What is your idea of perfect happiness?
I never thought I'd even be able to be perfectly happy before, but somehow I'm coming round to the idea. So far... it's an inflatable pool full of ice for the huskies to splash around. It's boba tea traditions and homemade KFC. It's lazy mornings, tangled up in sheets and legs where the most discomfort you get is a numb arm from his head resting on it all night. It's a mundane, average thing that felt so far away.
What is your greatest fear?
That I'll ruin it. I'll ruin everything.
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
I overthink to the point it can paralyse me from making choices sometimes. Or I overcomplicate a situation that's as simple as shit.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Dishonesty. If you're going to do anything, at least own it. I can't stand flakes who'll say one thing to your face then another to save face later.
Which living person do you most admire?
Jaqueline. She helped me get my mind and control back after it was fractured with the dog fights.
What is your greatest extravagance?
My Harley. Or my huskies? They're expensive fucking dogs.
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Virtues are fine until taken too far. Like justice? You get overzealous with it and it's corrupt and preachy a fuck. Humility? You get too humble and you're annoying as fuck and it becomes counterproductive - people then feed you ego to boost you up if you're overly humble. A lot of them can be overrated.
What do you most dislike about your appearance?
Keep mirrors away from me.
Which living person do you most despise?
What are you, a cop? ....Okay, no. His name is Nit and he was what the pits called a Handler. He conditioned me, brainwashed me. So I was an attack dog. I was to be sold to some fang or hunter or whatever the fuck weirdo liked the idea of having a werewolf on command. But he decided to call the deal off to keep me for himself.
He's not a problem anymore.
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Aight. Bet. Motherfucker.
Fuck. Absolutely fucking not.
I'm not aggressive, you are.
When and where were you happiest?
Now. I've always had moments where I thought I was happy, but this is the first time I feel peacefully happy. It could be better if mam was back but I have good people surrounding me and a place to call home. I don't call myself a stray anymore. I
deserve a home.
Which talent would you most like to have?
Whatever talent himbos have to be so chipper would be great.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
My anger. I was easy to rile up into defending people I didn't need to, or being annoyed by people I didn't need to on behalf of how someone else disliked them. I was still conditioned to back up someone like a dog does its owner. I just never knew how to make my thoughts my own until now. So my anger was very reactive to whoever I chose as my loved one; if they were upset, I was upset. If they didn't like someone, I didn't like someone. And the way it showed was through aggression. Bared fangs, growling.
I'm working on it.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Getting my mind back? No offence but everything in comparison falls flat. There's still blips of struggling with it but I lost it to the point I was just a puppet and a feral attack dog. I can think again, for better or worse. I can be me. I can have my own opinion. I worked to get that fucking back.
If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?
Someone less cursed by the narrative, maybe.
Where would you most like to live?
I think I'm good where I'm at. I got a house we built ourselves, on Oriel's property that has other houses for the foxes. And Gealach is close by so it's a win/win.
What is your most treasured possession?
Currently, Oriel's fang. We ripped our fangs out as a show of loyalty to each other and mine's around his neck while his is around mine. Fangs are a bit of an obsession for me, so it's important.
Which historical figure do you most identify with?
None. You're supposed to learn from history, not repeat it. That said there's probably some asshole I'm like. I just don't want to think about that. It leads to either seeing your flaws and tragedy in them or overvaluing their greatness and trying to be delusional about how you have it to. Maybe some philosopher since I'm preaching.
Who are your heroes in real life?
My baba. My mam. Kiia. Oriel. Kei. Lyn. Mika. Jin.
What is your greatest regret?
I lost control one night and got out. There were a group of kids camping, enjoying themselves, laughing... I slaughtered them all and accidentally turned one of them. Lance didn't deserve that. Those kids didn't deserve that. All I had was the excuse I couldn't remember or control myself. He remembers it. That's the only time I've actually felt like a monster, despite all the shit I've done that also qualifies.
Now that you've got to know your character a bit better, get them to narrate the opening few paragraphs of a novel. In these paragraphs, they describe sitting down to a meal. They may be on their own, or they may be accompanied by others.
Your challenge is to give the reader the who, where and what of the novel and to give the reader information about the character without telling. You'll want to focus on their language, perhaps their descriptions of the meal, possibly dialogue or indeed any other tool. But keep reminding yourself that the goal is to tell without telling.
The laughter fills the air as they gather around the dining table, a scene he once mocked and sneered at; "I hate the white picket fence shit, men like me shouldn't get to sit at a table like that." The memory of a bitter, hurt dog snarled in his ear, the hackles raised as it snapped and demanded blood instead of comfort. His hand rose to scrub at the missing chunk of skin, rubbing over the jagged ear-tip where fangs once ripped it off for cheers and a chance to live another round. Only laughter now. Light and warm.
Familial. The bickers of paint being smudged on a phone drown out those growls, as he looks up to see the smiling faces of Jin and Peater carrying through plates, past Si and Ash who're messing around about how messy he is with his art. It's a big table, and it's fully... it's grown since he last remembered.
The scent of fried chicken hits his nose, making his mouth water. The way it used to on a hunt or when filled with the dripping bits of jugular he ripped out. It's safe. It's safe. You're safe in the rosy film, where the faces who bare their fangs at you do it as cheerful smiles. Not challenges. Where the eye contact is endearing, engaged with what you're saying. Not threatening.
Oriel steps in, a firm hand being set to his shoulder as he dips to offer him his boba tea - brown sugar, a classic of course. A kiss is set to his temple, with it bringing the scent of outside and pine. Campfire smoke always was his favourite smell. It was comforting, and the pine mingled so well it felt like being kissed by the forest and told you're free.
Scent is a big thing for you to keep you sane, and here with the porcelain plates filled with fried chicken wings for him and the mix of kimchi and rice for the rest of them. It smells like home. It smells like setting down your guard to finally,
finally belong. It smells and tastes real. It's real, it's real, it's real.