my mercury's in retrograde

Flat arid land.

The changing of seasons—the changing of the weather—everywhere but here. The sun high overhead. Shadows casted below. Stark vegetation. Bushes and shrubs. Dry, brown, reddish flaking dirt. Crumbling rock.

A hare took off.

Startled flight.

He watched it run.

Too big ears. Oversized back feet. Its back dotted—speckled—with black.

And—

“Dumbass!” He barked, when he saw him there, the hare running past his feet.

His left shoulder awkward. His skin tight, regrowth, scabbed over and dark and peeling and flaking. It itched like fucking hell. He shook his shoulders and neck. Stepped forward, closer. His hackles bristled.

“Throw yourself off any fucking cliffs lately?”

Fucking suicidal idiot.

There were plenty more around, if he wanted to fucking try again.

Unless he was the kind of fucking idiot that tried once and never again, and maybe he should’ve let him fall, that first time around, and spared him the fucking courage.

A bird could fucking fly, but anyone could fucking fall.

the staff team luvs u

---

It was certainly different here. The mountains at least proffered some familiarity of home with dense woodlands dotted about, though guarded by sculptures of gargantuan rock. Here, there was.. nothing. Barren as the birth of land itself. Only occasional glimpses of greenery had been seen when he and his brother first crossed into the open dryland. 

Warwick wondered from his brother, though still would he remain in a bellows distance, yet out of eyeshot. He took himself to what was at least some sort of interesting view. Like the trunk of mountains, but with the tops shaved off symmetrically. From above, they looked like floating isles without the body of water surrounding them, but from below, they were just as intimidating as the high alps he left behind.

He noticed a presence, a hare being startled. It darted toward him, leaving dust trails in its wake. And then a bark snapped his mind toward the man who blended into his surroundings aside from the hallmark of those menacingly red eyes. The duke stood tall, facing toward his saviour and walked only a few feet closer just as he did to himself. They looked as though they had walked through a battle. Bruised and brittle.

'No', and then a wry boyish smile crept upon his lips, amused by his own trail of thoughts and following words, 'Are you following me to ensure I don't fall off any more? Certainly plenty around here'. His head then turned to admire the statues of layered history around them. Eyes return back to the man awaiting his interpretation of the duke's humour.

---

the staff team luvs u

‘Are you following me to ensure I don't fall off any more?’

“Fuck no.” He huffed.

His ears matted back.

He scowled.

“I’m not your fucking owner.” He scratched at his annoying itchy fucking shoulder with one of his back legs. Dull, blunt, dark claws scratching and digging at the scab’s peeling edges. Bits and pieces flaking off with red raw new skin underneath. Blood welled up in some places, tiny little red pinpricks.

He shook himself.

Leered.

All four paws back on the ground.

“Jump all you fucking want, swan dive.”

the staff team luvs u

---

His hilarity fed their agitation and Warwick chuffed at their own sense of humour. There was an edge to them though that he felt he needed to tread carefully. They always carried a wave of anger it seemed, unless it was just the duke who brought out the worst in themselves. It was all guesswork in the fleeting two meetings. 

They looked terribly uncomfortable though, and whilst the elk prince had the benevolent quality to address this, he didn't think the man would embrace Warwick in a bear-hug of gratitude if he so much as placed a paw on them to aid them in any way. So he opted to remain scar free for today. 

'My name is Warwick Deorwine, of Elkshire, not swan dive', he quipped with an amused smile still. 'Does my saviour have a name?'. 

---

the staff team luvs u

Warwick, Horace, Whoresick.

It all sounded a whole fucking lot like his name was fucking Swan Dive to him.

He stalked.

His ears matted back.

His hackles bristled.

‘Does my saviour have a name?’

He licked his lips. He shook his shoulders, his neck.

“Fuck no.”

He wasn’t his fucking saviour.

the staff team luvs u

---

Danger. That's all Warwick read along the shaded cremellos body. Interpreting all the heralded signals before the launch of a brawl. And it wasn't something the prince was intending, but an air about him meant the arrogant royal could prod just a little further. 

'Fukno, an extraordinary name for an extraordinary gentleman', he hummed, as though in deep thought. 

And then recognition swept at him along with the breeze that persuaded such. The Harbingers' marker. 'You reside with Madmortigan of Labyrinthian?', he spoke with a sudden seriousness to his tone, more suited to a young monarch with business on his agenda, as opposed to the half-mocking youth that provoked the battered male.

 

---

the staff team luvs u

‘You reside with Madmortigan of Labyrinthian?’

“Why.”

His right ear twitched.

He stood, stopped, mid-movement.

the staff team luvs u

---

He watched their impeding movements and saw the look of recognition on their face. And assumed he was correct, in that instance, of his belief. 

'They are allies of our pack', and he smiled a little warmer, an embrace of respect, 'It will bode well with my mother, Queen Celnes, that Madmortigan has followers that are of genuine heart'. A nod in regards to Daighre salvaging Warwick from his demise.

---

the staff team luvs u

“Whatever.” He huffed.

His ears pulled back against his head.

Fucking boring shit.

He didn't give a fuck who the old man talked to. And he wasn't his fucking follower.

He shook his coat out. Stood, a little straighter, a little taller. Less stalking and more slouched. He licked his lips. His front paws stood close together.

“See you around, Swan Dive.” He leered.

His hackles bristled.

He shoulder checked him when he passed. His forehead smashed against the corner of his chest. His right shoulder clipped his left.

The long walk back.

the staff team luvs u

---

There weren't many he had admittedly encountered thus far in his minute life that were so short-fused, short-worded, and short-timed with him. The abrupt answer was not one he had anticipated and Warwick kept quiet for a moment before trying to hide that boyish smile of his. 

The blond needed ironing out in all mannerisms, and Warwick was ever so slowly sussing him out. Internally, the duke would just humorously shrug away such disregard for a compliment and figured some males didn't know how to receive one. 

When they took their leave, like a proud young man he was, he remained solid and received the affectionate farewell graciously well. 'Likewise, Fukno'. And he too pressed on forward in search of something else for the remainder of his day.

---

the staff team luvs u