Thread: Riding Hood (GooglexLingeringDesire)

There was nothing sadder then seeing an old wolf who had gotten long in the fang and couldn't keep up with the pack anymore. Some kept going and struggling to keep up until it eventually cost them their lives, some respected that choice but to Roman it was always a selfish one. Someone who was too old and too weak to really carry their own weight would only put their brothers, the people they cared about into danger. It was better to step away, to live away from all the others... at least then you kept the ones you cared about safe. The Woodsman Originals were on their way back to what they considered their home town, a place that they occasionally referred to as their den when they had been spending a little too much time away from home and got particularly drunk. Of course they made the puns, they went along in with being a Lycanthrope, sooner or later you either embraced it or you just turned into a bitter asshole. For about five months they had been on the road, mostly crashing in roadside motels or roughing it when they found a decent patch of open ground tucked away from the roads. Cold weather never bothered them in the least, they tended to run hot as it was. The trip had been a productive one for the pack though, a variety of different jobs, many less then entirely legal, that had culminated with an week long ride back home while escorting a large truck full of something they hadn't questioned, making sure that it didn't run into any problems and causing some distractions so law enforcement wouldn't notice it. Thus, well paid and in need of some time away from the long hauls the Originals had returned home, local law enforcement on notice as soon as they passed over the county line, it was always best to be prepared when a small group of very unruly bikers rode into town and were likely to cause a disproportionate amount of trouble before very long at all. Almost as soon as they had crossed into the county they all split up, each going their own way now that they were back on familiar ground. Some had families they were eager to see, a few of them sticking together as they made their way towards a local strip club that they all frequented, Roman on the other hand stuck to what he always did after a run. A stop by a liquor store, picking up a bottle of vodka that could be used to strip paint from an engine, before heading off to the nursing home that his Great Uncle had checked himself into, the only living family member that Roman had, a werewolf who had stepped down from any sort of state in a pack as he had started to get slower and his senses dulled a little bit. Now his hair was all grey and thinning, his joints ached, some weight had been put on... Paul Strauss was not the man he had once been in the least. But he was still the man who had stormed the beaches of Normandy and raised Roman from the age of six to adulthood. The man had been Alpha in his time, he had taught Roman what it meant to take charge and deal with challenges. Riding through the gates Roman rolled his eyes, as he always did, at the sign which informed anyone who read it that they were entering an assisted living community, just another nice name for a nursing home. As he strolled through the front door, heavy black boots, worn jeans, and a white sleeveless shit, he saw one of the people watching the door rising to his feet to ask for idea only to be stopped by a coworker who knew better, the look in her eyes making it clear that she knew that attempting to bar Roman's way for even a moment wouldn't possibly end well. Roman had been to this place many times before and he knew exactly where he was going, the sight of a nurse storming out of the door that he was making his way towards only made him smirk a little bit. Old fuck is still at it. He muttered under his breath. Roman, you better not be talking shit boy! Came the call from in the room before he had even reached the doorway, stepping into the small apartment his great uncle lived in with a grin on his face that bared just about all his teeth. The old man was sitting up in bed, still looking pretty damn decent for a man who was only a few years shy of eighty, sure he had some extra weight to carry around and there was no hiding his thinning hair but his blue eyes were bright and alert, narrowed as he was clearly annoyed, he had to put up with enough shit that day and wouldn't tolerate any more. Roman only laughed at the older man, knowing for all his bluster he wouldn't be doing anything more then bark and bare his teeth. Stop your bitching. He said with a slight laugh, raising the bottle of liquor that he had brought along with him, seeing his great uncle perk up a little bit at the sight of it, this place wouldn't let him bring any booze back in so his grand nephew bringing him a bottle of strong spirits was quite a treat. Bout time you break out the good stuff. He said with a smile, pulling the cork from the bottle with his teeth and upending a few good mouth fulls down his throat before it was lowered with a contented little sigh. For a while Roman and Paul spoke of the recent ride, classic bikes, and of course any particularly interesting conquests that had been on the road, the old wolf looking to live vicariously through the young strong alpha. Roman of course was happy to indulge him, if he didn't like do so then he wouldn't have visited whenever he was in town. Then, distraction, a faint scent catching Roman's nose, making him sniff their air a little, eyes suddenly wide open, body tense as though ready to pounce when moments before he had been as relaxed as could be. The old wolf noticed of course, he knew what it was, but he was happy to let what was coming be a surprise.