Different Yet The Same [Gil+Ivan]

(( THIS THREAD IS FORTY YEARS IN THE PAST. THANK YOU. ))

Days he'd wandered... He thought "days" at least, considering he'd seen the sun rise and fall several times. Sometimes he'd sleep, but he had no idea where was truly safe. That spell had dropped him down in some weird... weird place. There were buildings that didn't match, creatures and people he'd never seen before. He couldn't understand their language either... It was completely foreign.

The young man no longer had any shoes of any sort and he was lucky that, while shredded, his kosovo and pants were still intact enough to keep him decent. His scarf had somehow been completely unharmed. Ivan's entire body ached, not only from having to go about barefoot but also residual pain for the first shift of form (which was also responsible for the destruction of his clothing).

No place looked like a safe place... He needed some sort of inn... dacha... All of the buildings he'd passed by for days, considering he'd gotten lost several times, seemed to be shops or private homes... or various inanimate objects. He was having just a terrible time making sense of the place.

After what felt like forever, Ivan had leaned up against what he thought was a wall and lifted his head to look at the sky. He felt so miserable and tired. He'd hardly slept and now here he was... lost in some otherworldly place as some sort of monster. Rain drops starting falling and bouncing off of his face.

Where was he? A creaking sound nearby caught his attention. The young man looked and saw a sign... He couldn't read it, but that meant this was... some sort of shop? He'd traveled the town for so long, he just wanted... to stop. The now damp young man groaned as he got back to his feet. His hand shook as he pushed the door of the establishment open before promptly falling on his face inside. THUMP!

Gilbert, meanwhile, was having a gay old time. Not only had his shop, although new, been a relative success, but business was booming today, of all days. Even if it was the old witches coming in to get dolled up before the season's annual stripping naked and dancing around huge fires in town square. Usually, that was a pleasant site, especially when the younger girls came around, but oh god, how the older ones talked about it ... You'd think it really was a beauty contest, and they still, somehow, had a chance at winning.

Poor, disillusioned things -- atleast when they left, their hair was looking better then ever before as they left his shop, and after that Gilbert had costumers of every shape and size come in. Most, if not all he knew or knew by face, and welcomed them warmly he did, assigning them a dresser and a chair and getting to work himself. It was only after five more costumers -- one even being a rather shaggy looking warlock with a beard with all sorts of...distasteful things hidden in it, yes, that was a /dream/ to clean out -- that Gilbert closed the shop at the end of the day.

He and his staff started cleaning up, and eventually, he sent them off to their home -- and made it known that he'd be taking tomorrow off so he could finally relax. Oh, and, you know, check up on things at his house/Inn. Remind the man when that was a good idea, to own two businesses, and being the /only/ boss? Yeah, right, he could do anything. Anything but sleep that was. Anywho, despite Gilbert's bitching, he still stayed after work and looked over that day's income when ---

Oh great a hob--- I mean, 'new guy'. Yeah, one could always tell which creatures were the unlucky stragglers that wound up in Mythos with little idea of what happened. Or where they were, or sometimes WHO they were, depending on the situation. So, if one was to be unlucky enough to find one, or have one, out of desperation or bad manners, barge through their door... well it was more or less their duty to help them.

Plus, you know, this guy looked pretty miserable, even for the usual fair. So Gilbert quickly crossed the room and turned the man over, pat patting at his cheeks lightly. "Hey, hey now, you still awake there? Or must I take you to the hospital? You lost, pup?" he asked, leaning down and listening to his heart. Yup, still kicking -- oh but he smelled to high heavens -- even if he had an over all pleasant body order for someone fresh from the mud monkey's world. "... Need a bath?" he muttered.

Ivan groaned as some hands rolled him onto his back. He lay there still for a moment or so before cracking one tired eye open. "Gde ya? Nye doma..." The young man practically wheezed when he spoke, as though he hadn't eaten or had anything to drink in days. He'd been lucky enough to get water, from wherever he could find it, but no food. He'd had no food at all. "Mama..." he muttered weakly.

Someone was touching his face and... talking to him... or at him rather is some... language he didn't know. He assumed it was the same one he'd overheard everyone else using. He rolled his eyes up to look for the face of whoever was patting him, even though only one of his eyes was open. "Ya nye ponimayu... Nye znayu... Gde zdyes'? Nye znayu..." He practically whined every word, especially as he repeated that last bit over and over, regardless of whether or not anyone was listening. "Nye znayu... nye znayu..." Starving and desperation rather made him a little... off.

(( "Where am I? I'm not at home..." "I don't understand... I don't know. Where am I? I don't know..." and then he just keeps repeating "I don't know." Also, "Mama" is Mama, obviously. ))

Ohhh and there it was -- the breach that probably kept the kid from getting help immediately. Language, and from the sound of it, it sounded Northern, easternish European. Lots of words that Gilbert could hardly pronounce, but understood well enough to know the fellow's confusion. Another sigh, and Gilbert smoothed back greasy, blonde locks and made a face subconsciously -- he'd have to do something about that. "Sadly, i'm not your nor anyone else's mama -- but i assure you, i'll get you something to calm yourself and i'll explain the whole.... situation. Welcome to Mythos."

And with that, he hauled the man up, and dragging him by the pits of his arms to the back -- and promptly shoved him onto the work room coach. It was then that the task of finding something that wouldn't make the thing puke came -- Gilbert dug through cupboards, and underneath all the candy and coffee, he found ... an an apple, his uneaten sandwich from lunch the other day, and finally he got some water, and offered it all to the very, very sick boy. He just hoped he didn't have to shove the stuff down his gullet.

Ivan could really only blink at the strange man for a little while as his vision started focusing. Was that a man? Yes, that was indeed a man. He still had no idea what he was saying. The young man slowly shook his head to show he was utterly confused. A trembling hand was raised towards the face that spoke to him, afraid that he'd be left all by himself. Someone spoke to him finally... He didn't want to be alone again. "Ny-yet..." he whimpered before he felt someone strong lift him up and drag him. Was it the same guy? He had to have been very strong to move the Russian. Ivan knew he wasn't light, just because he was tall.

He looked around in a daze as he was dragged before being placed onto some sort of soft thing. Ivan clenched his hand as much as he could to try and just touch whatever he was laying on. It was a bit squishy and... dry. It wasn't moss, he was clearly still indoors from what he could see around him. Oh, it was a sofa.

Food was brought before him. It wasn't even that good, from the looks of it but... he wasn't going to complain he'd hadn't eaten in so long and apparently it was being offered to him. That made it fair game, right? He willed himself to sit-up, groaning from the soreness of his muscles and tendons. He had to eat... or this would just get worse. The new monster was very shaky as he reached out to grab the apple before he brought to his face, biting and chewing indiscriminately... almost like a poorly mannered beast.

By this point, he had figured the thing he'd become. When he was a boy, he'd heard legends of werewolf-like monsters called bodarki... who would perform a ritual in the forest at night to curse themselves with power, pain, and lustful, corrupting hunger. Often, they would be tricked into doing it... just like he had. The new bodark could hardly believe he'd fallen for it... and now here he was.

Regardless of all of that, he was starving. Ivan quickly finished the apple, left with nothing but a very slim core before he practically shoved the half-eaten sandwich down his throat.

Gilbert wondered when this kid last got a proper meal. Seriously, he hadn't even blinked, and the sandwich and apple were gone -- a new record, even by his gluttonous standards. And now Gilbert went for the heavier stuff -- some bonbons that one of the girls had brought in the other day and had probably forgotten about in the light of her new diet. Or something. Either way, they were there, edible, and if the boy was hungry enough, he'd eat them.

He also thought for a long bit about what the boy had said -- it sounded Eastern European. Not Romanian, or even Ukrainian, though it sounded similar enough -- no, there was something more stiff about it. He guessed Russian, from the few times he traveled there and was forced to pick up the basics when in human towns.

"Mmm, let us start with the basics then -- what is your name then?"Gilbert asked in stumbling, horribly mispronounced Russian.

But hey, it was intelligible, right? Or maybe writing down questions and answers would work best . . .Then again, this guy looked like he was about to pass out, let alone ready to write, so that was out of the question. Mmm, what to do, what to do. Probably give him a bath next -- thank god he was smart enough to have a full bathroom installed (for the nights when he felt like being a hardcore workaholic and sleeping at the shop for a few days) and a small bed/his office. Then he wouldn't have to turn the poor thing out on the streets.

Those bonbons lasted seconds, gone before the newly fledged bodark chugged the water... which was a dumb thing to do, considering air got stuck in his stomach and water in his lungs. Ivan gagged and coughed for a few moments as his system righted itself. He wrapped his arms around himself for a moment, shaking as his body tried to process the food and drink; he'd really needed all of that. The last several days had made him drop a fair amount of weight... He hadn't gone skeletal quite yet though, he was now just very... lean, much like a beanpole.

Suddenly the man who'd dragged him about, touched his face and fed him was talking to him... this time in Russian... Bad Russian, but still understandable. "M-menya zovut Ivan Nikolayevich..." he said, keeping his voice slow as he wasn't sure how much this man would understand, along with being exhausted. "Kak vas zovut?" He tilted his head to the side, still looking rather miserable. His eyes were still red underneath the lids and there were dark circles above his cheeks. Since it had just started to rain when he'd fallen through the door, Ivan shivered from the slight dampness he'd inherited from the sky.

(( "My name is Ivan Nikolayevich." "What is your name?" I'm also typing phonetically-ish and translating here because I need to practice. XD ))

A sigh, and Gilbert wondered if it'd be too cruel of him to shove 'Ivan' into the tub or just let him sleep and eat off his fatigue. However, the smell was getting to be too much, even if the boy looked tired and ragged and probably cold and uncomfortably damp from the constant rain these past few days.... Yeah, maybe that bath'll do him some good. Atleast warm up his bones.

"It's...nice to meet you, Ivan. My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt," Gilbert replied, patting him curtly on the shoulder and hesitating, "Would you like a kettle bath?"

Oh that sounded even creepier out loud. Or maybe it was just him? Gilbert hoped to keep it that way, and instead fetched his kit, and once again in stuttering Russian, explained to Ivan that he would give him a trim -- and a nice swoopy bang -- those were getting into style again, after all. However, he just needed Ivan to sit up, and mimed with his hands what he needed him to do, ready to clean this kid up but oh it'd be work. But then again, Gilbert was a beautician, this was his job! . . . And now it was his really /tough/ job.

Mmm, maybe he should also call up the local tailors since this guy was NOT going to fit into his clothing. Too big.

((lol, i know, i'm just too lazy to try to use Russian from google translate, and i don't want to impose on you -- plus it's supposed to be butchered, which is counter productive))

Ivan nodded quickly at learning the other's name... Gilbert. Gilbert... That would be kind of hard to say. He wanted to shorten it but he hardly knew the man so it wouldn't have been even remotely appropriate. He leaned his head back and tilted it to the side though when asked another question. "Ba-a-t-sh?" he tried to pronounce, not really understanding what the hell "bath" was.

Luckily the subject changed when he was given the vaguest details in his own language about... getting a haircut? A haircut?! What did he need one of those for?! He was cold, tired and wet, more concerned with having security for the night than looking like a respectable worker. He leaned away, looking rather indignant with one eyebrow raised. "Pochemu?!" he asked, not liking the look of those scissors in Gilbert's kit.

He was rather... disinclined to sit up as requested, but what could he really do? He'd just been fed and watered, placed in a warmer place and now could he really be inhospitable to the man who'd just helped him? The bodark sat up, rubbing his arms shyly. "Aga..."

(( "Why?!" "Okay..." ))

Oh, he wasn't expecting anger. Hey, he feed this guy! Gave him water -- the brat had no right to sniff at a haircut. Plus, he looked utterly UNRULY, and his ends were split and fried to hell. Yeesh, give a little meat from your table and the dog bites back. Oh well, he seemed to quickly resigned to it.

"I promise, this is just so no hair sticks to you after you are cleaned up . . .Eh, it is simpler in the long run?" Gilbert pointed out, getting a bit nervous but quickly helping Ivan up and sitting him just so on the couch so he could cut his hair, yet still be comfortable. Enough.

And after combing through rat's nests, kinks, and the sheer grease that the blonde's hair and collected over days of not brushing or grooming it, he finally was able to cut it. Sort of. With a little water, and quick, skilled hands, Gilbert managed to more or less cut Ivan's hair back into a simple style. . . And then promptly made a mental note to drag him back to his place when he had more time for layers and maybe a bleaching. It depended on what the blonde looked like when he wasn't covered in three layers of dirt and grim.

"And now, bath time!" was Gilbert's next words -- and he promptly 'helped' (read: dragged the poor fella outta his seat) the man up and into the washroom.

Ivan sighed and let Gilbert mutilate his mane. It used to be thin and lifeless, at least that was what his mother said whenever she had tried to do anything with it, lank and limp... It was much thicker now and had more of a "fur" texture towards the roots, if ill-groomed and disgusting because he'd been wandering around like a homeless schmuck for days. He whined a bit as his hair was tugged and worked with. It hurt, but not as much as it did when he was just a human. A puppy-like whimper escaped his mouth every time Gilbert caught a particularly tough patch.

It didn't last too terribly long before he was hauled from his seat on the couch into what looked like a bathroom of sorts. After initially being dragged to his feet, Ivan went along cooperatively, not wanting to accidentally get some sort of injury from resisting. He'd seen people get shoulders get dislocated when they were arrested. That was no something he'd wanted to understand the experience of.

"Kak po-Russki 'ba-at-z'?!" he squeaked after Gilbert said that strange word again.

(( "What is 'ba-at-z' in Russian?!" The "th" sound does not exist in the language. ))

"Ahhh bath... like, cleaning, washing?" Gilbert said, trying to explain as best he could what was just so 'natural' to him. Yup, he was a house pet of sorts by this day and age, but then again, baths were wonderful creation that banished ticks and lice and were wonderful after a cold winter's night of slaughter.

And, to give Ivan a demistration of sorts, he went to the tub, turned on the water, and plugged the tub. "Like this?" He gestured, flicking his wrist and sprinkling Ivan with lukewarm water. They had baths in Russia. Right? Come on, they were that stuck in the past -- right? Ah, well, Gilbert wasn't that into human affairs anyways, so it would probably remain a mystery.

"While you wash, i'll order you some clothing and set up a bed for you, if you'd like to stay here. Or you can wait a little longer and we may go to my house, where you'll get a real meal," he explained -- after all, more business was good business and he had no qualms about putting the kid up for a few days.

Ivan scoffed at the implication that he'd never bathed. In fact, he had bathed back home, he just didn't know the word Gilbert had been using for it. He crossed his arms indignantly and looked down at Gilbert with a bit of huffed annoyance. "Ya znayu, chto banna," he scowled before leaning over to touch the water with his hands. At least it would be warm...ish. It was warmer than everything else, so he was not inclined to complain about getting clean. "A ya nye 'ba-atz' ponimayu..." he mumbled underneath his breath.

He sighed and started unwrapping his scarf, folding it neatly into a little stack next to the tub. Next went the nearly shredded, cheaply made kosovo soon made to lay next to the scarf. "Da," he said to the second option as he prodded the bathwater again. The bodark waited for Gilbert to not be looking before his pants followed the rest of his clothes and slid into the water.

(( "I know what a bath is." "But I don't understand 'ba-atz'." ))

"Well excuse me for not knowing your fucking language," snipped back Gilbert, sulking, this time in English, and making extra sure that the water was nice and warm before leaving the room and cracking the door. Hey, he wasn't that rude, and it was obvious Ivan wasn't going to strip in front of him anytime soon. Which was understandable... to a person who didn't grow up around people who walked half naked most of the time and or people who stripped at a moment's notice so as not to damage perfectly good clothing due to changing into a hairy wolf.

Ah, well, that was just difference of perception, no?

"I'll wait for you to be done, and get you a towel," and call the tailors, and make sure you're able enough to walk all the way to my house . . . Because, come on, there was no way Gilbert was going to carry Ivan all the way there. Of course he had the ability to, but it'd be a hindrance and slow and tiring and well, he was just plain lazy about it.

Ivan just kind of scowled as he settled into the tub. He figured he'd just been cussed out in whatever language it was that Gilbert used... It sounded like, now that he really thought about it, English... That weird language that the Americans spoke when they were talking about "cool" they were or how much they loved their capitalism. How strange. Why would people here be speaking it? Did he end up in America? He knew America was weird but... this architecture and strange creatures walking around... Even the United States couldn't be that weird! That still left him wondering where on Earth that spell dropped him as he scrubbed up.

It took him till the water chilled to finally get all of the dirt and oils from his hair and body. Man, he felt like he must have dropped twenty pounds in just filth that washed away. He sighed, getting out of the tub and drying off with one of the towels in the room before wrapping it around his waist. He wanted to put the kosovo and pants back on but they were just as unwashed as he had been... and they were so torn up. He just picked up the scarf, as it was the cleanest of his clothes and put that back on. Gilbert did mention something about a tailor, so really... who knew.

The small bundle of clothes was held to his chest as he hobbled out into the other room where he assumed his new friend/acquaintance/caretaker person was waiting for him.

And there Gilbert was -- having just gotten back from the tailors with a baggy button up shirt, clean underwear, and pants and some cheap boots and socks. They all looked good enough in quality, but were quiet plain -- then again, Gilbert was in no way entitled to buy Ivan well fitting, extravagent clothing, right? . . .Well for now. NOW he was just focused on putting clean clothing on the kid's back.

"So you feel better? Can you walk for a little while longer, friend?" asked Gilbert, settling the clothing down infront of him on his desk, and sat in his chair . . . His big, comfy chair that matched his ego to a T. Big, gaudy, and squishy with soft leather.

((hurp, sorry for the short reply ;u;))

Ivan didn't understand what was said to him so he just ignored the English words, figuring he had other things to worry about right that second. He saw the clothes on the desk for him, quickly dropping his old ones in curiosity to grab the new ones laid out for him. He really had no right to ask for even a bath, let alone brand new clothes just for him. "Spas...sibo..." he muttered, before hurrying back to the bathroom to change into them.

After getting dressed, he eyed himself from head to toe, preening a bit, in fact. He tugged at his now clean hair, feeling its newly discovered thickness. It was now a little mane. The boots were comfortable and the clothes fit properly. He looked presentable, no longer like he lived on the streets. He even smelled nicer now... not that he'd noticed before but now that he was clean, the difference was quite clear.

The new bodark practically skipped out into the room were Gilbert would be waiting for him once more. "Mih mozhyem uyti syechas?" he asked, hands clasped behind his back as he grinned broadly.

(( "Thank you..." "We can go now?" That last one might be a bit off, but I tried ))

"It's no problem," was his reply in English, since he had NO idea how to say that in Russian.

Gilbert blinked when Ivan came out -- oh, he was a well built thing, wasn't he? If Gilbert were any less used to skin, he would've maybe felt the color rush and pool in his face, or smile. But he wasn't, and he shrugged it off and nodded approvingly as Ivan left the --- hold the phone. What was that smell? It was so familiar, so similar to, well, his own in a way, but slightly off. . . Yet there was no mistake. Ivan was a new wolf pup. Of some sort, he stilled smelled odd.

Awww, how precious! No wonder his clothing was ruined -- it all must've shredded during his first transformation. Gilbert even had half the mind to hug the man. Finally, someone like him! Even if Gilbert liked the novelty of being one of the few werewolves in Mythos, it still got a little lonely. And just like that, he got a new companion. One that he could instill his own learnings in, even. Yet there was also that small, primal barking inside that insisted he should rip the kid's face off now and forever hold his status of Alpha-by-defult. But with the tested, time proven disapline, he shrugged off the beast inside, and nodded.

".... You did say you wanted to leave, yes? Then let us leave," said Gilbert, opening the back door for Ivan after making sure everything was tightly shut, turned off, and locked. Luckily, it had stopped raining earlier, which meant a more pleasant walk home.

Ivan blinked at being looked up and down like that. Without really thinking, he kind of put his arms across his body, as though to hide it, while clothed, from view. He did not like that look one bit. Was he some sort of food source now? He was food... somehow even though he was a predator. "Vih..." he began, before cutting himself off as the subject was quickly changed. Feeling awkward now, Ivan merely nodded his head at being ready to leave.

The bodark followed Gilbert out of the door into the evening. As he walked closer to the man, he noticed something... odd. A smell that was almost familiar, like he should know it even though he could not recall ever catching wind of it before. It was coming from... Ivan sniffed at the air, following his nose like an idiot on the sidewalk until it lead him to the man who'd saved him from starvation and gotten him cleaned up. Gilbert smelled... familiar. He couldn't figure out why for the life of him. He shrugged it off, muttering something under his breath about Gilbert smelling like family before waiting to be lead off down the road.

(( "You..." ))

"Hmm? What about family?" asked Gilbert, taking the kid lightly by the sleeve and leading him down the street, turning sharply and briskly down the obviously well-worn path to, supposedly, his home.

Ah, yes, the risks and trials of walking with Gilbert Beilschmidt were tedious and many. For one, he walked briskly, without thought of others and often turned or stopped without warning, and despite his small stature, walked faster then most monsters on the street. He always seemed to have a place to be, a person to please -- otherwise, well, who would run around town like that?

Gilbert, that's who. You could almost see his tail wag during his 'walkies' to and from work. However, today, he slowed, and he made sure to never loose site of his new companion. Dare he say it, possibly pack mate. Ah, but like all good walkies, this one ended as Castle Beilschmidt came into view -- a towering piece of Gothic architecture and prowess, and a true site to behold. Yet.... was that a corpse hanging inside a cage on the top most floor? Oh, well, you don't need to know that, anywaaaaays.

"Welcome to your new home."

Ivan blushed a tiny little bit as he was lead down the road. "You... smell like family..." he said, feeling absolutely absurd as he got said it. How did that make any sense? Gilbert didn't smell like his sisters, or his mother, or his father. They'd never even met before! Yet this smell was like... they were related somehow, like he'd known it for a long time. "Yet... I have never smelled this before..." He sounded absolutely nuts, he just knew it.

The bodark shook his head as he easily kept up with the determined man leading him towards this... castle? A castle. Really? That was... odd. He tilted his head as he stared at the caged corpse high up above. Honestly, he wasn't surprised anymore and besides... what was more perfect an abode for... a monster... That's what Ivan had become, he was monster now.

"Ya... doma?" he asked, eyes wide, as though he couldn't believe it.

(( "I'm home?" ))

Gilbert listened, and nodded. It was good to have his assumption confirmed -- atleast the familiarity was mutual, if only it was simply instinct to have it. Survival through numbers and all that pock-mind nonsense. So he just nodded, and murmured a, "I feel the same. I am what you are. Or close to it."

And when the castle came into view, Gilbert heaved the heavy doors open with a light tug, and ushered the bodark inside. Which, by all accounts, was rather ... old looking. Paintings and murals lined the walls, and fat, leather bound chairs and rugs filled the large space, with a large counter and surely looking, pale clerk behind the front desk.

"Another one, sir?" asked the figure.

"Yes, I'm putting him up in the third floor -- make sure his room is warm and that food is brought. Get alot of meat, rare, and something to settle a stomach should he fall ill from over-eating later on tonight," said Gilbert, motioning for Ivan to follow him up a spiraled staircase.

Ivan merely blinked around at the decor as he idly followed behind Gilbert as they walked towards the front desk. "Vih bodark?" he asked, somewhat absent-mindedly. If Gilbert was a bodark, too, why did he not speak better Russian? Maybe bodarki were not just a Russian phenomenon as he'd been raised to believe.

At the moment though, the tall young man was too busy staring at all of the old-fashioned things that decorated this room... that seemed to be some sort of lobby. If this was home... and this seemed like an inn, did... he and Gilbert now live in an inn? That was odd. He shrugged it off silently before looking at the very pale man at the desk that Gilbert was talking to. Frankly, he had not the foggiest clue what they were saying, but it didn't really matter... considering he was shortly being dragged off once more, this time up some stairs.

"Gde doma?" he asked, knowing that this was home, but not knowing where that was. He gently grabbed a hold of Gilbert's wrist so as not to get lost. "Nye znayu..." He was going to be saying that an awful lot, he just knew it.

(( "You're a bodark?" "Where's home?" "I don't know." ))

"No, i am no bodark -- i am a cousin. A ...wolf man. Werewolf, as it were," said Gilbert, looking back at him and almost, but not quite, smiling in amusement. New people were always fun. Especially the explaining part. It made him look smart and he got to talk and seem important in their eyes.

"Ah -- you see, my home is also my other place of work. It is an Inn for those traveling or, like you, new arrivals to Mythos. . . Which is, obviously, this town. And your new home," he explained as he took him higher and higher, finally stopping and opening a door to what looked like a bedroom and office mixed into one -- with the fire already roaring and a steaming plate of food ready for devouring. Oh yes, Gilbert's services were the finest in town, and it showed.

"Wolf man... werewolf..." Ivan repeated. There was a type of werewolf from his home that was not a bodark... but he could never remember its name and it was not like Gilbert. That breed had to wander from place to place as a penance for angering a devil. It was not corrupt... or stable enough to stay in a place such as this. He and Gilbert still had kinship it seemed... nearly the same yet so very different. He had no clue how his new friend was cursed or how it functioned? Would he age slowly but still die? Could he be killed? These questions whirred around in his already confused head as they reached the third floor where a door was opened for the younger creature.

"Mythos..." Ivan tried the name out in his mouth, trying to match Gilbert's accent. It felt so weird and gross, like he was trying to shove his own tongue back at a funny angle. He didn't like it at all. So, this was... a home for monsters?

Suddenly the smell of raw meat hit his nostrils and he ran for it. The large bodark skidded to a stop right before the table and could barely contain himself as he shoveled the poor meal down his throat... not even knowing what creature had died for his pleasure.