[color=gray] [img]https://i.imgur.com/RUeksDd.jpeg[/img] [Center][h2][color=goldenrod]Dominic Blackmoor[/color][/h2][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [center][color=goldenrod][b]Location:[/b][/color] Abandoned Warehouse • [color=goldenrod][b]Time:[/b][/color] Dusk[/center] [center][color=goldenrod][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] [@Potter] Tessa • [color=goldenrod][b]Mentions:[/b][/color][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] The back door groaned as it shut behind him. Rain tapped lightly against the rusted awning overhead, just enough to cut the silence. The concrete was slick beneath his boots, the night air thick with ozone and motor oil, and somewhere off in the distance a siren wailed ... not close, not urgent. Just Halcyon breathing the way it always did after dark. Dominic stood still for a while, jaw set, shoulders square to the wind like a man trying to remember how to relax but that’s damn sure it’s not time to. The bottle was gone, the rite was done, and Kessler and Lucian knew what they had to do. He trusted them to handle it. This moment… this one was just for him. He looked down at his hand, turning it slowly, fingers closing and opening in calm repetition. Logan’s signet ring sat heavy on his finger, still a little too tight and unfamiliar to his hand. It caught the light of the moon just enough for him to see it in detail. Dominic ran his thumb across the surface, feeling every groove in the worn metal. It used to shine once. Years ago, back when Dom and Logan weren’t too different from Lucian and Kessler. They had been the best of soldiers for his father… But who would’ve thought that they would turn out to be even better leaders. Logan might have; he had always claimed that Dom was the man for the job. Even now, part of Dominic wondered if that was really just because Logan didn’t want the full responsibility himself. The thought always made him smile, but not tonight. He didn’t shed any more tears despite feeling like he could. That just wasn’t how his grief worked. It lived in his bones, deep and cold, filling the cracks like December ice. His chest ached, but he kept standing, kept breathing. This was the cost of it all. The price for the crown. People talked about being Alpha like it was some kind of prize. Like all it meant was power, control, respect. But what it really meant… was this… carrying the weight of each and ever dead brother and sister you had to bury because you weren’t there to protect them. Dominic exhaled slowly and reached into his coat, the phone was cold in his palm. He stared at it for a long time, long enough that the screen went dim once…then again. The third time he started to call, his thumb hovering over the name. Tessa. He hesitated, then canceled it. Turning the screen of himself this time. His eyes closed for a moment as he ran a hand down his face, slow and tired, then pushed back through his rain-damp hair and dragged a breath into his lungs like it might steady him. It didn’t…So he pulled a cigarette from the tin in his inner pocket, lit it with a practiced flick of his zippo lighter, the flame catching against the edge of his thumb before retreating. The cherry glowed in the dark, and he took a long drag, letting it fill his chest, then exhaled. This...This was the only peace he got sometimes. Dominic looked up at the rain, watching the sky for a second like maybe it would offer him some kind of sign from above. But there was no one up there… He’d come to peace with that years ago. So, he just tried again. The phone rang a few times, but ultimately, no answer… Then came the beep. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, cigarette burning between his fingers, mouth barely parted as he found the words. [color=goldenrod]“Hey. It’s me.”[/color] He paused for a long while. [color=goldenrod]“I know it’s late, but we need to talk. Soon.”[/color] He swallowed, glancing down at the ground, at the rain pooling in the cracks beneath his feet. [color=goldenrod]“Something happened, Tess,,, Something bad.”[/color] he paused again, fighting the urge to just say it outright. He knew it was better to tell her in person. So, he started again… softer this time. [color=goldenrod]“There’s something I gotta tell you… And…I just need to hear your voice, kiddo. Need to know you’re safe.”[/color] He let that hang for a second. [color=goldenrod]“We’re calling [i]Church[/i] tonight. Whole pack needs to be there. But I want to talk to you first if I can. It’s important Tessa.”[/color] He ended the message and let the phone drop back into his coat. Stared out into the dark for a little while longer, hand lifting the cigarette to his lips again…the smoke curling up past his eyes and into the night. [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center][center][color=goldenrod][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Fang[/center][center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] The Cracked Fang was quieter than usual when he arrived. The neon sign flickered against the wet pavement, painting a pale red fang across the sidewalk like blood that never washed away. Inside, the usual crowd had thinned, though the smell of smoke and spilled beer still clung to the walls. Muted music played low on a dusty jukebox, and a pair of half-drunk regulars grumbled over cards at a corner table. Dominic didn’t speak as he passed through. He just nodded to the bartender, got one in return, and headed out back. Rain tapped faintly on the alley’s rusted metal fixtures, and the motion-sensor light sputtered to life as he approached the door tucked behind the crates. He keyed in the code ... the one only the wolves knew ... and waited for the soft click that signaled the lock giving way. Then he pulled the door open and slipped inside. The hallway beyond was narrow and steep, a concrete corridor that led beneath the bar’s foundation, down into the belly of what used to be an old prohibition storehouse. Now, it was something else entirely. It was home. The walls were lined with old Iron Fangs memorabilia ... faded black-and-white photos of long-dead wolves, old kuttes framed in glass, cracked helmets, bent blades, dented flasks. Each and every one told a piece of their story. The room at the end of the hall was cold when he stepped into it. It was wide, windowless, and lined with worn leather chairs and rusted weapon racks. But it was the table that anchored the space. Twelve feet long and carved from a single solid slab of petrified wood, dark as black, with veins of silver that shimmered faintly in the low light. This was one of a kind. Here, the Iron Fangs held Church. Dominic crossed the room slowly. The silence was louder here when the room was empty. He moved with purpose, though his body felt like it weighed more with every step. He reached the far end of the table ... the head of it ... where the Alpha’s seat waited. He didn’t sit at first. Just stood there with both hands resting on the back of the chair, looking out at the empty seats. Each one a voice, each one a memory. And one of them… One of them would never be filled again by a man who had earned his seat at that table. He pulled the chair back, the legs scraping slow across the stone floor. Then he sat, and the weight in his chest seemed to settle with him. He poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle stashed beside the table. The amber liquid caught the light as he lifted it, fingers curling slow around the rim as he took a single sip, then set it down in front of him. His hand shifted slightly across the table… stopping on the space to his right. To Logan’s seat. [i]The Red Right Hand of the Iron Fangs.[/i] The man who used to sit beside him through every hard decision, every close call, every damn impossible vote. Just empty as could be. Dominic’s fingers lingered there, resting flat on the wood like maybe he could still feel him in it. Like the presence of his closest friend hadn’t left yet. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him, ran his hands through his beard and let out a heavy breath. His mind raced, words swirling with all the things he could say when the room was full. None of them felt right. How the fuck do you tell your family their brother is gone? Dom, wanted vengeance. No, more than that… He wanted to burn the city, wanted to pull the truth from someone’s mouth with his bare hands and make them bleed for every second Logan suffered. And part of him… part of him could feel his father in that place of hate that was raging inside of his mind; the very part of his father that led to his demise. Hate is a powerful tool, but that wasn’t what this moment needed. This moment needed a leader. The kind of leader Logan always believed he could be. The kind his pack needed now more than ever. So, he stayed still, his hand still resting on the seat beside him. And waited for his brothers and sisters to walk through that door. It was time for Church. [/color]