Veilsight

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Repair Rex

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Toolbox Tim

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Oh hell yeah

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Bob the builder.

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@Adeline

I don't know if you're in the loop but the boys are working together to concisely get to the next day IC. <3

@Aurkanthis

Yeah, KP and I are working on a reply which will kinda time skip.
I could always write one from Kaelen's perspective, and because he gets drunk, I can time skip pretty easily.
Is that something yall might want?

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༒ ༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ Kaelen Moros ༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ ༒

---

"Thank you for that, they... seem to fade more with good fellows around."

Kaelen offered Vitek a subtle, understanding nod, his sharp features softening just a fraction at the fellow lycan's words. Deep down, he'd always clung to the belief that solitude was his safest harbour—a fortress against the chaos of connection. In that isolation, he reasoned, no one could wound him further, and more importantly, he couldn't inflict pain on others. The scars of his past, both literal and unseen, had etched that lesson into his very bones. But here, seated beside Vitek in the dimly lit warmth of this Parisian tavern, surrounded by the subtle hum of pack camaraderie, he had to admit a grudging truth: it felt... right. For the first time in years, the weight of loneliness lifted, replaced by the quiet thrill of belonging. He wasn't just another rogue wolf anymore; he was part of something larger, a brotherhood of kindred spirits who shared his blood, his instincts, his laughter, and even his battles. The Parisian Pack had opened its arms, and though he hadn't fully let his guard down, the acceptance warmed him like a rare Parisian sun breaking through the clouds.

He dipped his head politely toward the barkeep as the man announced that their food wouldn't be long in coming. The promise of a hearty meal stirred a flicker of anticipation in Kaelen's gut—good, because restlessness was already gnawing at him. But then Vitek's next words hit him like a punch to the ribs, nearly making him choke on his own breath. A story? Him? Kaelen wasn't a bard or a fireside raconteur; he was a fighter, a survivor, words twisting awkwardly in his throat like thorns. His mother had never spun tales of wonder for him—instead, his life had been a relentless grind of hardship and shadows, a hellscape he preferred to bury deep. Talking about his past? That was a door best left bolted shut, lest the demons claw their way out. He swallowed hard, forcing a nod as he scrambled to conjure something—anything—worth sharing. Maybe a tale of a hunt gone wrong, or a skirmish with rival packs, something light enough to deflect the weight of his history. No, no, couldn't be anything to let the humans on. Fucking hell.

His reverie shattered as the barkeep ambled back, balancing a tray laden with bottles that gleamed under the tavern's flickering lanterns. Kaelen flashed a sly, lazy grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He knew he should steer clear of the drink; a hangover tomorrow would leave him sluggish, his senses dulled, and that was a risk he couldn't afford in their unpredictable world. But tonight? Tonight, the mood had him. No urgent missions loomed, no alphas barking orders, no shadows of old enemies creeping at the edges. Why not indulge? He tilted his head toward the array of bottles, his voice carrying a rough edge of mischief as he pointed to the one that promised the most potent kick—the kind that burned like wildfire down the throat. "Whichever one's gonna have my friend here hauling my sorry, drunken ass outta this bar like a sack of potatoes," he chimed, shooting Vitek a wicked, lopsided grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. The challenge hung in the air, laced with the unspoken bond of packmates ready to embrace the night.

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Dammit, Veil, you forgot to post!

@Aurkanthis

I'M WORKING ON IT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW T^T

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༒ ༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ Kaelen Moros ༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ ༒

---

Kaelen leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed as he watched Vitek and the barkeep exchange words. The air in the dimly lit tavern hummed with the low murmur of patrons and the music being played, but his focus remained sharp on the interaction. Tension had coiled in his shoulders like a spring ready to snap, but now it began to unwind, thread by thread. He sensed no undercurrent of threat from the man behind the bar—no deceitful glint in his eyes, no subtle shift in stance that screamed danger. It was fortunate for the barkeep, really. Kaelen and Vitek could dismantle him in the blink of an eye, tearing through flesh and bone with the ferocity of beasts unleashed. Though if he were honest with himself, Vitek would likely shoulder most of the carnage. Kaelen imagined himself lounging nearby, offering a quip or two just to needle the big man, his laughter echoing over the chaos. Either way, the spectacle would be entertaining. But sliders did sound tempting—those greasy, savoury delights—and if bloodshed was on the menu, he'd prefer it after a hearty meal. Or perhaps they could grab the food to go, savouring it amidst the carnage. Stop it, Kaelen, he chided himself inwardly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. This was no time for plotting hypotheticals of murder; they were here for respite, not ruin.

It was then that he noticed Vitek drifting away, his gaze going distant, as if the tavern's lively ambience had faded into a fog. A flicker of concern sparked in Kaelen's chest, sharp and unbidden, before he swiftly buried it beneath his usual mask of indifference. To an outsider, it might look like the lycan was simply lost in the melody of the music. But Kaelen knew better—knew the shadows that lurked in Vitek's mind, the ghosts that could pull him under without warning. He had no desire to be on the receiving end of that wrath; dying wasn't on his agenda today. Maybe tomorrow, if the mood struck. "Whiskey for me, the strongest you've got," Kaelen said smoothly, flashing a charming smile that could disarm even the most wary soul. "And another lemonade," he added, glancing sidelong at Vitek with a hint of playful mischief in his eyes. "Please," he tacked on almost as an afterthought, his voice laced with that effortless politeness that hid his sharper edges.

A breath of relief escaped him as Vitek snapped back to the present. Kaelen masked his unease with a low, amused chuckle, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. "No need to apologise, my friend," he murmured, his tone warm and reassuring. He picked up the empty glass of lemonade, tipping it back to crunch on the remaining ice cubes, the sharp crack echoing faintly in his ears before he set it down with a soft clink. "We all have our moments," he whispered under his breath, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly as his mind wandered to his own haunted nights—waking in a cold sweat, heart pounding from nightmares that clawed at the edges of his sanity, or those sudden lapses where the world blurred and memories surged uninvited. It was a vulnerability he rarely acknowledged, even to himself, but in this quiet exchange, it felt oddly shared.

"Food has been organised, and the drinks shouldn't take too long," Kaelen chirped, his voice brightening as he slipped back into his usual, irreverent self. The tavern's warmth wrapped around him like a familiar cloak, the scent of spiced ale and sizzling meat from the kitchen promising better things ahead. For now, the shadows could wait; there was camaraderie to savor and stories to unfold.

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We may have hijacked the playlist

@KactusPunch

That's goooooooooooooooooooood

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OoO