Move Over, Boomer!

Ares had been getting shit done since he returned home. He felt he had a responsibility to the pack and was high time he grew up (figuratively speaking) and maybe shoot for something more than what he had. Both Saxe and Imperialis blood ran through him, after all. And what better way to show his commitment than to challenge for a higher rank? He'd been working hard since he came back, after all. And while he was out there dicking around, getting laid, fucking shit up, and irritating strangers and packs alike, he had learned a thing or two. He had gotten much better at fighting, and even thinking as a real warrior would. Sure he seemed like nothing more than an empty-headed jock, but behind his lackadaisical and jokester attitude, was a tactician with a knack for analyzing situations and a critical eye. He had learned to barter. He had learned political shit (though that was definitely one of his least favorite subjects), and above all, he had learned how to read his enemies.

Surely that would all count for something, right? Well, he supposed he wouldn't know until he found out.

Heading to the barn, he stopped in front of the doors before throwing back his head to call for Tyrian. His howl made his intentions clear. He wanted to challenge for higher rank.