- Pronouns
- They/them
- Location
- The Den
Short of literally kicking her out of his living room, since he didn't have a spare bedroom, Salem was finding a bit more struggle than he had anticipated with Ziessel. With getting her to leave the house every so often, especially. They'd kept in contact through mail, telephone and eventually, chat messages for the last couple of decades. Life this, life that. The pack is doing well, or isn't. She would include tidbits about her more domestic life in Tiranoth when she could. About her growing children, every day more rebellious than the last. He didn't share anything risky or confidential, Matis would've had his head if he was so careless. He also wouldn't be where he is, or what he is, either. It had all seemed like it was going relatively well. Ziessel had always planned to return once her very human husband passed away, but she was expecting to have another 20 years or so, at least. Her kids would've been a bit more self-sufficient then. Might have resented her a bit less for leaving them behind in such a hurry. He suspected there was something more that she hadn't told him there. He had asked, and she had started to tell him a few times. But then the words had gotten... what, lodged in her throat? and she went quiet and didn't talk to him, again, for hours. It was a bit like having a ghost as a housemate, one that sometimes made terrible food but also paid rent. She didn't have to for the first couple of months but she insisted.
"We're going out, get dressed. Casual." He told her, since she had asked about the dresscode every other time. He tended to dress business-casual anyway, or outright formal, for a pack member. She didn't answer but she got dressed. Then he dropped her off at the Den because he had other things to do and couldn't she come along? She could, but she had a different task today. Talk to the pack, damnit. He wasn't going to shove her in anyone's direction in particular. But he would leave her there to see what she managed to do after a month and a half of isolation, apathy and silence. The rest of the wolves were good people, in general. And the ones that weren't she could probably fend off. But being alone and thinking about death and its closest relatives wasn't doing her any good. He couldn't help her on his own, nobody could, because nobody was going to bring him back from the grave.
So Ziessel, more than a bit pissed off about this new strategy of Salem's to get her to mingle, walked into the Den and sat at the bar. She used to have a fiery temper, but she had learned to cool it over the years. So instead of stomping and fuming, she was quiet and did her best not to look at anyone else. Most of them she had met before she arrived, and she saw them here and there when she did jobs for the pack. But she wasn't familiar with any of them, and sure as hell didn't remember their names. Maybe she'd get drunk, finally, tonight. Or get back on top of her physical training. It had never stopped, but she was rusty in fighting and keeping up with other werewolves instead of humans or sand bags.
"We're going out, get dressed. Casual." He told her, since she had asked about the dresscode every other time. He tended to dress business-casual anyway, or outright formal, for a pack member. She didn't answer but she got dressed. Then he dropped her off at the Den because he had other things to do and couldn't she come along? She could, but she had a different task today. Talk to the pack, damnit. He wasn't going to shove her in anyone's direction in particular. But he would leave her there to see what she managed to do after a month and a half of isolation, apathy and silence. The rest of the wolves were good people, in general. And the ones that weren't she could probably fend off. But being alone and thinking about death and its closest relatives wasn't doing her any good. He couldn't help her on his own, nobody could, because nobody was going to bring him back from the grave.
So Ziessel, more than a bit pissed off about this new strategy of Salem's to get her to mingle, walked into the Den and sat at the bar. She used to have a fiery temper, but she had learned to cool it over the years. So instead of stomping and fuming, she was quiet and did her best not to look at anyone else. Most of them she had met before she arrived, and she saw them here and there when she did jobs for the pack. But she wasn't familiar with any of them, and sure as hell didn't remember their names. Maybe she'd get drunk, finally, tonight. Or get back on top of her physical training. It had never stopped, but she was rusty in fighting and keeping up with other werewolves instead of humans or sand bags.