry and vanilla chocolate chip - as well as some triple chocolate cookies.

Her humming continued to gently flow throughout the kitchen, her dough at hand done being formed into buns with a sprinkle of sesame seeds on top. Quickly the buns were switched out with the finished breads in the ovens, golden loafs with light carvings on top, as Arya continued to move between the kitchen and the front room of the bakery itself. The baskets of bread behind the counter and the trays in the windows were slowly filling up with scents and colors and textures and tastes, her personal favorites being the freshly made blueberry muffins, one of which she sat down with at the tables in the other end of the little bakery as the last portion of cakes and bread finished in the ovens. The blue-eyed baker felt tired, but looking at her stocked shelves and trays through black rimmed glasses, she felt satisfaction replace it, one of her hands bringing the muffin to her mouth to munch at occasionally as she gazed absentmindedly out the window at the quiet streets. The other hand underneath the table rubbed at the connection point between her real leg and the prosthetic - had it been some months back, she would've been more bothered by it, both in terms of pain and trouble physically when moving around the bakery and ovens and store room, but also mentally, a heavy weight on her mind. She'd had time to get used to it though, and found that if she focused on her work and business and customers, it didn't take up much of her time or space in her mind. She hadn't yet figured out how to handle it at night though, especially since that's when the phantom pains usually came to light when her hands had no more to do.

Shaking her thoughts away, the redheaded baker heaved a small sigh, refocusing on watching the rising sun outside as she enjoyed the last of her muffin, mentally noting herself to put more blueberries in next time. There was no reason to linger with thoughts of worry or fear. She was alive, had most of her body intact, had her bakery and customers, and she could eat cakes all day if she wanted without having to pay or be judged. Taste-testing, she could easily pass it off as. Which it was... some of the times, that is. What was there not to like?

♢ RAGNAR RAGNVARD ♢

interactions; @ unlikely at the moment, as he's heading towards town from out in the middle of nowhere

Golden rays snuck in through the slight spaces between the wood, gold light hitting dark grey hues, cloudy with sleep and glinting with annoyance. A sneer slowly inched across a furry maw, facial expression morphing to match the annoyance in his gaze, the canine grumbling lowly in his throat as he turned his head away from the intrusive sun. In a abandoned hunting cabin, no bigger than a large shed with large logs as walls and a half broken roof, was darkness. The walls and roof might've seen better days, but they did a good job keeping out the sun - but what little sun got through the cracks, shone light upon a large dark figure, curled up in the end of the cabin but despite that, still taking up almost the entirety of the floor room.

Anyone passing by wouldn't have spotted the large wolf at first glance, or maybe even second. Unusually large and almost human in his gaze, the large grey canine gave in to the persistent sun as the cabin lit up more and more. Another grumble rumbled in deep tones in his throat as he uncurled, a large skull lifting from the ground, powerful jaws with rows of white, sharp teeth parting, the ebony fangs reflecting a bit of the morning light. Closing his mouth with a slight snap, it didn't take long for the large wolf to get to his feet and step outside, shaking off dust and dirt from his thick grey fur, dark grey eyes alert and wide awake by now.

Ragnar had, unsurprisingly, chosen to head away from the town and live on the outskirts after he and Michael had arrived to the town. Ragnar had found an abandoned hunting cabin not far down the river from the town, a mere 10 minute run for a wolf and an hours walk for a human. Since then, he'd spent his nights there, or days, if he spent the nights wandering rather than sleep. He preferred to spend the night in his canine form, both for safety, and because of the cold, his thick fur keeping him warm and enhanced senses better able to pick up possible intruders than if he were in his human form. It wasn't unusual for Ragnar to spend more time in his canine form for other reasons though. Ever since the death of his mate some months ago, curtesy of his brother Michael, Ragnar's human side had withdrawn in pain and mourning, leaving more room for his wolf and instincts.

Shifting back into his human form took little time, and Ragnar subconsciously ran his hands through dark locks after he'd stretched, body a bit tense as usual when he'd spend a long time as a wolf. Wearing only a pair of black jeans, he crouched at the edge of the water. He pause for a moment, grey haze staring coldly at the reflection in the running water as thoughts ran to and from his mind in a hurry, some of forgiveness and reconnection, others of hurt and doubt. It wasn't new for the man to feel split by his thoughts and feelings, it was actually almost always a constant battle in his mind, trying to figure out what to do and think and how to proceed. But, as usual, the werewolf shook his head, snapped out of his thoughts and leaned down to scoop up some of the freezing water, bringing it to his face. As the cold water trickled from his strong jaw, hair dripping with droplets and stubble clinging to the water stubbornly, Ragnar wondered, as he did daily, if it was time to return to the pack, to return to Michael. But, as usual, whenever Ragnar got to the point where he thought of facing Michael again, he withdrew, angrily bringing a hand through the water to distort the image as if he could simply use brute force to rid himself of his conflicting thoughts. He stood up quickly, turning his back to the river with a clenched jaw. As much as he missed his brother, he was not yet ready to look his brother in the eyes and not remember that morning, in the motel room, bent over her body as Michael stood in the doorway with a look of guilt and -

Growling, Ragnar sat down on the tree stump outside the cabin almost aggressively, dragging a hand across his face and leaned his elbows against his knees, sighing deeply as he let his head fall into his hands, hair wet and messy. Why did it have to be so difficult? Why couldn't he just decide? Leave for once and all, or return and rebuild with Michael.

Plagued by feelings and thoughts and everything in between, Ragnar stared out over the surroundings with furrowed brows for a moment, before getting up, throwing on shoes, a white shirt and a worn thick leather jacket, and heading off alongside the river in the direction of town, mind lost in thought but his senses instinctually still sharp and alert.