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ALmost done
All I really need to add is something about the growing resentment and independence in the split pack.
From today's work:
The town council walked down the courthouse stairs to meet the leader of the wildpack, Barbarossa, he remembered from other settlements. It was Barbarossa's territory here, everything in the Salina-Wichita-Topeka triangle. He'd seen the pack a few times, and never failed to be intrigued. Dylan knew the wildpacks were mostly gay and bisexual men, thrown out of settlements or unable to adjust to honest work. He looked at the sidewalk, well aware he was not keeping his eyes to himself and being very good. He wanted to be among men who wouldn't hate him for being himself. But he couldn't live like that. He couldn't even ride a motorcyle. Still, he looked back at Barbarossa, storing up fantasy fodder for the night when it would be just him in the dark.
Barbarossa was ridiculously tall, at least six-four or five, towering over everyone. The thick-soled boots added another couple inches, making him about the size of Darth Vader. If he'd been muscular, he would have loomed and intimidated. Instead, he was thin and lethal looking. A mask of black and gold leather spirals hugged his face, covering it. The mask made Dylan want to touch it, to see what lay under it. Even if the guy looked like the Phantom of the Opera, he'd still be hot, just from his sheer presence.
He walked like he owned the square, like the whole town was his. He seemed to give the leaders their proper respect, but when he turned to his men, he was in charge once more.
From today's work:
The town council walked down the courthouse stairs to meet the leader of the wildpack, Barbarossa, he remembered from other settlements. It was Barbarossa's territory here, everything in the Salina-Wichita-Topeka triangle. He'd seen the pack a few times, and never failed to be intrigued. Dylan knew the wildpacks were mostly gay and bisexual men, thrown out of settlements or unable to adjust to honest work. He looked at the sidewalk, well aware he was not keeping his eyes to himself and being very good. He wanted to be among men who wouldn't hate him for being himself. But he couldn't live like that. He couldn't even ride a motorcyle. Still, he looked back at Barbarossa, storing up fantasy fodder for the night when it would be just him in the dark.
Barbarossa was ridiculously tall, at least six-four or five, towering over everyone. The thick-soled boots added another couple inches, making him about the size of Darth Vader. If he'd been muscular, he would have loomed and intimidated. Instead, he was thin and lethal looking. A mask of black and gold leather spirals hugged his face, covering it. The mask made Dylan want to touch it, to see what lay under it. Even if the guy looked like the Phantom of the Opera, he'd still be hot, just from his sheer presence.
He walked like he owned the square, like the whole town was his. He seemed to give the leaders their proper respect, but when he turned to his men, he was in charge once more.