The perfume is familiar.
He stalks through the woods of his childhood home, finding them polluted. Lips curl upwards into an annoyed snarl; where is his sister, his matriarch, his supposed keeper? Tail wavers behind the Elysius beast, boldly invading the territory. Perhaps Artemis will reprimand him, perhaps she will tattle upon his manners, but the yearling hardly cares. This is his as much as it is hers; these woods belong to their family. Cruel gaze notes the appearance of his favorite tree as a child, snorting as he finds it polluted.
He takes it upon himself to mark it, to eradicate any hint of stranger and peasant that may linger. It is clear that his dear sister has abandoned this place much as he has, and in their absence the plebs have taken it upon themselves to invade the lands. No more! When he has finished his leg returns to the ground, the boy continuing his invasion of the territory.

Having not found himself greeted with celebration and grandeur, he decides to greet the Queen. He barks obnoxiously, giving little consideration to the face that it is far after sunset and long before dawn. What will Artemis do? Disown him when she already clearly has an infestation? She needs allies now more than ever.

In spite of her exhaustion, her senses remain acute -- triangular ears careening forth with the unfamiliar guttural summons that pollutes the silent atmosphere of her newly reclaimed domain, evidently lingering within the premises of the Elysium realm. Abruptly she stirs -- the queen from her crypt -- robust appendages carrying her with ample elegance in the direction from whence the beckon erupted, mismatched gaze narrowed with contempt at the prospect of invaders -- invaders she must annihilate if she is to start her reign with a firm and callous hand. Upper lip unfurls over gluttonous incisors ( retaining their sinful carmine taint from her latest conquest ) out of raw aggravation as she attempts to position herself downwind from whichever daring soul had encroached upon her territory, defenses instinctively slipping into place as the silhouetted form of her first intruder manifests upon the horizon. The phantom is silent ( and disconcertingly so ) as she devours the distance separating predator from prey, footfalls carefully concealed as she attempts to approach without detection -- the obscure assailant, eager to admonish those who offer her their disrespect. And yet, as the battered wraith draws nearer and nearer to the invader, the familiar aroma of family grows prominent as it encompasses her senses, and her brows knit together in a brief display of confusion; was this Codeine, the littermate that had ABANDONED her alongside Ares? Trepidation seeps into her interior and yet her exterior portrays none of the ramifications of uncertainty, defenses still secured as she approaches the brute with an aura of unwavering confidence, amethyst and silver gaze fixated upon his dainty physique with evident intrigue. ?You are an Elysius,? she states indifferently, announcing her presence as she emerges from the mists that perpetually encumber their forest, maneuvering into his proximities with ease. ?-- My brother. Vicodin,? the phantom assures herself as her pupils ravage the design adorning his coat -- that of which her littermates lack and thus it must be a half-sibling she has encountered: the only one left to reunite with. ?I see you?ve made yourself at home,? a smirk chisels her marred countenance as she looks to the tree he has lavished in his own scent, undeterred by his pretentious mannerisms -- this is their home. ?Do you intend to stay??

She comes, a familiar sort of wench. She doesn't much look like the wench who had come baring the news of their mother's death upon her back; she looks stronger, empowered. HIs tail twitches behind him, bloodied gaze settling upon the frame of the Queen. She states the obvious; she ought to know him, grown or not. His figure stands dominant, but respectful. He's not dominant over her, but everyone else. She is the matriarch, after all, and he feels little need or want to defy the familial sense of loyalty within his veins that demands he play nice and obey.
Her question comes, if he is in fact staying. HIs cranium nods his acceptance of a position within the pack. "I want a rank," he demands so boldly. HIs tail lashes behind him, claws delving into the earthy soil beneath. "A good one," he says. He can be of much use if his dear sister will let him; if not it is her loss, and her loss alone.

His demands are met with a simper, amusement laden upon her porcelain countenance as she quirks a brow curiously at him, pupils briefly surveying the contours of his diminutive physique in a silent assessment. He is not lack of compacted musculature, and although he has been absent from the Elysius hoard for seasons now, the potential he harbors is evident to a keen eye. Although it is tempting to give in to his desires and aspirations { her family is her kryptonite, after all }, her mindset is firm, indisputable -- those of her blood are not entitled to the prestige high titles offer; they all must bleed for GLORY. ?Then work for it,?is the bedeviled croon that weaves from velvet lips, the grin ever-stagnant upon her countenance. ?If you crave a title, find Cerberus -- fight him. Win, and you will be rewarded.?

She tells him to work for it, to fight his littermate. Dutifully his head bows, accepting his sister's terms. He will easily defeat Ceberus, and he will claim his position within this pack well. Tail lashes behind the boy as he considers his elder sister for a moment longer. "I accept," he states, turning around on the ivory woman and heading towards the bowels of their home. He's curious how the filt h have changed it, and what he can do to restore it to the glory of his childhood. Perhaps utilizing his scent on a tree or two would do nicely. -exit-

And the reunion between kin adjourns almost as abruptly as it had assembled, amusement manifesting upon her porcelain countenance as her haughty half-sibling offers her a single sentiment of acceptance, diligence obvious in the unyielding quality of his speech. Her interest, however, is mildly piqued by the prospect of her brothers? battle; she had once witnessed a pitiful display from the fiendish Cerberus, and the phantom cannot help but wonder if he had sought to hone his battle prowess between his defeat and now. Avid pupils remain fixated upon Vicodin?s willowy physique as he retreats from her proximities and is devoured by the mists encumbering their realm, a faint chortle streaming from frayed lips as she gives incredulous shake to her skull before slipping through the underbrush to resume her queenly obligations. --- exeunt artemis