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Wherever I May Roam [10 Dec 2005|11:16pm] [ mood | annoyed ] ***Non-Journal Content*** Jack Copeland was not in the least happy to finally make his way to the area his arguable instincts told him was where he needed to be. When the stolen motorcycle had died on the highway, he'd backtracked, wasting time after he'd taken a foolish determination to have the damned thing fixed. After finding an appropriately under-the-table shop - days wasted - then learning how much time, trouble, and money or extra trouble it would be to have it taken care of though... He hated the desert. The change had caught up with him out in the scrub and nothing. It was hard enough to find places to hide from the sun when he wasn't fighting every impulse to just run free and tear into any living thing that crossed his path. Not that there were many living things out in the blank. Free of that hassle for another month's predations, he'd finally made it by foot to Searchlight. As he started to familiarize himself with the lay of the land, the refrain in his mind was only focused on how much faster he could've been there if the bike hadn't quit on him. And recon was useless if taken under distraction. He did, at least, retain enough attention to be amused at a local business called Jack's Trading Post. But the lack of progress left him resigned to claiming a temporary hold in some abandoned mineshaft or another. Anywhere good enough to escape the sun would do... at least until he'd figured out how he was supposed to be amusing himself here. post comment

Head Out On The Highway [08 Nov 2005|05:31pm] [ mood | restless ] ***Non-Journal Content*** Jack slowly stood from his crouch, scrubbing his hands over his face to clear away the evidence of his evening meal. He frowned a little as his sharp eyes roamed down over his handiwork - no neat punctures on the neck of this little girl lost, but instead a ragged tear of perforations. The stress of this city was making him feel the wolf much more keenly than he wanted, especially considering it was nowhere near the full of the moon's pull - he was affected in a way he hadn't been in years. He cocked his head to the side, listening as he cast wary glances up and down the alley that ran behind the bar. Satisfied that no one was coming, he kicked the cooling corpse deeper into the shadows, and leaned back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the sky. The glare of city lights filled the night, drowing out the stars. His nostrils flairing, Jack suppressed a low snarl of frustration. "What in the hell am I doing in this place," he grumbled to himself. Nearly running into his Sire in the Irish countryside had startled him, sure. And she certainly wouldn't expect her predictable pup Jack to come even within several hundred miles of his mortal birthplace. The first chain of red-eye flights he'd been able to find had landed him in Phoenix, and only a week later he was sick of it. Sick of feeling like he wasn't there for the reason he thought he was, but mostly sick of feeling like he was in the wrong place entirely. Aside from noting how the hunting was - and if it was a suitable place to bother claiming a scratch of territory - Jack hadn't bothered to notice much about a place in a long time. But something felt very off about Phoenix. Not about the city itself, but about his being there. As if he was supposed to be somewhere else. It was nothing he could explain to himself, but there was something urging him to move on already, and in a specific direction - to the northwest. Normally, he was as likely as not to ignore such an impulse, just to prove to himself that he was in control, not any fool instincts (no matter what part of him they might come from). But this pull was so strong... Jack took a deep, unneeded breath, tasting the night air. The urge to move wanted him north-west and not north-east, so that was good - not taking him anywhere near Colorado, nowhere near the ranchland where he grew up. And he wasn't ever happy in a city for long, anyway. The work of a few moments would have him a freshly hotwired motorcycle. If the change caught up with him before he got wherever he was going, he'd just keep running on that way, and worry about however farther he had to go when the time came. But the pull was so strong, it couldn't be all that far away. Maybe no more than a night or two of riding, if he could keep a decent speed. This need to be going might not be a bad thing, he decided. He could smell a change in the wind. Interesting times were ahead... post comment

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