Searching

[Mar]

The night air was cold as winter still struggled to keep his place against the rising force of spring. The wind was light, but crisp, bearing on its shoulders the taste of a rain that had yet to fall. In a few hours time, the sun would rise to find the sky dark with clouds, as if offering a grim reminder of what trod in the true night. Mar was one of those terrors, one of the vile whispers that hunted when the ghosts were about. His claws clicked hollowly upon the broken pavement, in time with the rattle of the Junkyard fence. His black fur swayed with his pawsteps, off time only because of the wind's antics. The beacueron's nose was pressed to the ground, now up to catch the scent-messages in the wind. Ah, there it is. Dark hazel eyes lifted to take in the scene of the Junkyard, surveying the rusted turrets and rubber peaks that made up this tattered kingdom. A familiar kingdom, not only to Mar, the unchallenged king, but also to the subjects to had made it and to many more that had not. A feast for the rats and maggots made up the beauceron's peasantry; respected dogs of Raven's pack made up the high-standing nobility. Mar paced towards the back gate, alerted by the squeaking hinges that it was open. The Elite arched his head down to the ground first, reviewing the signs left by Free Dogs and Death Stalkers alike. Such a rich mixture this night... Then rising up on his hindlegs, Mar caught the top of the gate with his forepaws. Fenrir's scent, though faint, was still on the steel mesh. The gate swung open, emitting the false king into the once-was kingdom.

[Fenrir]

"Oh, Mar, I see you've learned to use some of my tricks." A sly bark could be heard from above as the black doors creaked open. It was Fenrir's velveted voice who had spoken, and perched between the shadow of an old fridge, her brown-red eyes could be seen gleaming; malice indescriptible. Yet she meant no threat to him; her words were not a challenge, as nor was her presence. Practically no sane dog in Raven's deadly pack would dare to challenge this unchallengeable king, second in command after the mighty Raven; and even though it was possible that Fenrir would've tried something sneaky, depending on the circumstances, she was no different from them now. Today she had just come to clean off after a Great Dane's "unfortunate accident", nothing else. Ahh... the pleasure of seeing another of her plans come true. Last week she had left this deadly trap; a small fridge, precariously balanced and ready to rain death on whoever was stupid enough to push the metal planks that were obstructing the famous gap in the fence. The trap had been a work of art by itself, and even though the Dobermann was satisfied with the results, she silently regretted that it hadn't been Mar. Because hell, she had changed since The Trial. Ever since she got her rank of Elite, she had been indirectly battling the Beauceron for his place as Raven's right paw. How she envied him; that lucky mutt. Yet she knew better than to challenge him directly, to confront him and tell him that with his mixed heritage he was not worthy of his position; oh no. And besides, that was simply not her style. She was no mindless, savage animal; that is what separated her from the rest of these terrors...

(( Mar's table looks even better on IF. Fenrir's looks too dark, however :/ -might end up making a new one, but doesn't even want to come near of Photoshop at the moment being- ))

[Mar]

Mar cocked a brow and glanced up, catching sight of Fenrir's lean silhouette perched atop of some discarded tower. The dog gave a low chuff and snort. Last time the two of them had been here, the dobermann had been under the wreckage and he surveying the scene. "And I see you're doing well, yourself," Mar replied. Let the girl think what she pleased and take a little pride in something that she hadn't earned. His tail swayed lightly, not out of happiness but as a simple token of recognition. He knew that Fenrir knew that she was not a threat to him. Even from her vantage point. The Elite picked his way through the junk, nimbly avoiding the jagged edges as he made his way toward Fenrir. He paused at the base of the fridge and sniffed at the blood stains. "You should be playing your games with worthy beasts, not silly house pets, Fenrir. Try bringing in a live dog every once in a while, won't you." Mar left the dead dog lie where the dobermann had felled him and jumped up beside Fenrir.

((Just lighten the text a little and it will be fine))

[Fenrir]

Fenrir smirked. That Mar, always lecturing everybody, acting as if he was some big deal; he always found a reason to complain about. The Dobermann would have found that perfectionist attitude fitting for a leader, but for one such as Raven; her reaction to these same words being said by the Great Leader would've been a feverish intention to improve. But since it was Mar... this mutt... this house pet, she didn't give a damn. It wasn't as if like Raven himself had appointed him this rank of second in command. The Great King had just made him Elite. The rest of the titles he seemed to have snatched on his own. There wasn't however, anyone there to complain, to stand up to him, just yet. Still the Dobermann wouldn't accept his authority; for the moments, she decided the wisest thing to do would be to pretend she did, but that just for as long it took her to dispose of this mixed breed. Of course, of course, she had too been a filthy house pet once. But she was just being trained... taking the best out of the two worlds, learning any techniques and gaining tools that she later could use for her own purposes. Besides, with her pure blood, Fenrir thought she just couldn't be compared to him; she was superior, even from the beginning. And look that he was even a mix of a breed similar to hers; Beauceron and Dobermann... always like brothers. What an insult. Yet, it wasn't as if she was going to tell him, head-on, what she thought of him. The Beauceron had a mind not to be underestimated; according to Fenrir, a diminutive mind and fangs that shouldn't be underestimated. She better was careful... for now. Fenrir smirked at his words, "It's true. The pack could use some new members." She knew what most likely was going to happen next. The ill-tempered Beauceron would probably come at her with fangs bared next, and start yapping more nonsense. And she better stayed low through all of that, she better kept her mouth shut. She better waited until he turned his back on her, before to strike. But the poisonous snake wouldn't reveal its fangs this night. First, Fenrir had to either instigate or wait for a situation to have Mar's life threatened, to force him show his true power, and then she would start building up a plan to clear him out of the way. To prove him and herself, that only a purebred could deserve to be second in command. Redirecting her attention back at the fridge and the bloodstains, she began digging in the soft earth, just enough so the fridge would fall to a side and reveal the state of her prey. Once the hole was deep enough for her judgment, she simply backed off and watched as the broken machine toppled to a side. Fenrir did not flinch at the horrible smell of flesh in decomposition that surged once that the fridge had been removed; she was used to it now. After all, she was a Death Stalker.

[Mar]

Mar watched the Dobermann impassively. He could sense her emotions, could feel her thoughts, in a way. He knew that she loathed him, knew that she hated his very presence, and reveled in the fact that she saw him as a threat. He knew far more than she would recognize and far more than he would ever admit. It would terrify the bitch if she knew. And the Beauceron mix took pleasure in that fact. Fenrir thought she was playing him, toying with him to allow her to find and exploit the weaknesses he would show. Thought she had the upperhand or would soon be gaining it. The poor girl had no idea. Mar had lived on the streets all his life, and despite the Dobermann's training, knew far more than she ever would. Sure, she was clever and quick both in mind and tooth, but that did not make up for the lessons that the street gave out only to the moldable. She did not truly understand patience or how to use a dog's body and mind against itself. Traps were good when the environment provided them, but what good were they in the openness of a bare alley or broad plain? He gave a small grunt at her jab, nodding his head at the truth in her words. "The pack as been slowing down lately. I think it's high time to beat them into shape again." Mar's dark eyes followed Fenrir down to the bottom of the hill. "Do you know what I mean?" He could not remember if she had been around long enough to experience the Trial that each dog had to face. A huge pack fight that decimated the weaker dogs and proved the abilities of the strongest. In the Trials, there were no room for traps, only sharp thinking and brawn were allowed on the field.

[Fenrir]

Fenrir looked at the corpse of the Great Dane. Hm, it wasn't yet in the point where she would be able to just take the skull back home. It would need some more time. She turned towards the small fridge, and brushed her head and neck against it, so if some intelligent Death Stalker decided to come and claim her victim as their own, they would know with whom they would be messing with. They would gain a new enemy, and Fenrir, a new 'subject' for her wicked experiments. Indeed, it would terrify her if she knew. She would probably die of a heart attack, or something, and Mar would be known as the Kira of the canine world. Rumors would spread about like wildfire, rumors of how he had not only killed a human before, but how he could now murder with psychic powers and stuff; then Raven would probably kill him, because he would probably be rather pissed off with the whole thing by then. And so, Fenrir, watching the whole thing from Heaven, Hell, Mu, or whatever place evil dogs went to when they died, would smile victorious. But before that could happen, Fenrir would continue with her little game, believing her own lies as she accustomed to do. Right after she finished rubbing her scent into that fridge, like leaving a sign that to other dogs would say something like "my dead mutt. Find your own or risk a slow, painful death. -- Love, Fenrir" right next to it, she turned towards Mar. Hm? She just remembered Mr. Second in Command hadn't come show her how perfectly not white his fangs were. Maybe he was in a fairly good mood today? "No Mar, I don't fully comprehend what you mean." She said simply, shaking her head once and then placing these large eyes, classical of young individuals on the fake king. "Is the whole pack going to be put a trial like the one that was given to me?" That trial. I still remember your face, you big oaf! You were all like "oh god, I'm so glad they didn't have these kind of trials when I was your age". A pack-wide trial would be good, to see how powerful and god-like you really are! Yes, she still wanted to rip him apart; but her current tone and posture betrayed none of that; the poisoned daggers and horrible deaths were confined to her mind.