Laughter echoed around them. It seemed to come from everywhere, Iktomi being unable to pinpoint an exact location for the source.
"My dear," the voice said amid the still reverberating chuckles, young in tone but aged in the way it spoke. "I've no desire for human flesh. Too tough and chewy. Now," a man emerged from the air to Iktomi's left, and the wolf turned calmly toward him. "Blood, on the other hand," the stranger licked the tip of his pale index finger, "is always optional. I'd not turn it down." Now in the open, the intruder's voice no longer echoed.
Iktomi felt like he should know this being, but the memory was lost him. It was like trying to remember a distant dream: the harder he tried to grasp it, the further it danced away from him.
The man--or at least he looked human in appearance; his demonic-like scent told the mischief spirit otherwise--stood at a good 5'6". His features were almost feminine, styled hair pale as snow, as though drained of color, curling at the ends by his shoulders and framing his face. To aid in his dainty appearance, he had a slim build, though through Iktomi's trained eyes the wolf could see he boasted a lot of magical talent. Bright blue eyes, like starfire, gazed out of unnaturally pale skin, the pupils slitted like a cat's. There was a gleam of mad apathy in them.
"It's a good thing the girl's here, then," Iktomi finally said after getting a full look at the stranger. "I'm a mangy, starving, disease-ridden wolf. My blood wouldn't taste very good."
"Hm, yes. It would appear so. But do not think me rude for saying that it isn't one of your best works, Iktomi."
Ah. So he did know this person. Or at least the person knew him. He continued to grin his wolfish grin, though.
"Why, don't tell me you've forgotten who I am?" The man feigned a look of hurt, black lips puckering a little. "It has only been, what, some few thousand years? Though last I saw you, you were with a young mortal boy."
"I'm afraid I have forgotten," Iktomi said. His eyes passed over the stranger's garb, a white material so tight and matching his skin it was as if he wore nothing at all, though there were black jagged black patterns snaking along the left side. "Good to know that I am so memorable to others, though. Even after thousands of years."
In all truth, his lack of recognition made sense now. Being an immortal creature, it become necessary to shed his memories every so often, which he did in a secluded, hidden area known only to him. He must have met this person back before his last shedding. "Is there something you wanted, man-of-tight-white-clothes? Or can I call you Tighty Whitey?"
"Ah, Iktomi. Always with the deriding witticisms." A strand of white hair was flicked carelessly out of the man's face by a pale hand. "As I've told you before, my name is Kabaliwan. And I am here," he put a hand to his chin and stared at Iktomi, smiling impishly, "to settle a debt that you owe me. I've been searching for you for many, many years, but you've eluded me until now. Quite the slippery little spirit, aren't you?" He flourished his arm outward, sweeping the air in front of him. "But here you are, finally."
"Yes. Here I am. Good job in finding me. What exactly is this boon you speak of?"
"You and your pesky forgetfulness." Kabaliwan's eyes traveled over to Asahrai, glinting. "New partner?"
