[u][i]Aislinn Hoyle[/i][/u]

Aislinn spewed the smoke she had been holding through her long muzzle, coughs and hacks followed with it, and it took her a moment before she recovered. She eyed the disdainful roll of foul leaves with a withering stare and decided she would bring her own pipe weed to share next time. The demon host had horrible taste when it came to such things. 

“You have horrible taste in pipe weed,” Aislinn said, matter of factly to the man, “it is almost as peculiar as your dress. If we stop Ragnarök, I will share a blend with you that has been passed down within the Teachglach Mac Tíre for generations. It will sooth your mind and invigorate your soul,” she moved her hand up and down in the air, as if searching for the spot his soul would reside, “if you possess one that that can be invigorated.”

She found the man with the lingering scent of the infernal utterly intriguing, and his speech only furthered her curiosity. The old wolf understood little of what he said, and all she would concede to his query was a guttural, “Humpf.”

It was then that her nose, momentarily dulled by the cigar smoke that had passed through it, caught the unmistakable scent of another werewolf. The large amber orbs of her eyes followed the gaze of the demon host and the undead man to a woman of striking appearance. Aislinn breathed in deeply, confirming her assessment. This one was a child of the moon, and no mistake. But wait, there was something in the woman’s scent that was [i]off[/i], something that was strange to Aislinn’s keen nose. 

Stepping from between the two men, Aislinn stalked quickly over to the red-haired beauty until her nose came to alight near the woman’s head. Like a true wolf assessing another of its own kind, Aislinn sniffed in short breaths, drawing in the woman’s scent many times, and with each drawn inhalation, she learned just a little more. 

She could tell she was young, at least in comparison to Aislinn, and she smelled of new happiness and the lingering musk of love making. Her scent alluded to strength and confidence, and the smell of cordite and gun oil upon her skin spoke to a love of firearms. There were other scents as well, ones that Aislinn did not recognize, but reminded her of the kerosene used by lamplighters, and the processed leather of a tanner. All of these olfactory hints made Aislinn’s mind whir with wonderment and inquisitiveness, though the thing that drew her attention the most was the scent she could not place at all, or more importantly, the one that she did not smell.

“I am Aislinn Hoyle,” she said to the red haired woman, withdrawing her nose finally and stepping back a short pace. “I am of the Teachglach Mac Tíre line, from the pack of the Five Stones.”

By now Aislinn’s tail was wagging with barely contained joy at meeting another of her kind that was not out to hunt her down, as well as the curiosity that drove her next question. 

“Please tell me, I cannot place your line. To which do you belong?”

It was only then that her mind caught up with what her ears had heard minutes ago, and Aislinn’s ears perked up with recognition. 

“And Ragnarök? You know of it in depth?” Aislinn’s muzzle split in a wide grin, her tongue lolling out in a very puppy-like gesture. “I am most pleased to hear it. We shall have to have a den circle with Reginald, you and I. It has been so long since I have enjoyed such things.”

As she finished, Aislinn’s tail was wagging so fiercely that it shook her entire rear end. “Forgive me,” she said with a rare moment of introspection, “it is has been ages since I’ve been amongst another child of the moon besides my own brother. Is your pack nearby?”