Afternoon Delight

[Mar]

Mar, being the Elite that he was, did manage to excercise a few freedoms when it came to his sleeping arrangements. Instead of the hard ground in the middle of the trees, he had allowed himself to doze on the softer ground near the edge of the forest. The loam mixed with sparse grass, offering an easier bed to those who chose it. Yet on the edge, the ground enjoyed the sunlight, unlike in the specified Sleeping Clearing. The beauceron mix was stretched out on his side, eyes half-closed under the bright morning light. His paws twitched every now and then when a curious fly chose to land on the dog. The area was quiet, serene, even. Yet the dog's own stillness was not to be confused with languidity. Mar was as still as dangerous as ever, and always on guard. Mar's ears twitched back and he sighed, causing the dust to blow away from his nostrils and the grass to shiver.

[Damian]

If Mar heard Damian approaching, than he failed to acknowledge it. Whether he did or not, the Anatolian was keeping his distance; not from fear or respect--To Mar?--but from a sort of habit that came with living on the streets for the first years of his life, primarily alone. It was not something Damian purposefully did; it was an act without conciously knowing it was being committed, and, quite frankly, Mar could take it as he liked. Thought poor little Damian was scared? Bah.

Damian was bored, and such an emotion was accumulating recently to the point of severe annoyance. Had he not joined for the thrill of power, of the dark, ever-lasting control? Was he the only one who joined the Death Stalkers for a reason? Maybe that was the answer to his attitude. He was bored with his common street-dog life; time to try something new. He expected something from this pack of hell, like every willing member did.

The truth was that the Death Stalkers didn't seem as great as the Free Dogs made it out to be.

He was one of the older dogs though, and one of the longest-lasting members. Maybe the boredom came with age.

To appease his free time, maybe the best possible way was to bother someone who enjoyed his time here. Figure out what he thought. See what Mar found so invigorating about the Death Stalkers' monotoneous routine. Actually caring about another dog's opinion made him growl: He really was bored.

"Hello, Mar," Damian barked, settling on the ground against a tree three yards across. "Enjoying the day?"

Oh, the sarcasm.

[Fritz]

Like the Anatolian had surmised, Mar did hear Damian coming and had not bother to show him that he knew he was there. The Elite was exceptionally good at pretending not to notice a certain something or somebody, and feigning ignorance till the moment suited him. Even if it was not for lethal purposes, he enjoyed surprising the troops every now and then with what he knew or did. It kept them on their toes, on edge, and wary, and, to Mar, that was one lesson he was good at teaching. As for Damian, well, Mar didn't care what the other dog did, so long as he did not bare fang to the Elite. The beauceron mix's ear flicked up when Damian spoke and he cracked an eye open, only to roll it at the question. Aren't you supposed to be out killing something? "What do you want, Damian?" he growled.

[Damian]

Damian's tail flicked. Good, good. He wasn't in a terribly bad mood today. Maybe he could keep his temper in place and the Mar-Almighty gig to a low so they could speak to each other formally, casually, killing dog to killing dog. Damian didn't waste the moments that arose in his life; this was included. He was a clever taker-of-life, craver of power, not a mindless killing machine to fit the standards.

Why, had that been Damian, what a waste. If his talk with Mar ended like that, then let the Hell where they came from strike them all: He would take over somewhere else.

"Well, now that you asked," he began, feigning the innocence of a rebellious pup, "I would like to have a little talk. No need to bear your teeth; I'm not threatening you for once." At this a smile touched his voice. How he lived to get on Mar's tight nerves.

"There might be someting I say against the Death Stalker quota," Damian continued, stretching his neck and clawing at a root. "But tell me, Mar: What was your reason for joining this little battalion we have here?"

[Mar]

Realizing that Damian would not be leaving any time soon, Mar pushed himself up into a sitting position. He shook the dust from his coat, yawned widely, and slowly stretched himself out, purposefully increasing the time between question and answer. The Elite sneezed, blowing the dirt from his nose. 'What could you do to threaten me?' Make a false move and Damian was his. Threaten an Elite, regardless of his name or reputation and you got the pack's teeth at your throat. If the Anatolian, the Elite-wannabe, thought it possible that he could stir Mar by word or fang, he still had far to go before he would ever be looked upon with honor by Raven's gaze. "That's a stupid question," Mar began. "Why would you want to know something like that, hm? And the quota? If there's some concern about the quota, Damian, you know we're always open to hear your concerns..." The beauceron mix watched the him coolly, having firm command over the situation. If Damian met his eye, then Mar would hold it until the lower-ranked dog looked away. After a moment of carefully weighing his words, Mar finally answered Damian. "I allied myself with Raven, not this battalion. My loyalties lie only with him and not the pack. I joined to serve our master -- and the same should be the answer of any true dog." A haughty answer, but one that rang with truth. Mar could care less what happened to the pack, so long as his duty to Raven was completed. And as an Elite, it was his duty to make sure the pack did not completely fall to pieces...

[Damian]

While Mar was stalling time, Damian was observing his paws and weighing down his options on what to do if the Elite felt insulted in some way. It seemed that anything set him off, like he was blatantly looking for a reason to show Damian his place and assert how powerful he was, regardless of the situation. Even now Damian was quite sure he had put Mar in a bad mood. Death Stalkers didn't sit down and chat happily away about the day. They had better things to do, and Mar was letting Damian know that his breath was wasted and any words were just as worthless to his great-Almighty ears. Well, too bad. Damian carelessly, languidly, didn't give whether or not Mar felt insulted or that he was being disrespectful. Damian just wasn't one to care.

When the Beauceron had begun, Damian gave him the benefit of perking his ears and listening like a mercenary on private business. He even stared straight into Mar's eyes, beyond his control, and the only thing seperating their gazes was Damian's blinking in thought and summing up Mar's brave answer. Internally snorting, Damian felt his sarcastic playfullness getting the better of him. A stupid question, eh? Then why would you answer, Sir Mar?

At one particular spot of his first answer, Damian let his internal scorn external, letting loose a laughing sort of cough and bark that would surely loose him his tail and next week's meals. "Oh, Mar, you take words like 'quota' too seriously sometimes, ya know? It's all lively banter. I will say that you're a straightforward liar, however, and to some extent it's admirable. We both know that any concerns any of these fleebags might have will never to be open to hear. Save yourself some air, 'cause I don't believe it."

To the second part, Damian disinterestedly replied, "Raven, battalion, it's all the same thing to me. You can keep your personal alliances with our dear King to yourself, I don't really care. I asked why, and dogs here seem to have a hard time giving a direct answer."

[Mar]

Mar rolled his eyes at Damian's reproach and gave his head a small shake. What the pack had fallen to these days. If the Anatolian was any show, the Death Stalkers were becoming all bark and no bite. Really, if one wanted to make a point, one had to prove it... as the dog might have noticed, idle words were not doing the job. Oh, and what's that about Damian losing his tail? Not likely, far too furry and not enough meat...

That dog was far too chatty for Mar's liking. And arrogant. Who said anything about him not being one of those fleabags, hm? As he recalled, Mar had specifically addressed Damian and his concerns, not the pack's.

Despite the needles the Anatolian was jabbing, Mar let them slide. He lowered his head a little from the sun, hooding his eyes and allowing a small smirk pass through them. The punk thought he was on top of the world, didn't he? Too bad he'd allowed himself to slip, and when you're up that high, the only way to go is down. Mar knew he had already won this crazy little battle, and Damian had given him the way out.

Mar lifted his brows and smiled, a genuine smile that was as slick as an oil spill. "And what does a young wet-behind-the-ears know about answers, hm? For all your gaff, you really are in no position to be asking questions. An Elite's business is his own; if it were important for the pack to know, they would know."

Mar let out a clipped laugh and let his words settle for a moment.

"Besides, you've already admitted that you don't trust what I say. What was that now, 'you're a straightforward liar,' wasn't it? So who's going to decide that whatever I'd tell you about my reasons is true? It's not gonna be me, and it sure as hell isn't gonna be you --" The Elite titled his head and glanced up at Damian, "Unless you want to admit you were wrong."

[Damian]

Damian was enjoying himself now. Most of the reason he had aligned so closely to Mar was because life in this death hole just wasn't fun without him around. To some extent they were complete and total opposites: Mar had is domineering know-your-place intimidation that complied with no mercy, and the Anatolian was content to saunter around, biding his time, making jokes and jabs until such was so enraged. It was all great fun. And Damian had the best weapon of them all, why he was so arrogant: because he didn't care what happened in the end. If Mar wanted to fight, well, then Damian would fight back. If Damian lost, oh well. Tough luck.

Mar was shaking his head, obviously exasperated. Damian's tail wagged. So he's annoyed with him, eh? Fun, fun. All the more reason to continue on with his questions--

Because deep down inside, so deep not even Mar would be able to find, Damian wanted his question answered. He still had no idea why any of these dogs would flock together. Mar claimed he did it for Raven's sake; but why would he choose such a thing? Damian wasn't proud, as the Elite believed him to be; the Anatolian knew of Mar's strength and intelligence. He could do so much more than lying around with the fleabags of the city. He could have taken over the city by now.

But back to reality.

To the first part of Mar's answer, Damian made a playful, mocking pout and rolled over on his back. Puppy-ish, feigned confusion. "Oh, Mar," he mockingly whinned. "And I was so sure we were friends. Your insults strike me hard, they really do. But as I recall," Damian rolled back into a cocky sitting position, "I'm older than you. So let's be careful who we call 'young', savvy? You also talk about what would be important for the pack, yet you claim earlier that you're alliance is purely to our Lord King Raven himself. Oh well, I'll figure it out in the end."

To the second part, Damian yawned and shrugged. "Just because you're a liar doesn't mean I'm not interested otherwise. I'm eager for answers, so tell me a story if you have to, it doesn't matter."

His last question only confused him, but Damian didn't feel the need to regard him. Damian? Damian the Viper, admit he was wrong? Hell, what was he wrong about?