blatant disregard [grey]

[Mauller]

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[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/b4jhuv.png] MONSTER. The pavement of the abandoned road was still warm to the touch, the asphalt retaining the heat from the long hours of baking in the sun. There was a chorus of crickets emanating from the acres on either side of the state route, and every now and then there was a soft pop as a pocket of hot air escaped from beneath the crumbling road. The moon played peek-a-boo behind the black clouds, its rays dappling the desolate landscape. There was a slight breeze, rustling the grasses, and tangling with the hot air above the pavement in an invisible dance. It was relatively quiet. Not in the aspect of noise, for little could be heard over the din of the crickets, but for the fact that there seemed to be a lack of activity. It gave one an eerie feeling, and incited the feeling of being watched. MONSTER. Amid the orchestra of natural sounds came a yellow note. The sound of claws clicking against a hard surface. From the shadow of a cloud emerged a demon in his own right. The dog had the frame of a dutch shepherd, his harks triangular and his chest strong, but he appeared terribly disfigured. His front legs were nothing but scar tissue, bits of brindled fur sticking out here and there, and a few wounds still oozing infection. Around his neck was fastened a black spiked collar, the sharpened points of the metal spikes gleaming in the light. The leather band of the collar partially covered a particularly nasty scar across his jugular. His face was marked in every conceivable direction, scars crisscrossing his muzzle and one leading up between his eyes. To say his ears were torn up would be a gross understatement. They were ripped, shredded, and punctured to the point that they could never fully heal. His pelt, what was left of it, was a brown brindle color with tan brindle on his underside. But, in keeping with his frontal anatomy, it was mangled and destroyed with scars. It was a wonder this dog had even survived long enough to bear all these badges. MONSTER. Moving down the road, the dog let his burnt umber gaze scan the terrain. He walked with a placid gate, seeming almost to glide from one step into the next, his tail hanging in sickle shape behind him. His muzzle lifted slightly, muscles tensing as he turned and made for another shadow. He all but disappeared once out of sight of the moon, and seemed rather comfortable with it. But winds in the heavens moved his cover, and he was forced back into the full glare of the moonlight. Giving over his game the dog quickened his pace to a swift trot, gaiting down the road at a good clip. He knew full well that this was pack land. He had scented the markings at the border, and had whiffed more than a few dogs who resided here. But he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, this was just as good a place as any for a midnight stroll. If a pack member, or two, were to find him, so be it. He could use some more pain. His muzzle split into a wicked grin at the thought.

[GREYtheFLAILER]

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[atrb=background,http://i34.tinypic.com/nwd7p1.jpg] Duke The secret side of me, I never let you see, I keep it caged but I can't control it. So stay away from me, the beast is ugly, I feel the rage and I just can't hold it... .xXx. Focus. It was something that not many were aware of, let alone even attempted to master. Duke however, had learned long ago it was needed, when trying to succeed at anything. If you did not focus; did not put your attention towards the goal, it was likely one would falter, soon ending in failure. And failure was definitely something that the large Doberman did not welcome. In fact, he discouraged it greatly. Those who failed were useless. Idiotic. Completely and utterly pathetic. These were the things Duke thought of, as he stared down at the horrifically mangled corpse below him. The rabbit hadn’t had a chance, not that it ever had, and had been plucked up from the ground easily, falling into the grips of death just moments after. Duke had shaken the rodent senseless, breaking its neck with an unforgiving crack, before dropping the limp body to the ground with a thud. He’d watched the animal’s eyes glaze over with the sure sign of death, as if completely interested; in awe by watching the animal’s life slowly flow away from him. Duke was unmoved though, by the simple display of death. Such a completely over exaggerated thing didn’t leave him bothered or fidgety, let alone even guilty. Monstrous? Possibly. Swiftly, Duke trotted along the side of the hard road, head aligned perfectly with his shoulders as he did so; his shoulders moving in unison with each and every stride forwards. Such a stance was natural to him, though that wasn’t the main reason Duke held himself in such a position. The Doberman had been raised to think about the fight. Constantly preparing; constantly waiting. As if it would happen at any given second, and every minute passing was simply building up to it. The way Duke held himself blocked off any access to his throat, unless the dog dived incredibly low, or was small enough to have a fair fight with a rabbit. Then again, any dogs that size Duke wouldn’t waste his breath on. He’d simply make a meal out of the little rat. It was a simply enough theory. He walked onwards, ears erect and listening; swivelling to catch the faintest of noises. The sound of crickets blended together, creating a close to ongoing and drawn out chirping sensation; one in which Duke didn’t take much care to pay attention to. He tried to dig deeper, to identify the sounds around and within the mass of the crickets. And it worked well for him, usually. The Doberman looked behind him briefly to see the mangled and twisted rabbit corpse still lying on the road, simply a little mound near the side of the cracked concrete. A little satisfied smirk crept across his features, before vanishing. Click. Click. Click. Click. Duke’s ears immediately perked forwards, and the Doberman’s entire body went rigid, pausing in mid-step. Paw steps, coming closer. The Doberman inhaled, keeping his head in the lowered position. He inhaled slowly, chest expanding with the movement. And all in that moment, Duke’s eyes narrowed into menacing slits. Little trespassing fucker. Duke thought irritably, clearly sensing a strange male was on his territory. Immediately he walked forwards, legs propelling him closer towards his target in more intense, urgent strides. The Doberman couldn’t help his coldness towards males; his completely merciless attitude. It was what happened when you’d been ripping the life from them, your entire life. Duke didn’t speed up past a walk, due to not wanting to seem incredibly alarmed or itching for a fight, like her currently was. It’d been far too long since Duke had felt the familiar victory of watching a canine die at your feet; hearing its wheezing breath, as it died slowly. Painfully. It was then, as Duke rounded a corner, he saw the trespasser. And immediately, Duke could see he was not one most normal canines would try to start a brawl with. It was a damn good thing he wasn’t normal. The Doberman walked forwards, a low and throaty growl growing in his throat, before leaking through to escape Duke, as he approached the brute. He paused several feet from the stranger, taking in his appearance. Duke’s muscles tensed as he waited for a reaction to his appearance, the ongoing growl rough and warning, in the night air. His own pelt was scarred and imperfect, as most called it, and it was not hard to see the visible ridges of his sleek coat on every part of his body, collecting mostly around his throat and chest. Duke’s head stayed lowered, though his stance was dominant, one that said “You’re not needed here. Get lost,” or something along those lines. Duke was simply warning the brute, resisting the urge to leap forwards at the very site of the stranger. “State your business here, trespasser.” Duke spoke foully, his voice filled with the venom of hatred and complete and utter disrespect. Oh, how he hated males. Duke let his eyes roam over the dogs frame again, taking in the small details, as if expecting to be put up against the brute before him. His eyes landed on the spiked collar, lingering there, before trailing up to rest on the stranger’s face, once more. That could be a problem. However, Collars, even studded like the one before him, didn’t protect the entire throat. There was always exposed areas. Weak spots. Everyone had them. And if it came down to a fight, Duke intended to find the male’s before him. I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin, I must confess that I feel like a monster. I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun, I must confess that I feel like a monster... Words: 1, 022 Muse: Kind of amazing, currently. Muse: And his hatred for the male species shines through. xP Hope it's alright, hehe.

[Mauller]

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[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/b4jhuv.png] MONSTER. He had to say, a pissed off doberman pinscher was the last thing he expected to see. Even so, he was somewhat offended that the dog was indeed pissed off, at him, nonetheless. He scoffed at the male's aggressive display, though tensing in preparation for an attack he knew would be inevitable. Though he understood that dog's body language was telling him to 'gtfo', he found that he simply could not resist a tease. "Is that how you greet all prospective members?" He spat, as though in disgust. The dutch shepherd shook his head in disappointment. "I was hoping for a nicer pack to join. But there always is the Skeleton..." A wicked grin split his maw as he chuckled inwardly. He might literally get his head bitten off for this, but he was the crazy kind of dog who just didn't give a fuck. Even worse: he wanted to start a fight. MONSTER. With a bored yawn, the shepherd glanced around himself, but always kept the dog in his peripheral vision. In his mind he pictured what would happen if they did get into a fight. He imagined that the doberman would make the first move, since Dante was content to sit and taunt until it happened, and wondered if he would try a direct rush and then a feint to one side like Salty had, or if he would carry through with the rush. He hoped it was the latter, for one his favorite things to do was to fight chest-to-chest with another dog. Blood would spray and there was no way that one of them would walk away even relatively unscathed. Dante was aware that even though he wore a spiked collar, it didn't protect his entire throat. He'd have to wear a cone to do that. And even then it was still open a bit on the bottom where an adept fighter could snake their jaws and deal some damage. He was proud, however, that he had been clever enough to wear the thing. It meant that, while he wasn't invincible, it was still extremely difficult to get as his throat. Especially if he jerked his head suddenly to place the attacker's maw over the spikes. Which he was prone to doing on a second's notice. MONSTER. Tired of monologuing in his mind, the dog stiffened his body. What had transpired in his thoughts had taken only a few heartbeats, and he returned to the current situation with a smug grin. "You know, the last... mongrel, I fought ended up a bloody heap. She was infected so I suppose she didn't really mind." He scuffed the ground with a paw, gaze locking onto the male before him. He gauged the distance to be just far enough that if the male decided to attack he'd have to charge before being able to deal any damage. "It was weird, though." Dante continued, as though talking to a friend about something casual. "I don't remember the fight. I only know what she told me." He let out a sigh of false frustration. "I did help her afterward. Made sure she got to the grove so she could have water and shade." Why was he telling this stranger about his past encounter? He shrugged mentally, and opened his mouth to begin the story about how he teased Hayley in the Ghost Town.

[GREYtheFLAILER]

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[atrb=background,http://i34.tinypic.com/nwd7p1.jpg] Duke The secret side of me, I never let you see, I keep it caged but I can't control it. So stay away from me, the beast is ugly, I feel the rage and I just can't hold it... .xXx. As Duke observed the brute before him, he noted the completely... offended expression that crossed his features, at the Doberman’s seemingly aggressive actions. This small little tidbit of information caused a small smirk to spread across Duke’s features, only before the stranger spoke. The words reached Duke’s ears in a very taunting tone of voice, as if wanting to prod him into getting annoyed. The Doberman snorted, the sound on like such of an annoyed stallion; harsh and powerful; annoyed. The Doberman shook his head momentarily; his eyes sliding back to make contact with the mutt’s before him. “You shouldn’t have come here looking for nice, in the first place.” Duke spat, his tone once again containing the venomous sound of hatred; complete and utter disrespect. “-Because you’re certainly not going to find it within these lands. My lands.” Duke spoke slowly, his deep voice lingering in the silence as he watched the brute before him. Duke let his eyes run over his muscled frame quickly; as if not wanting to hesitate too long, nor go too quickly. Long enough to gather details, but not too lengthily as to seem incredibly interested. Duke lowered his head to sniff briefly at the ground, his muzzle grazing the pavement barely, lifting the scents of various things; the male before him definitely being dominant, over the fading scents of prey and other pack members. Duke’s eyes never left the stranger before him, as he moved forwards, taking a slow step towards the brute. As if he was preparing for a fight; initiating one, even. The Doberman held his position, though. Control was needed, when in Duke’s position as alpha. At that moment, the trespasser spoke once more, causing Duke’s ears to swivel in his direction, only before flickering backwards in slight annoyance. "I try my best to restrain from harming females, personally.” Duke said before continuing, a new, dark grin spreading forth from his previous expression. “I find they can be used for... other things.” At his words, a small chuckle escaped Duke, before he calmed himself. The brute wasn’t a hundred percent sure why he’d told this brute such things, but he guessed it was because they seemed alike, in a few ways. Maybe this brute would understand the simply pleasure that was a female. The thought almost caused another smirk to slither onto Duke’s expression. Almost. It was at that moment the brute spoke again, catching Duke’s attention. It wasn’t so much his words, but the way they were spoken. Not a note of taunt or mockery entered his voice, as he spoke. Nor was aggression there. Duke listened intently, nodding to the slightest, to show he’d heard. “It is good, indeed, that you helped her afterwards... Though, you don’t remember the fight? To the slightest?” The Doberman asked, slight confusion entering his expression, as he raised a brow. Personally, Duke couldn’t relate to such things. He remembered his fights like a child remembered their mother’s face. It was a constant memory, entering Duke’s mind since the second he closed his eyes, until he came out of slumber. Every memorable fight was relived each and every night in the form of dreams; the very power and determination Duke had felt during a fight. The complete intensity and excitement of it all simply thrilled him. Most would be afraid of seeing such completely wrong things. Duke however, enjoyed it. He flourished in the simple, pleasurable images. Murder was something he was very fond of, indeed. Duke thought briefly then about reclining into a sitting position, but cursed himself mentally for such thoughts. As much as he felt like he knew this brute, he was still male. Still completely disgusting. Still an enemy. “I still think about the escape I made, two seasons ago, from the grasp of humans. Seeing a dog perish at your feet is one thing; but watching a human fall down before you, bloodied and broken... That’s another pleasure all together.” Duke spoke slowly, as if reliving the very event mentally. His small smirk returned, as he looked towards the male before him. There was something about him that was... Familiar. Duke knew he had never met the brute, but there was some trait he held that Duke recognized; that he understood. The brute thought it could possibly be the relentless air about him, or the way he described fighting without a hint of emotion, Amusement, if anything. This, Duke knew existed in himself, and was now vitally aware of the fact that this stranger could very well get along with Duke. The Doberman’s ears flattened at the very idea, but Duke immediately erected them once more, speaking. “My name is Duke. And as much as I despise saying such things-“ He spoke in his deep, masculine voice, before continuing. “-I fear we may get along.” I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin, I must confess that I feel like a monster. I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun, I must confess that I feel like a monster... Words: 910 Muse: Bad. e.e Down the tiolet, bad. Dx Notes: My muse may be suffering... But Duke admitted to possibly getting along with Dante. Lmao, this is amusing me. xD

[Mauller]

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[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/b4jhuv.png] MONSTER. Other things? The thought baffled Dante. What other things could a female be used for? Digging holes, maybe. Or talking to. But males could be used just the same. What was the doberman getting at? "What do you mean, other things?" He mimicked the male's tone of voice, unsure of how to put the correct emphasis on the words otherwise. His harks pricked as he eagerly awaited a r NOT FINISHED