WOLF: ARRIVAL IC/OOC, DAY 3
Wolf had his head down, his focus completely on a buckle underneath of his arm, fumbling to try to tighten the strap so it wouldn't slip from his shoulder. To a casual observer, they'd think him mad, to be weaving in and out of midday foot traffic in the middle of lower Manhattan without looking at where he was going. But he knew perfectly well where to step next. Sight wasn't necessary when he could rely on his other senses to prevent him from bumping into others. He heard and, unfortunately, smelled everyone around him perfectly well. Why wouldn't he take this precious time of walking back to his apartment to try to understand the functionality of the carrier? He had plenty of time to go.
(This, of course, being because he still wasn't terribly fond of the Subway. He whined every time Virginia made him go down below the depths of city to sit upon one of those sardine cans. How humans didn't suffocate on those tin torture machines was beyond him.)
He finally jerked on the strap, felt it tightening against his shoulder, and gave a look of pure pride in himself before his footsteps came to a complete halt. The air had changed. The smells were gone. No more horrid fumes of garbage, excrement and hot dog stands were around him. The sounds of Manhattan had disappeared immediately. His gaze shot up and he looked around, doing rapid glances, the momentary pride in himself drifting away to a display of utter confusion.
"Oh, oh no! Oh cripes!"
It was only as her jerked, ready to start running towards the first sounds he was picking up, that he felt the backpack against him, the straps rubbing against the carrier that was pressed against his abs. That hadn't been there before and his mind was already leaping to assumptions. Eyes narrowed, looking over his shoulder, before he shifted to slide one of the straps off so he could jerk it around to the front and inspect it.
It was the very same bag Virginia had once worn on their travels together. Brows came together and he pulled it off completely, holding it up to breathe in the faint smell of worlds an unknowable distance away and of Virginia. A slight whimper escaped him, not allowing his mind to get too far ahead of him, but he opened it up and his fingers brushed against a device of some sort. He pulled it out, analyzed it, and felt it seemed quite similar to the phones Virginia had purchased for them. He lifted it up, hit the voicemail, and listened.