An anthro bit I included in my drabble thread on the other forum. I haven't had the stamina to do full stories lately, but I might like to do more short ones like this of various anthro fodder. I'll leave it up to F-S whether I should post them individually or compiled in a big thread of mixed genders and content. Suggestions on content/themes welcome.
In the meantime, enjoy. If you've not played in the Warcraft universe, worgen are for all intents and purposes werewolf creatures. This
"You're making faces again," Harp observed, studying the priest without a semblance of shame.
Helvarde's attention came back to her slowly, thoughtfully. Having been her steadfast travel companion the better part of a week, she was just now testing the waters of playful jibing. So far he'd been receptive, but not reciprocal. Better his vague, aloof amusement than a curled lip or disparaging glare, however, so she took it for encouragement. It alleviated some of the inherent, nervous discomfort of trusting her life to a worgen.
"Faces," he repeated, with just enough inflection to suggest a question. He passed a large, clawed hand over his expression, indicative of its permanent quasi-snarl. A resting state, almost, and a far cry from the weathered, but handsome human features she'd met half a fortnight ago. She was still getting used to it. "I'm afraid this is the default."
"No, no. This is different. You're doing this funny... wrinkling thing, with your muzzle." She gestured over the bridge of her own nose, scrunched for emphasis.
Helvarde hesitated, averting his whole face from her, although not fast enough to disguise the little rippling sneer to his lip. Wary that she'd nudged and bullied him past the realm of comfort, Harp allowed for a few extra steps of berth between them. He was a hard man to get a read on, even when he was tan-skinned and furless.
"I'm sorry, I just thought--..."
The worgen gave a rough, hitching grunt from somewhere deep in his throat. Ears folding back and snout creasing, he suddenly threw his head down with a wolfish sneeze.
The priest was all teeth and narrowed eyes upon straightening, his expression snarled up so tightly that she could see the precise black-and-pink mottling of his gums. Harp slowed to a stop in time with his lagging pace, watching unapologetically as his tongue curled back and head dipped.
!" Even under the dim and shadowed canopy of Duskwood, the aerosol glittered visibly. Once, and... "HFF-ISSCH
!" Twice, this time with furious satisfaction and a rushing sigh to chase it.
A pale eyetooth gleamed in the aftermath as Helvarde wrinkled and relaxed his expression a few times, as though trying to work it back into the stoic repose Harp was accustomed to seeing.
"Excuse," he gruffed, world-weary once more as he gave a knuckling pass at his nose, manipulating the damp black shape of it quietly.
"Bless you!" Harp corrected, cheerful. She quickened her gait to make up for his longer strides. Helvarde turned his head just enough to fix her with a wary look, his battered ears pricked.
"...what did you say?"
"I..." Harp blinked, losing some of her gumption. "...bless you? Is that not... I don't have to say it," she offered, hitching her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. Maybe it was a tradition that had fallen out of usage in the long years of Gilnean isolation.
"No, no," Helvarde corrected, giving a final, quick snort to clear his nose. "I just don't hear it often when I'm..." He made another open-palmed motion to his face. Harp frowned.
"You're a priest. Surely there are some exceptions."
Helvarde spread his claws in a gesture of calm bewilderment. "And yet. Nobody thinks to bless their hunting hounds or guard dogs, so perhaps..."
Harp tilted her jaw up defiantly. "Of which you are neither. Well. Light bless."
Chuckling, the worgen dipped his head in gratitude. "Thank you."