NickNacks
Zoinks
Kiba finally came to a halt after what felt like an hour of walking. He was beginning to think he was lost, and more to the point, that sneaking off into the wilderness during the full moon hadn't been the greatest idea he'd ever had. It was early morning, and the mist had settled so thickly across the forest that he could barely see three feet in front of him, let along spot any landmarks. The only real assurance he had was that, firstly, the full moon was over and he was back to his old self again. Secondly, he was fully dressed, having managed to find his clothing following his transformation. And, third, it was morning, so eventually the mist would burn off and he'd be home free.
Sorta.
Thankfully, he managed to find the main road, and from there, it was a long walk back to the inner city where his apartment was. It was a dingy little place, reserved mostly for out of work wizards and other such unfortunates down on their luck. And Kiba was perpetually down on his luck. He'd been that way since the second he was born, and would probably stay that way until he died.
Werewolves had been declared as 'dangerous' since long before Kiba was born, with each newly born member of the species being carefully monitored by the local government. But that monitoring came at a steep price. Absolutely no one would hire you if you were a werewolf, so employment was out of the question. You usually would have to take medication that stopped you from transforming, which would mess you up pretty bad in the long run. So, nowadays, most werewolves were undocumented, trying their best to live quietly and avoid persecution.
Kiba was one of them.
His duffle bag was slung over one shoulder as he continued the walk, the woods eventually giving way to the neat, trimmed lawns of the suburbs. Kiba was aware that he probably looked like crap. His hair still had a few leaves and twigs stuck in it from the night before, and his pants had large holes ripped at each knee, probably unsalvageable unless he could get Hana to take a look at them. Clothes were the least of his worries. His canines had recently become a bit more prominent, and he was worried about them becoming more obvious-maybe people would just mistake him for a vampire and leave him alone.
He was about halfway through the outside neighborhood when a sudden scent caught his attention, making him stop in his tracks. It was clean and very distinct, like the odd combination of blackberries and white tea. But, beyond that, there was the distinct scent of iron.
Somebody was there.
His eyes narrowed, scanning the surrounding sidewalk. They might still be a ways off-his sense of smell was keen, and he often smelled people long before they actually were visible. But still, the risk of being seen wandering around the morning after a full moon...
Well. It wasn't ideal.
Sorta.
Thankfully, he managed to find the main road, and from there, it was a long walk back to the inner city where his apartment was. It was a dingy little place, reserved mostly for out of work wizards and other such unfortunates down on their luck. And Kiba was perpetually down on his luck. He'd been that way since the second he was born, and would probably stay that way until he died.
Werewolves had been declared as 'dangerous' since long before Kiba was born, with each newly born member of the species being carefully monitored by the local government. But that monitoring came at a steep price. Absolutely no one would hire you if you were a werewolf, so employment was out of the question. You usually would have to take medication that stopped you from transforming, which would mess you up pretty bad in the long run. So, nowadays, most werewolves were undocumented, trying their best to live quietly and avoid persecution.
Kiba was one of them.
His duffle bag was slung over one shoulder as he continued the walk, the woods eventually giving way to the neat, trimmed lawns of the suburbs. Kiba was aware that he probably looked like crap. His hair still had a few leaves and twigs stuck in it from the night before, and his pants had large holes ripped at each knee, probably unsalvageable unless he could get Hana to take a look at them. Clothes were the least of his worries. His canines had recently become a bit more prominent, and he was worried about them becoming more obvious-maybe people would just mistake him for a vampire and leave him alone.
He was about halfway through the outside neighborhood when a sudden scent caught his attention, making him stop in his tracks. It was clean and very distinct, like the odd combination of blackberries and white tea. But, beyond that, there was the distinct scent of iron.
Somebody was there.
His eyes narrowed, scanning the surrounding sidewalk. They might still be a ways off-his sense of smell was keen, and he often smelled people long before they actually were visible. But still, the risk of being seen wandering around the morning after a full moon...
Well. It wasn't ideal.
