The plane was far too cramped for his long body, and now, Lance relished the chance to stretch himself out, and work out the kinks and cramped muscles in his body. Damn plane - stuck in coach, and with a bunch of crying babies and cuddling couples. Eurgh. Thank God it was nowhere near the full moon, and even if it was, he carried around some wolfsbane (or monkshood, or aconite, take your pick) to counteract some of his more. . .ah, well violent tendencies. Mountain ash would've worked better, but unfortunately, he lived in the amazing Deutschland, which had no mountain ash, unless he wanted to import some from Belgium. Too much of a pain for that - and expensive, so no thanks. Studying himself in the bathroom mirror, Lance pulled at his eyes to put his contacts back in - a lycan who had poor eyesight, whoda thunk it? Ah well, his entire family had a horrendous genetic predisposition of poor vision. Oh, and giving birth to lycans, too. Some great curse, eh?
Bah.
Blinking slightly at he popped his contacts back in (now his eyes were a light brown color - not their typical wolf gold), the teen rubbed his chin, pulling a face at his reflection, baring canines that were slightly larger than that of a normal humans'. He certainly looked like he had come off the plane - messy black hair (that still looked adorable on him - what the hell?), a pale face, and a slight stubble (man, he did not look German at all. Where the fuck were the blue eyes and blonde hair?). Mothers and couples who wanted to join the Mile High Club typically got pissed off if you hogged the bathroom to shave. Jackasses.
What the German was really looking forwards to now was meeting his new 'family' and taking a shower. And grabbing a decent dinner - preferably some place that had steak on their menu. He was just craving meat right now - preferably bloody. As a modern lycan, it wasn't like he could just go out and eat a human. Or animals.
People tended to notice - besides, humans were victims with cellphones, now, for God's sake.
Shouldering his duffel bag now, Lance exited the bathroom to the meeting area for international arrivals. Let's see, where's a sign for him? Sign, sign, sign. . . Oh, come on. It couldn't be that hard to make a sign so he didn't look like a retard, looking lost, right? Lance ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it already was. "Wo? Wo? Wo ist mein neue Familie. . .?" He muttered to himself, turning in a slow circle before finally spotting the sign that proclaimed 'Lance von Falke'. Hey, they even spelled his full name correctly!
[[Okay, I just thought that the title of the Rasputina song fit. . .XD It's such a pretty song. <3]][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]
An ego above egos; he loved to have it stroked, prodded, caressed... that was Demetrius James for you, a very colorful but 'sinful' young man from Brooklyn. He was given the tedious task of traveling to the airport outside of town to pick up one of the new foreign exchange students whom was given a scholarship to the university. Now, he wasn't particularly pleased with this arduous occupation--gas was high, the day was abnormally warm, and above all, the full moon was threatening his hormones ever so ungraciously. Just sitting down in his Honda Civic was uncomfortable; he had fathomed several times going commando to school, but generally a plain, rugged material rubbing against his groin resulted in involuntary erections, with or without his Valentine's Day boxers' presence (they were from last year--after having a hot fling with a lovely young man from Japan).
Demetrius was a rugged looking nineteen year old with unkempt, shaggy black hair that he kept styled perfectly for certain occasions--his eyes were a brilliant shade of sea-green; they reflected specks of light like a pure prism, giving an almost kaleidoscope-like effect. Due to his father, he inherited a very troll-like height of 6'5", weighing in decently over 200lbs. He was an interesting man, always referring to himself was 'meterosexual' though his friends from both Brooklyn and the Caribbean knew better. He had a rogue visage, the brunt of his square jawline littered in sandpapery, wiry hairs, not to mention the length of his beautiful eyelashes. Women loved that feature, though it was unfortunate for them he merely didn't swing in that 'general direction'. Over all he was a well-dressed, well accomplished young man with a seemingly bright future--as a homosexual alpha of a pack, not to say that the other lycans would be very proud of that notion.
Oh, joy... let's just get this over with so I can go back to watching the Adam's Family. I've never seen that episode.
He clambered from his Honda with a large piece of white bristleboard furled in his hands, weaving through a pack of various humans while searching for this one young man whom he was supposed to be escorting. The soles of his lime green Nikes hit the floor, the strength of his emerald gaze catching a few young women who seemed vaguely interested in him, prying, try to see the shade of his eyes through his aviators. He turned his head, however, merely visualizing the target. The mixture of scents here was nearly overwhelming--soda, spilled chili fries, squished peanut-butter cups; repulsive. Then again, he learned how to cope over the years; pinching his nose in public through the whole airport might have seemed a little peculiar. Off in the distance Demetrius noticed a particular young man who seemed confused. Well, that must definitely be him. He let the bristolboard fall to his side, giving the boy his usual once-over. "You're..Lance Von.. Von.. how the fuck do you pronounce that?"[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]
The smell of people, in general, were just disgusting. Especially here in America - eurgh, he was just so damn used to something more natural, having spent most of his time lounging around in parks and forests and mountains when he wasn't in his Abitur. The stink of unwashed hair, sweat, and people finished with Mile High Club activities was overwhelming and made Lance shudder, and fight back nausea. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, the teen turned around when he heard his name being said somewhere towards his left. Oh, hey, you're supposed to be picking me up, aren't you? "Val-kuh," he said finally, after examining him. A quiet but low voice, filled with slightly drawn-out vowels a sort of roughness to his speech that only Germans had - but a tint of something that was sung in the throat, definitely not German. Mandarin Chinese maybe, from his Mother? Granted, she hadn't lived long enough to really be much of an impact on Lance, but she got her wish. Sort of.
Except for being a lycan. That was a bit of a problem.
The first thought that ran through his mind was that. . . Holy hell, this person was taller than he was. Even if it was only by a few inches, it still bothered him quite a bit. His lips thinned for a few seconds, but then he relaxed - merely the charming (and civilized, compared to these Americans) young German once more. "Don't bother trying to pronounce it then, if you can't. Lance will do just fine, after all. Und bist du. . . Your name?" He asked finally. Oh, that's right. Most people here don't learn a second language. Why the hell did he have a feeling that school here would be easy and he'd be sleeping through it?
But besides that, one would think that two lycans would recognize someone from another pack of lycans - after all, Lance was out of his natural element, and had stepped into Demetrius'. Not that he'd recognize that now, but. . .Or maybe it was the mountain ash covering up his smell. But hey, Lance didn't even know what the hell stopped American lycans. He was only really familiar with the lore associated with those of the European breed. Although, he had seen quite a few of those 'werewolf' movies - if silver could really stop an American lycan, he'd laugh - he did wear silver jewelry, after all, and it never burned of affected him in anyway. [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]
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