An Ankh-Morporkian Werewolf in Paris

[uberwaldian]

Who: Angua; open to Arya, Jon Snow, and anyone else who wants a little werewolf in their lives!
What: A wolfish nighttime tour of the city.
Where: All over Paris, particularly the back alleys
When: Night One
Warnings: Some non-sexual nudity? Werewolves don't wear clothes!
Note: Despite the icon, wolf!Angua looks like a golden wolf with unusually

Comments

[dont_tell_sansa]

If Arya had learned anything in Westeros, it was that sometimes her lord father was wrong: sometimes a pack just made you more vulnerable. She liked spending time with Viserys and Jon, but with Jon looking after the dragon, Arya felt free to wander through the streets. She finally felt like Cat again, free to disappear among the rush of people.

Even if she was dressed wrong. With Naoto gone - she wondered if she should make some kind of announcement about that - she could ask Jon, but it wasn't as if he'd understand the clothing here any better than her.

Wolves she understood, though, so when Arya glimpsed one, she paused, confused. There weren't any wolves in the towns at home, and she hadn't seen any others in this city - but she wasn't going to waste time wondering. Instead she ran after it, sniffing the air and licking her lips to see if she was downwind. For half a heartbeat, she told herself it was Nymeria - but it was too fair colored, like a wolf with Lannisiter hair. She didn't like that thought at all.

[uberwaldian]

Oh, dear, there was a little girl following her.

It wasn't Arya's fault. She was actually very good. It was just that-- well, A, it was Angua's job to know, and B, she'd have been dead long ago if she couldn't tell when she was being followed. One of the few things humans and wolves could really get together on was how much they hated werewolves, even when the werewolf in question paid for all the chickens and didn't cause any trouble.

She padded around a corner and into the next alley and waited, patiently, to see what the girl would do.

[dont_tell_sansa]

Arya could remember what training Nymeria was like (No, that was some other girl, not me), and knew that running round corners was a good way to scare a wolf into mauling you. So when the blond wolf turned, Arya inched along the edge of the building, and peered around the corner to spot the wolf.

She hadn't really expected to find it waiting. Suddenly, she wished she had some food with her.

Stepping away from the building so it wouldn't look like she was hiding, Arya looked at the wolf, head tilted to the side. "Hello," she said cautiously.

[uberwaldian]

Something about the girl's face struck her as vaguely familiar, and she looked about as out of place as Angua had when she'd stumbled into the city, taken one look around, and realized that chainmail probably wouldn't cut it here. Another Barge resident, then. A young one -- younger than Naoto, even. Gods, she hoped the girl was a warden. The alternative was too depressing.

She stood -- slowly, so as not to spook her -- and padded forward a few steps, cocking her head. Closer up, the girl even still had the Barge smell on her... and a host of others, to boot. It was actually sort of comforting, in a weird way. Most of the "modern" types on board showered far more than Angua was used to, and she was thought to be a little obsessive about it back home.

She sat down again, closer to Arya, tongue lolling out as she panted. Innocent dog, I'm just an innocent dog...

[19centconstable]

[What a coincidence: George is also interested in talking to local dogs. Mostly because he doesn't speak any French, and a big, future-y city can be a bit lonesome. The hotel bed had been fantastic, of course, and George would have been quite happy to stay in it for three days, if that had not seemed like a bit of a waste. He's out on the street instead, looking slightly out of place in his old fashioned suit. He still smells of the poodle he recently made the acquaintance of.]

Hello Boy.

[Sorry Angua: all dogs are boys to George until he's told otherwise.]

[uberwaldian]

[Of all the streets in all the cities... Actually, she realizes as she gets near him, George is less confusing like this. He smells like poodle and the complicated mix of smells she's come to think of as Barge, not like Carrot's shiny soap. Besides, his voice doesn't have that "Master" sound to her wolf ears.

And Carrot always knows a bitch when he sees one.

She sits down by George, panting thoughtfully. To her dim eyes, his suit looks perfectly modern. Maybe he knows the city? Someplace to go?]

[19centconstable]

[Unfortunately, he doesn't.]

Are you on your own as well?

[George talks to dogs like they might talk back. And coming from the 19th century, he's used to dogs being allowed to wander the streets sans leash or owner.]

[uberwaldian]

[But this dog does appear to have an owner, or at least did at one point, judging by the gold-and-leather collar and tags around its neck. For her part, Angua's not sure how to respond; it's not like she's never met the sort of people who talk to dogs, but... when most people talk to her, they are actually expecting an answer.

Eventually, she settles on cocking her head to the side. It usually seems to work for other dogs.]