my best self

The soft clink of claws on stone alerted him to the approach of something big. Armando swallowed hard and nervously smoothed down his chest fur. It wasn't everyday he planned on being forthcoming so this wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to. He was going to put himself - his real self - on the line and that was far scarier than any persona he'd ever put forward. With personas he could wear or not wear them like one of his many hats. If someone didn't like one, well, that was no skin off his nose because it was ultimately something that could be discarded. His real traits and talents, however, were not so easy to get rid of. A rejection of them was far more personal.

As a large wolf came into view Armando took off his fedora and held the brim of it in his paws. Holding it would give his nervous paws something to do. "I did, yes, and thank you for answering; I realize this is quite unconventional. My name is Armando Rosso and I am here to discuss business with you. As we both know, wolves are the driving force in these lands and if, say, an ambitious sort of another species wishes to do any real business at all, he or she would benefit from partnering with a pack who shares his or her ideals."

"I've heard," he said delicately, trying to avoid any and all mentions of subterfuge or trickery lest he misspeak. "That this pack of all Boreas has to offer, might be the closest to sharing my ideals. You see," he said as he reached into the bag at his side, "When one is my size he must wear many hats and be ready and able to mold himself to whatever situation he finds himself in." As he spoke he studied Eligos, trying to gauge his reaction. "I have found that predators in particular pay me no mind unless I draw attention to myself." From the bag he pulled out three strips of fabric. They were from his hats, but the items themselves weren't important. The scent on them was. Each smelled like the pack or band he'd been in. One for Hjarrandi, one for Abaven, and one for Ashen Armada. He'd been in them all and survived. Now, that in and of itself could mean anything. It was possible he'd just stepped inside, talked to no one or nothing, and just rubbed the fabric somewhere heavily scented, but even if that were true - and it wasn't - what did that say about what he could do? The possibilities were as limitless as the imagination considering them. "Does your pack have use for someone such as myself?"