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Who: Friedrich, OTA
When: June 30, 4:00pm
Where: Streets of Paris
Complete/Incomplete: Incomplete
Friedrich Köhler tugged his uniform straight over his hips, a scowl on his lean features. He was not exactly a happy wolf. Any day that required the proper uniform was a bad day. He'd been having a lot of bad days lately. A bad week, to be more accurate. Some, even, might claim that he'd been having a bad month, possibly year - possibly life, if they were exceptionally brave or stupid.
Those claims would never be made to his face, mind - most people were smarter than that, and if they weren't, they were generally dead. Scum drained out of the gene pool. Not a nice mental image, for all its accuracy.
He strode down the street with that snarl constantly present, paying no attention at all to the people he was pushing past, shoving by and generally mowing down in his way. If they don't have the sense to get out of my way in the first place...
That was his general train of thought until he rounded the corner near headquarters and ran headlong into someone else. Unable to stop his forward momentum, he - they - wound up on the sidewalk in a pile of tangled, ungainly limbs.
The werewolf staggered upright, lip curling away from his incisors in a decidedly less-than-friendly manner. He leaned down, latching his fist around his unfortunate collision companion's shirt, and hauled them upright with a snarl.
"Watch where you're walking."
When: June 30, 4:00pm
Where: Streets of Paris
Complete/Incomplete: Incomplete
Friedrich Köhler tugged his uniform straight over his hips, a scowl on his lean features. He was not exactly a happy wolf. Any day that required the proper uniform was a bad day. He'd been having a lot of bad days lately. A bad week, to be more accurate. Some, even, might claim that he'd been having a bad month, possibly year - possibly life, if they were exceptionally brave or stupid.
Those claims would never be made to his face, mind - most people were smarter than that, and if they weren't, they were generally dead. Scum drained out of the gene pool. Not a nice mental image, for all its accuracy.
He strode down the street with that snarl constantly present, paying no attention at all to the people he was pushing past, shoving by and generally mowing down in his way. If they don't have the sense to get out of my way in the first place...
That was his general train of thought until he rounded the corner near headquarters and ran headlong into someone else. Unable to stop his forward momentum, he - they - wound up on the sidewalk in a pile of tangled, ungainly limbs.
The werewolf staggered upright, lip curling away from his incisors in a decidedly less-than-friendly manner. He leaned down, latching his fist around his unfortunate collision companion's shirt, and hauled them upright with a snarl.
"Watch where you're walking."
grumpy