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Sasha grunted. "I think I'm tired of reading my current book. I'll visit the library tomorrow. If we want to ever see the outside world again, we first need to know where we are." With that, he stood. Sasha fixed a wrinkle in his t-shirt as he headed towards the door. He wasn't known for socializing, and too much of it would raise suspicion. "I'll be in my room."

As he headed down the hall, his mind began to wander again. Sasha had far more important reasons to wish for freedom than just missing the good ol' days. It had all started with a mission in west Africa, and a woman named Althea.

He and his men were tasked with guarding a village from group of men from a rebel militia who would have otherwise taken it over. This village was a hotspot for missionaries, and someone out there with a lot of money had a heart big enough to want to keep it safe. It wasn't the first time Sasha's unit had done this sort of thing, and it probably wouldn't be the last. They had divided up into groups that would patrol the borders of the village around the clock. Sasha remembered the distinct feeling of tension in the air, like they were walking through a mine field blindfolded. The children who ran around the village would occasionally talk to them, telling them horrific things they had seen that hardly even phased them anymore. The whole ordeal left him feeling a little sick.

He knew their time there would be stressful, and the temptation to seek comfort among the village would be strong. Sasha had warned his men time and time again to not sleep with the locals. They all knew better than to force themselves on a woman; Sasha's unit was formed by the idea of morality in this dark profession. But it wasn't uncommon for women to approach them on their own accords, looking for men they knew had money and the means to support them. Not only that, but these types of settings were often a hotspot for disease. It was unfortunate, but true.

Sasha had never thought that he would be the one to break his own rule. But to be fair, Althea wasn't a local. She was a missionary from Nigeria. She was very educated and spoke clearer English than most of Sasha's men. To Sasha, she seemed like an angel in the midst of darkness. She had come to the village as a teacher to school the children. She treated them with patient and kindness, something they often lacked in these rough times. She made sure that the food that was available was divided evenly among her students and that they got at least one meal during the day. Sasha first spoke to her when one of her students ran off into the forest, and he was tasked with finding the boy. The boy, about 8 years old, had gotten upset over news of his sister dying and ran off to hide for a while. Sasha had found him before nightfall and brought him back to safety. Him and Althea ended up spending a few hours talking about the dire situation in the country.

That had snowballed into something else. Sasha didn't confide his troubles and personal issues in his men very often. He was close enough to a few, like Amid or Bernard, to vent to them when he needed, but he was a leader. He couldn't risk appearing weak in times like these. It wasn't long before Althea became his outlet to vent to. They would sit, watching the sun go down, and he would go on and on about all the fucked up shit in his life. She usually had some input too. Being a missionary, she had seen her fair share of evil in the world. But yet she had this light to her; like a beacon. Sasha didn't know if his admiration could be considered love or not; he still wasn't quite sure. But it all came down to one night during the late fall when one of their talks lead to something more.

It had only happened that one time, but that was all it took, he guessed. The guys had already packed up and moved on, their farewells said as they left the village in the hands of a new unit coming to take over. They were actually on a break in one of their safehouses when Sasha got a very alarming phone call. He had several burn phones, mostly used to communicate with employers, but one was reserved for an emergency line that his men could use to get in touch with him. He only gave the phone number to people that he could trust with his very life. He had given Althea that number; just in case. She called him a couple months after he had left Africa, letting him know that she was pregnant.

Sasha had no idea what to do. He had never had any kids; had never even considered it. He remembered holing up in one of the rooms in the house, talking to the woman who would soon be the mother of his child for hours about their plan. Althea was very clear on being a single mother. Sasha knew the social connotations that came with this, but she, understandably, didn't want a man like him hanging around her child for too long. It hurt to hear this, that she saw him as dangerous, but she was right. If anyone ever wanted to fuck him up, where would they go first? His family. To him, that had always meant a group of ragtag mercenaries who could very easily defend themselves, but now a child was added to that list.

Sasha told her that he would be okay with visiting, maybe once a month, but he wanted to be able to see his kid. He also didn't want that child anywhere near villages like the one he had been in, at least not until they were older. Althea agreed that she wouldn't go on any more trips until the child was old enough to be left with trusted family members. Then came the talk of child support. Obviously Sasha wasn't the kind of person someone thought of as being an A plus parent, but he did his best. They both came up with a budget, and Sasha was happy to wire money to Althea once a month to pay for hospital visits and childcare. He was sure to leave Amid with instructions for his finances in case Sasha ever died, so that Althea and his child would be taken care of. He imagined those instructions were being put into place right now.

All and all, it was worth the stress and worry the first time he visited. Althea gave birth to a healthy daughter, and Sasha was on the first flight to Nigeria he could catch to see her. Any regret he had was immediately gone when he saw the tiny bundle in Althea's arms. The baby girl was so small, a healthy seven pounds and two ounces. Althea already had a name: Kimmie. It was her grandmother's name. Sasha had stayed for two weeks, holing up in a local hotel and coming over to hold his daughter and try not to cry. Not many people knew what a big, weepy mess he could be, and nothing did it to him quicker than having to say goodbye to his daughter at the airport. Althea seemed to think of him as a friend more than the father of her child. She was very clear on not being interested in a romantic relationship, and Sasha was pretty okay with that. Whatever feelings he had towards her were kept locked away, knowing that his chances of ever having a normal family relationship were long gone. They probably never existed to begin with.

Kimmie would be three now, and she was just getting out of the babbling stage the last time he saw her. It had been over a year since he'd seen his daughter, and he wandered if she would even remember him if he ever got the chance to see her again. He really tried not to think about; this wasn't the kind of place to show weakness, after all. His worst fear would be the sick fucks that ran this prison finding out about the biggest chink in his armor.

Sasha sat down on the edge of his bed and picked up his book. He was too engrossed in his own thoughts to actually read it. All the talk of escape, actually collaborating with other people about it, made him think that maybe, just maybe, he would see freedom again. And with it, maybe his little girl, too. He set the book back down and sighed as he laid down on his cot.
I finally posted :3
Yoska Petulengro


The midday sun was warm as it spread across the ground. A nice breeze rustled the tall, dry grass. White flowers that sat on tall stalks swayed gently back and forth. A few clouds slowly blotted out the sun, casting a shadow on the peaceful little meadow that hid in the forest. It was known by few other than the wolves, whose territory it sat dangerously close to. The late summer had brought blooms of golden rod and Queen Anne's lace, making a bright mixture of yellow and white. A few other wild flowers mixed in, adding some red and purples. But towards the middle of the field, a small patch of brown stuck out.

The small brown wolf was a rather pitiful sight. He was a bit too skinny, and his milk chocolate brown fur was messy and a little matted. He was busy digging at the ground, his paws caked with dirt from the errand. He would dig, then chew, then dig some more until he pulled up his prize: scraggly wild carrot roots. It was hardly a meal fit for a carnivore, but for a desperately hungry soul, it would do. They were fairly easy to find, even if they tasted like dirt and held little nutrition pound for pound.

The field was dotted with the freshly dug holes that the wolf had been working on. His snout was coated with dirt, which he would sneeze off every once and a while. It seemed like he had been working on this meal for the better part of the morning. Being the poor hunter that he was, it took a lot of wild tubers to keep him relatively fed.

The wolf was something of a waif. A loner that wandered just outside of the local pack's territory. He was skittish and generally malnourished; not exactly someone a pack would look for to strengthen their numbers. That was why he stayed just out of arm's reach, too shy to actually approach the wolves to seek their approval, which he was sure they would deny him if they didn't just outright pity him.

He got by mostly by luck and the occasional handout. The young wolf would occasionally wander into town in his human form, just as pitiful was his wolf one, and rifle through donation boxes and restaurant dumpsters. The clothes he wore were usually too big for him, and he was often coated in a thin layer of dirt. He usually only made an appearance in town in the early mornings or later hours, when most of the people were at home and not out and about. This wasn't by accident. The waif had learned by trial and error that other people posed a threat to him, and it was better to not take a chance on who was good and who was bad. Some people would offer him money to buy himself a meal or other necessities, and others threatened to call the police on him if he didn't keep moving. This was why he preferred to live in the woods, in his wolf form. He gained less attention that way. When the occasional pack wolf would try to approach him, he would shy away and run. His wolf instincts told him that he needed a pack to thrive, but his human experience told him to be afraid.

So the timid little wolf would skirt around the territory that belonged to the pack, living off of field mice, nuts, and wild roots.
Sasha is kinda having a scheming session with some other patients in the game room. I assume that's a free for all to join. Maybe one of the guards could come break it up.
It might be a few days before I can post anything :(
I'm happy to stick around!

Yoska Petulengro


Basic Information


| Name |
Yoska Adel Petulengro

| Date of Birth |
October 12, 1996

| Gender |
Male

| Sexuality |
Heterosexual

| Occupation |
Currently unemployed and homeless

| In-Depth Appearance |
Yoska is currently underweight and willowy. His waifish form is a result him trying to hunt and survive on his own for the past few months, following years of neglect. His hair is messy, he's dirty, and his clothes are in rags. He stands at 5'10", 130 pounds, dark brown eyes, and olive skin. Yoska is of Romani/European descent.

Perhaps cleaned up, Yoska could appear non-traditionally handsome. His hair is dark brown and filled with wide curls. His eyes are brown and almost reminiscent of a sad hound dog's. With a little more meat on his bones, he has the potential to be lean muscled, but never bulky. Yoska has always had a willowy build.

He doesn't have any tattoos, but he has quite a few scars. Too many to list, most of then are just small nicks and cuts given to him during past years of physical abuse. The most notable are the little round scars that mark his arms, legs and back here and there. They look suspiciously like cigarette burns.

His wolf form is about as lanky as his human one. He has warm brown fur and golden eyes, long legs that are good for speed, and a patch of white around his muzzle.


| Scent |
He smells of cedar wood and campfire.

Who Am I?

| Personality |
Generous Skittish Kind Naive
Skittish and shy, Yoska has yet to join the pack despite him hanging around the area. His fear of other people has crippled his ability to join a pack, but yet he still wants to. Yoska has very low self esteem, especially while in the midst of other people. On his own, he's usually okay. He's more timid around larger men in particular. He has a quiet voice and a laconic demeanor, would never hurt a fly.

Yoska does not pose a threat to the pack, and by now, most of the members agree on that much. He can barely hunt for himself, and he lives in the forest alone. He'll occasionally wander close to the pack's turf, trying to get up the guts to finally speak to them, but he usually chickens out. After all, what would they want with a skinny waif like him?


| Likes & Dislikes |
Sleeping, sweaters, cool weather, hot food, sweets
Rainy weather, crowds, men, loud people, being startled

Hobbies
Yoska is an avid gardener. He likes to tend to plants and flowers, as they are quiet, beautiful, and they never ask a lot. He hasn't gotten to garden since he left Romania, which seemed like a fair trade off at the time.

| History |

Yoska came from a hard beginning. His family was a group of oldschool Romani that traveled the European countrysides. When they came into town to sell and buy, they were often met with discrimination and hate. Most places put up with them until they left, but it was when they reached a small town in Romania that their band was met with brutal forces. The mayor of the town called the police on them, having them arrested and shipped from the country.

Some of Yoska's family fled, and some were captured and removed. But in the chaos, Yoska was separated from them. At the tender age of 9, the boy was left to fend for himself. He quickly left the town that had attacked his family, afraid that they may hurt or even kill him. Yoska wandered until he found a new, larger city to settle in. There, he lived on the streets until he was 13. A farmer approached him, offering him work in return for food and shelter. He had no intent of paying Yoska, making the transaction completely illegal and slavery by definition. But Yoska was desperate, so he agreed.

Yoska worked long days on the farm, doing anything asked of him until his body and muscles hurt. He lived in the barn and ate whatever leftovers were brought to him. Although he was no longer freezing to death or starving, he was still miserable. The farmhands took to mocking and tormenting him, calling him a dirty gypsy while he did their work. If Yoska ever tried to defend himself, he was typically beaten until he learned to keep his mouth shut.

He endure years of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse at the hands of the farm workers. He was 17 when he was bitten by a werewolf. It had been a full moon that night, and Yoska was out in the fields, trying to finish the ridiculous workload he'd been saddled with. The wolf approached the teen and attacked him without warning. Yoska was defenseless to fend it off. The wolf ran off on it's own soon after, leaving Yoska with a few nasty cuts and bites on his arms. He didn't find out the weight of this attack until he was forced to shift under the next full moon.

Yoska didn't learn to control his shifting for almost a year after that. But he knew that if the farmer or farmhands found out about it, he would likely be killed. Suddenly, the food and shelter offered to him at the farm was no longer worth staying there. He ran away and found a small port town. There, he snuck on barge that was headed to the US. It made sense to him that the US would be a great place to live. As uneducated as he was, he saw the country as a land of wealth and plenty. A place where any, even someone like him, could succeed.

Unsurprisingly, he was wrong. Yoska made it to the States and hasn't been able to find work since. His dirty appearance, lack of education, poor English, and near illiteracy probably has something to do with it. He wandered for a few months before he came across the town of Red Lake. He could smell other wolves around the town, and thought that they might be willing to help him. But his skittishness has proved to be his biggest obstacle.


| Family |
He has family still alive and well in Europe, but finding them would be quite a task.

| Strengths |
He is very fast
Intelligent
A quick learner


| Weaknesses |
Physically weak
Poor hunter
Illiterate
He speaks English, but not enough to understand a more diverse vocabulary.


The Other

| Theme Song |
Nowhere Man - The Beatles
"Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?"


| Extra Information |
I read the rules
I've been having a tough time coming up with inspiration for a post :/ I'm wondering now if I made the right choice in character.
Maybe we should skip to that super secret meeting now. Just to keep things rolling, you know?
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