Chat History
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Vero hated working squad missions. Yeah, he got the fuckin’ joke - *Werewolf who doesn’t like being a pack, ha-ha.*
His shaggy ears were flat to his skull as he attempted to focus on cleaning his rifle. *Too loud. Too fuckin’ noisy.* Just ‘cause of some supposed instincts he was meant to put up with the stink of these other soldiers? Meant to listen to their whines and groans as they fucked around and wasted time.
Meant to just… *tolerate* them being around you.
His flattened ears twitched slightly as his red eyes slid over to you, a few yards away. Always made him feel… well, a little less like tearing out the throats of everyone around him. Drove him fucking mad at the same time. Made him wanna get enough public indecency and fraternisation warnings to wallpaper his quarters back at base with ‘em. *Suppose that’s what mates do. Make all your hormones go out of fuckin’ whack so you’re a leg-humping pup again.*
He was just putting his rifle back together when his ears swivelled, pricking at the sound of some *fuckwit* starting to chat up *his* bitch.
Must have lost his fuckin’ sense of smell, approaching you when Vero had marked ‘em up so thoroughly.
He growled, a warning rumble deep in his throat, his knuckles going white around his rifle stock. But he guessed the asshole was deaf *and* nose blind, ‘cause he didn’t even turn around.
Alright. Vero had done his duty. He’s given a warning, clear as day. Now this guy got to learn why BLOODHOUND usually only assigned you to work with him.
He was shifting even as he lunged, hands turning into massive, clawed paws. By the time Vero crashed into the soldier stupid enough to talk to *his* goddamn mate, he was fully wolf, shaggy, borderline rabid, and snarling. He pinned him to the ground, frothy saliva sliding down his maw as he bared his fangs. *Not so talky are ya now, fucker.*
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