someone you'd rather not deal with

Caligula snaked his way through the familiar landscape, scenting idly after a hare with only half his attention. There was a hunger in his belly that made him interested enough to lazily stalk, but truth be told Caligula was feeling a bit.. uninspired. Although things had been stale, the man had found a peace in the stability. It was nice to know that there were no imminent threats lurking overhead, even if it inspired him to laze about more than usual. He still performed his duties as a general, of course, there were just more naps woven into his itinerary.

He paused at a shuffling nearby, scented, and pursued his prey lackadaisically. The poor hare was likely terrified, but he was fortunate enough to have encountered the ghoul on a sleepy day. Would he kill it? Maybe. He hadn't decided quite yet.

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 It was like looking in a mirror.

 Her eyes rested on the man as he moved through the brush, following a hare that near about wet itself in fear at being hunted. She, on the other hand, was nestled among some bushes, lazing about with her paws hooked around a fresh skull, meat still clinging to it although most had made its way into her stomach.

 The witch yawned, only unmarried part of her rolling from between her lips before slipping back into the cage of teeth.

 Her belly full of someone who she assumed had gone by some stupid name, she had no desire to pursue either the white wolf before her or the hare he followed. She assumed from the way he lazily trailed behind it that hunting wasn't his main goal for being out for the day.

 She slipped out of the shadows of the bush, knocking the skull aside lazily. It rolled a few steps and she ignored it, paying more attention to the scarred up soldier before her. “Like I'm looking at my own reflection” she mused aloud towards the man. She'd met other white wolves before, similarly scarred, but they'd been rude men who she had lost interest in fairly quickly. Would this one be the same?

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Every beast had its scars like every monster had its claws -- without them, who did they become? The strips of scarred tissue that littered his body were his identity, each a landmark on a map that told his tale. Each calloused ridge was a story that only Caligula knew, and in death his body would rot away the same as any other without the faintest trace of his existence. He would appreciate them while they lasted, was fond of them in many ways. His scars made him who he was, but as battered as he was, the man wasn't blind that there were others. Caligula was not unique, and the voice that dripped like delicious venom only served to confirm that.

He paused in his hunt and turned to the woman, ghastly in appearance and looking half-decomposed already. She wasn't wrong, however, and the ghoul twisted his lips into a crooked smirk. "So it seems. It's not often I meet a doppelganger, the pleasure is all mine. Caligula of the Nightwalkers," he said, dipping his head in a stiff nod. If nothing else, he was a man of opportunity. Whereas Vengeance preferred to throw himself straight into combat, Caligula preferred to dance with words beforehand. If a fight were to break out, so be it, but wasn't a bit of verbal jousting a delightful foreplay?

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 “Caligula of the Nightwalkers,” she said at length, playing with the names on her tongue as she surveyed the man. It was unfamiliar, as were all other names she'd come across here. His body, while scarred as hers, shared none of the physical commonalities among her kin and therefore she was quite certain that, despite their similar appearances, they had no blood in common.

 Which was, of course, a plus.

 The witch looked at him, a smile - delighted and mischievous both - upon her lips. “I am Andraste - and the pleasure is all mine.” Her eyes traced his marred form, appraising him. “I'm new in town - what's the area like?” She pondered what sins he had committed to be sent to hell with the scars he had, though she considered that he very well might have obtained them during his time here. He stank of pack and she pondered the Nightwalkers though she had no such desire to join up with any groups just yet.

 There was much work to do, much to learn about.

 She had all the time in the underworld to figure out what she wanted to do with this extra bit of time here. If this fellow, as marred as herself, could be even a small part of that, she'd be excited. She'd already met one fellow cannibal and had shared a meal up in the mountains, but their time together was short and she had continued on, finding a surprising member of her own kin and telling him of all the wonders of their bloodline.

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There was an undeniable attraction in the way he studied her, though his molten gaze traced the lines of her scarring more than the curves of her physique. He wondered how she had earned each and every one of those jagged little reminders, how her face had become so butchered, how she had found a healer capable of threading her back together enough that she resembled anything close to a wolf. Undoubtedly they were each earned at separate times, but Caligula wanted to know. Outside of Vengeance, he had not met too many other wolves as battered and beaten as himself and so the question hovered just behind his teeth: what happened to you?

Andraste. It was an ethereal sort of name for such a haggard woman, but he nearly purred it as he repeated it to the world: "Andraste, how lovely." Fortunately, the phantom was more than capable of answering her question -- exciting for a man who wanted to hear more. "Dangerous in some areas, lead by a rather close-minded queen in others. Your options here are kill or be killed, regrettably, although it seems you would be participating in the winning side of that. You are quite impressive, if I may be so bold." Impressive, eerily beautiful -- they were one in the same.

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 The truth was, Andraste's scars were a history of her. From the slices along her throat (from her entrance to the pack of the white angels), to the oldest rips along her lips (from the battle with a woman later destroyed for apparent blasphemy), to the deep rips along her haunches (from her own jaws during her enslavement)... they were what told her story. Her scars included some wider ones that were caused by continual marring or extreme trauma more than simple battle wounds. Despite his clear curiosity, he did not ask and so she would not vie to tell of all of her past battles. Not without being prompted.

 For even those battles with one's self are part of the weaved war of a lifetime.

 The muscles of an ear twitched at the sound of her name spoken with such intrigue and she let the slightest of smiles dance across her lips. Especially as he went on to compliment her. She was not above flattery or the acceptance of such, especially by such a man who knew what he was talking about. “Why, thank you - and might I say, the same to you.” A wink.

 While he pondered her war wounds and the patchwork of scars and flesh that remained, she too pondered his. His scars appeared darker than hers, black-fleshed and scattered. They were usually thin slices and she wondered if they were from scratches from big cats or from tears from their own kind.

 And so too did he lack an essential body part, just as she did. For while she had no tail to speak of, no ears to twist about to pinpoint noise, he bore a single eye, like the great Odin she had heard whispered tales of but had never taken as anything more than a fable.

 His description fit her preconceived ideas of the hell she lived in, though it brought more questions to mind. “Is it a good home, this land of danger and... closed-minded queens?” She would tilt her head in curiosity. Did he like it here? Or did he live here simply because it was better than the alternative, better than starving alone in some desert land.

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The ghoul chuckled darkly, the smile never fully touching his lips as she returned his compliment in kind. Yes, he certainly was impressive, wasn't he? There wasn't a fiber of his being that didn't radiate power, not that he often needed to flex it unless he was sparring around with Vengeance. Caligula preferred to keep a low profile despite his appearance, because the shock made everything five times more delicious on the battlefield.

"It depends on your definition of good. Do you enjoy constant mist and a wolf who refuses to bathe and smells of a thousand rotting corpses in the summer sun? Or perhaps you would prefer the woman who worships a deer and spits on any with white pelts because we are unholy." The mere thought of Celnes made him so terribly amused. She was so utterly lost and pathetic with her coat of brown, casting judgments based on the teachings of a fucking deer. "Then again, I'm here, so at the very least there's that."

He certainly hoped she wasn't expecting some sort of well-thought answer.

@Andraste

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 “Her brow quirked at the mention of the stink - that did not sound good at all. Nor did the second, whose description made her laugh. [q=firebrick]No, I don't figure those two would be exceptionally good to be around - especially not the woman, for the two of us.” She shook her head, scoffing. “Though... I wouldn't say I'm anywhere near holy.” A cheeky grin came to her face as she leaned back on her haunches.

 She shook her head at the idiocy, wondering if he spoke in jest.

 No, she didn't think the man was making a joke. Still, it was ridiculous. Wolves worshiping deer and believing others unholy for the colour of their coats?

 At his last statement, her lips quirked. Yes, at least this man was handsome, didn't stink like what did he say, a thousand rotting corpses in the summer sun? And he would have had some real issues if he was also racist against his own pelt colour. “Indeed, I'd mark that as a positive for this forest.” Perhaps the only positive for this place thus far, though she hadn't traveled it long.

 “I can't imagine you hold any less than a decently high position among your pack, hm?” She inquired, genuinely curious. If a pack didn't utilize what they had, then what a sorry lot they were! Her eyes were set to his yellow one, interest gleaming. Her heat was not here, but that didn't mean she couldn't be... interested, especially at someone who was so clearly well-traveled. Though, she hoped he wouldn't ask her to stay - she had a sensitive nose and was not confident she could handle the woman without considering her as a meal.

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There was something quite haunting about speaking with a doppelganger. He wondered if anyone else out there in the great void would offer them a third, but Caligula had enough of an identity crisis without an army of scarred white wolves lining up at his door. Although his scars made him unique, the ghoul was quickly realizing it made him as unique as everyone else. Perhaps he was a beacon to others of his sort and he should anticipate other beasties to appear, but for now.. well, @Andraste was more than enough.

"Yes, the deer queen is quite.. dense, I suppose. These religious fanatics often are, from what I have been able to tell, and I can't imagine why anyone would agree to follow someone so blatantly a fool." He shrugged. "Were we not supposedly allies, she would be a delightful game." How he would love to taint her with his unholiness if but for a moment.

She inquired about his status and the wolf was content to oblige. "General to the warlord. I believe I am the only one with a rank, quite honestly." Outside of Vengeance himself, of course. Caligula dared a step closer and canted his head: "I can't imagine a woman like yourself is content to follow. Do you intend on beginning your own pack?" Because if so, he had.. several words of caution.

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 A coat of white, marked with scars from a life of war? Oh, it was all but guaranteed that there were others out there like them, scattered about. Why she hadn't met more yet in her travels was surprising, for it seemed that in this land the coats were so much more muted than in the life before. She grinned at his descriptor of the deer queen, giving a little laugh, a "hah", at the comment on religious fanatics. It seemed that within religion, at least religion that saw living, breathing creatures as gods, there was no end to the ridiculous beliefs.

 She gave a slight click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth at the knowledge that they were allies. Oh, what a shame - for indeed she would be a delightful game.

 When he spoke of his rank, of his standing, her eyes lit up. “I am not surprised!” She admitted with a sly grin, admiring his physique once more before her eyes returned to his yellow one, noting with pleasure that he had moved closer. “General Caligula, why, I do like that.” Had she a tail, it would have flicked in delight.

 As for herself... “I don't do well under leadership, if my history is any indication,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “My own pack? I suppose if I had a reason for it, but if it is nothing but sheer ambition of ruling over others? No, I prefer the life of a rogue.”

 Her lips curled into a roguish smile. Though her thoughts did trail on to the deer-witch queen. “Perhaps one day.” Why, you lookin'?

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