B R U T U S
The Dancing Fool
I'm a falling stone in a world of glass,
I'm a ticking bomb with a smiling mask.
Out of the woodworks was as close to literal as it could get for Brutus. He came from the trees, from within hollowed logs, at the sound of a second call he thought he might actually heed. The Jester had been hiding away, though not in the sneaking, skulking sense. He had simply avoided most of the pack business throughout the power struggle. Even after all of these years, Brutus did not find his heart in the pit of a pack and when Sulan took over, he wandered. While it was truth that Dusk had been a daughter of Bahamut, Brutus did not know her and she did not know him as the old Dragon King had.
Weylin was a king that Brutus knew and who tolerated him, even if only for old time's sake.
He flopped his way over to the meeting of wolves, some not quite so familiar, and squeezed his way through much farther ahead of anyone else than was probably deemed appropriate. He pushed his way to Pan's side to grin at the battered Weylin with teeth and lolling tongue, twigs sticking out of the clumps of matted fur in his coat.
"There he is, the little Princling..." A pause, and then a correction. "Kingling... It was my turn to talk, wasn't it?" The question then directed at Pan. "Are we taking turns? There isn't a line, is there?"
(Short, but he's here!)