it's exactly what you think. [p/whisper]

[Mauller]

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[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/b4jhuv.png] MONSTER. It seemed to him that the summer was lasting much longer than normal, the temperatures hotter and the shadow less abundant. He thought back to the fight he had with the infected wolf, Salty, in the desert. He remembered the intensity of the desert heat, and how the sun seemed to glare down upon his back until his fur felt as though it was melting away and his blood felt ready to boil. For a brief moment he wondered if blood could boil, and if it was like frostbite, but the opposite. He certainly hoped it was possible, for it would be good fun to watch a dog's blood boil over flame, but he sincerely hoped it would never happen to him. No big matter, he would just have to find shade to keep cool on these hot days. Which was the exact reason for him being here, on pier 10, staring up at the SS Trooper. MONSTER. Sure, he had seen boats before. Watched them in the distance on the sea as little more than dots on the horizon, and seen the wreckage of those unlucky souls who ran ashore. But he had never seen anything like this monstrous cruise-liner that towered above him. Surely he should have felt puny, small, even insignificant in its shadow. Yet he felt nothing. Nothing but an ache in his still-wounded leg and a weariness one only gets from over-exposure to the sun. Heat exhaustion, as it was called among the humans. The dutch shepherd's form hobbled up the walk and into the hull of the ship, disappearing before one could get a proper look at him. It was his custom, though not always intentionally, to appear and disappear quickly and quietly. He moved as though he walked among mouse traps, and perceived everything. But at the same time he had a very blase air, as though nothing really mattered. Save for the scabbed over but still oozing wound on his front right leg. Sadly, that wasn't even his worst deformity. MONSTER. As he moved down the hall, favoring his leg a bit to help keep the pain at bay, his body was illuminated in brief moments by the well-spaced lights that glowed dimly overhead. His hide was brindle, though there seemed to be more scar than hair. His front legs were nothing but scar tissue, his most recent trophy, a nasty tear to his right leg, was beginning to heal. The skin was stitching itself back together slowly, and protested when he moved. His ears were torn and tattered, hardly able to support themselves, his muzzle crisscrossed with scars, and part of his upper lip was missing. But as he paused in a ring of light to sniff at an interesting scent near a closed door, something shiny glinted. Fastened around his neck was a wide-leather spiked collar, the metal spikes sharpened and daring one to try their luck. However wide the leather of the collar may be, it could not hide a particularly nasty scar across his jugular which begged the question: how did he survive? Not much on the brute was the least bit inviting, though he certainly seemed like the type who had quite a bit of history. The shepherd moved off down the hall. MONSTER. There wasn't much of interest to him on this boat. Old human things. Smells of other dogs. The endless halls were like a maze, and he had to follow his own scent to make it back to the main room where he had entered. But it was cool, with a slight breeze (though it did smell like fish), and being in here was far better than boiling in the sun. Finding himself a nice quiet, and hidden, corner of the main entrance room, Dante carefully lowered himself to the carpeted floor. He would never fathom having a nap here, as it was far too easy for him to be taken by surprise by a dog with an ill-will, but simply laying here and listening to the waves was just as restful. Besides, the pain in his leg, though it had lessened exponentially in the second week of his bearing it, would allow him to travel no further. So, he was here to stay. For the time being, at least.