and Jesus wept. (Alvan + open to others)

[ichabod]

Ichabod crept in the door to his complex; eyeing the staircase to his apartment before redirecting his gaze to focus mostly on his feet; caked in dirt, mud, twigs, and sticky gravel. He approached and mounted the stairs to trudge up them, tired and out of breath. It had been a long hunt, successful though; that much proven by the doe's blood caked in his normally rather clean dishwater blond hair, their curls sticking up at odd angles. He wore a only an over-sized beach towel, stolen from the nearest laundry chute, around his waist like a kilt, it's massively hideous purple and green pattern nauseating in itself - but hey, it was clothing, and it wasn't advisable to go wandering around naked. Especially not when you were 6'5 and stuck out like a sore thumb. And Ichabod was in desperate need of a shower. His nose wrinkled. Even the much weaker human senses could smell the pungent stench he currently exuded.

Near silently; still graceful despite his humanoid form, he slid up to his floor, and slid the chain off his neck, the key dangling from the delicate gold wire granting him entrance to his apartment. His room lay roughly half way across the floor, apartment Six-Oh-Nine, his lucky number. A tattered and torn tie hung from the doorknob; this was his own ideas. As he preferred to morph inside his apartment, he also preferred to be able to close the door safely when he left. Amazingly, he had gotten the idea from a Youtube video. "Dog fetches owner a beer from the fridge." If a simple canine could do it, a werewolf was more than capable. Gotta love the internet.

Aching, he crossed the remaining yards in a few long strides. Wiping his feet on the bristle mat outside the door, Ichabod slid the key in the lock and flicked it open, standing outside the door to brush excess crud off of his bare legs. Couldn't go dirtying up a nice, clean, livable place now, could we?

[alvan]

The scent of blood was palpable, Alvan immediately noticed this. One for casing buildings prior to making move-in arrangements, Alvan quickly found himself staring down what clearly was another like himself. How many dirty, blood-stained beings wrapped in towels could possibly be anything else? One of the appeals of coming here was the strict knowledge that were-activity was quite thick. But, there was something else of familiarity with this person whom he was silently studying. He inhaled sharply through flared nostrils, trying to sort out what was so drawing. Having seen, read, and spoken to so many others, it seemed that anything from his past simply blended with the rest and did him little good in identifying anything that was repetitive. Familiar as this new person was, he couldn't put his finger on how, and with an insatiable curiosity, he left his business of picking the lock to the show-unit and made his way across the floor to greet the toweled and dirty male.

Alvan paused a moment, sorting the best introduction out of the tall hat in his head, and then cleared his throat before speaking. "Excuse me, you smell familiar, do I know you?" An odd statement, to say the least, but Alvan had a way with being up front with what he was getting at. 'Say what you mean, mean what you say,' that had long since been his motto. Realizing he had now made a possibly rude intrusion on someone who may not feel they were fit for introductions (being coated in blood splatter can have that effect) Alvan quickly snaked a hand out, palm up, to the other. "My name is Alvan Kimber, if that rings any bells." And with a toothy grin, he didn't wait for the other to extend their own hand and immediately took up theirs not holding the towel in a firm, but friendly handshake. Forward, to say the least, but that was Alvan for you.

[ichabod]

The approach of the other was noted and quickly ignored; as Ichabod made a habit of ignoring others to spare his own embarrassment. Already, curls were beginning to loosen and he would soon begin shedding his human hair the longer he stood naked in public. Damn nerves. An exasperated growl tore out of his raw throat as he struggled to knock the last of the viscous mud off his knees, turning to glance wild-eyed at the intrusive individual to his right. Leaning back with eyebrows raised, a startled smile lit across his face and he pumped Alvan's hand briskly, free hand still clutching the towel and his key. He surveyed the younger werewolf with fond memory. Despite his years numbering the 90s, he had a rather excellent memory - despite the alcohol abuse in his younger day - and he truly had had the most wonderful time in Russia.

"Right, right! Alvan! Ichabod Birmington. We toured Russian together briefly. You taught me how best to take down Soldiers." A genuine, wolfish smile spread across his broad features. He was back in his element, nerves settling. "If I remember correctly, military meat is the best meat to be found." He chuckled abruptly, dropping Alvan's hand finally and adjusting his only coverage. Flicking the key over his head to let it settle on his chest once more, he stepped back and swept a hand at the doorway. "Do come in, old chum. Mi Casa es Su Casa, si?" His Spanish was flawless; but who's wasn't when speaking such an old addage? Second graders knew the same term. "Really, truly, I've got to get a shower and some clothing on before I attract parasites." Another of his wolfish grins - he was sure Alvan would pick up on the 'parasite' comment. The only true parasites nearby were the Vampires.. and well... they usually weren't much trouble. This, after all, was Werewolf territory.

[alvan]

An explosion of laughter errupted from Alvan as the memories came rushing back. It had definitely been a while, but once his memory was jogged, he looked back on that time with font nostalgia. "Sticky Ichy, of course! And you're right, pre-tenderized is far better than slapping it around yourself." He was more than amused that his previous counter-part had remembered his announcement. He had a fondness for military, this was abundantly true. Whether it was linked to the slaying of the man who raised him all those years ago was another story altogether. But, it was no lie that Alvan enjoyed the taste of soldier. In his personal opinion, the more stars the better, too. Accepting the offer to enter, Alvan made a large step through the threshold and into the dwelling.

Once inside, he now took the opportunity to sweep a look around, as was his original intention when trying to pick his way into the locked show unit. He hated having a salesman over his shoulder, no need for them. If he liked it, he'd find them. He wasn't trying to squat or anything, he just preferred shopping alone. Spinning at the sound of Ichabod's voice once again, a broad smile graced his features as he mutely bowed in understanding. "By all means, do what you must. Your odor is a bit strong. I'm guessing she was in estrus?" He chuckled at the mention of the other's kill, for it was quite obvious to Alvan his catch had indeed been in season. The lingering stench was tell-tale even for a human who knew what he was smelling.

[ichabod]

Once safely inside, he let the door swing partially shut - not caring enough to close it the rest of the way, and leaving a roughly two inch gap of light peering in from the lit hallway. The steadily fading light had given way to blackness at the corners of the wide living area, something that was altogether comfortable for Ichabod, but not overly so when he was entertaining. Pointing at a Japanese-made lamp (as if it could see him?), he barked out a quick order ("Ranpu!") and it sparked to life immediately, the word-sensing feature flashing a green dot of recognition to the command. "Arigatou gozaimasu!" it chirped back metallically. With the light brighter; Ichabod's humble abode held not much more warmth. A threadbare sofa (also a sofa bed, if one dared to check it out); a small round table with mis-matched chairs; and his overstuffed Laz-E-Boy, which he had worn a comfortable ass-print into. No television to speak of - he hated it - and the only form of entertainment was an old hand-carved chess board, a pack of cards, and what could resemble a cribbage board.

"My, humanity... er... inhumanity has come a long way, hasn't it?" He grinned, speaking literally. Ninety plus years ago, they were first perfecting civilian space flight. Now they hand lamps that understood Japanese and no doubt there were Werewolves walking on the moon as they spoke. Gathering his clothing, he made his way through the living room and down the short hallway to the master bedroom and walk-in bath. "Do make yourself at home. I suspect you've already fed this evening, but if you're hungry for something greasy, there's cold pizza in the fridge. Not much, but it's food." He disappeared into the loo and flipped the shower on, discarding the tacky towel directly into the trash - he'd leave a note and $5.00 for the human he stole it from later - and stepping into the scalding liquid. Rubbing himself down, head to food, with an oatmeal based shampoo, he was finished and rinsing within seconds.

The fogged up mirror was useless to him when he once again stepped out, toweling quickly and shaking his head like a dog to rid himself of the excess water. Smoothing his hair back, he re-dressed quickly in his previously discarded clothing; jeans, cougar boots, named so for the interesting paw-print design they left as a track; black work tee. Combing his hair back with his fingers, he shuffled back into the living room, cleaning his ears out with one long, sharp fingernail. He had three days of stubble and no intention of shaving, either. He only shaved when he had someone to impress. Which was rare, but who's to say it would never happen. Settling himself back into his comfy recliner, picking up his ancient Zippo lighter and a cigarette; flicking it to life and cupping his hand to support the flame as he lit his cancer stick. "Still smoke, my friend?"