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Post by Noodle! on Jul 23, 2008 18:59:56 GMT -5
"...The Life Has Been Siphoned Right Out of My Veins." Dull, glass-like; particular adjectives to describe the dead doe’s eyes. She stared blankly into the forest as her body sagged, mind already shutting down, but her body still twitching in some desperate cling to what was left of her life. Deer were strange like that, they always had to but that last leap in before they finally gave into death. He is sweet, Death, he takes away all your pain and fear. In this case, the specific fear of the doe was a champagne coated dog. Against the earth-tones of the forest she was as spectacularly colored as some bird of paradise. Paradise… This may be the doe’s next stop.
Golden hues faded to milky white, creamy, and swirling on her chest and stomach brightly like wings that were stretching over both sides of her strongly built breast. Jagged peaks of that same color plunged up her neck and disappeared into the almost orange-cream of her coat again. Delicately colored lips and eyes were black like the mask of a thief as she watched her prey’s eyes slowly glaze and fade into nothing but simple, decorative marbles in the skull of a meal. Blue eyes glittered against their ebony frames as her massive cranium shook jerkily from side-to-side. Her lips were curled almost lovingly around the neck of the deer, blood spurting in sprays as she gasped and snorted. A steady stream of her own blood trickled down from behind her ear where the young deer had clipped her in surprise.
The doe had came down quiet easily for its attacker being only a solitary dog. Damacre had not eaten a kill as large as this in a long while. The city provided her with little more than rats and trash, the occasional cat coming into her diet. She tried to avoid those, however, for they tended to give her indigestion. Too much fur was never good for your stomach. The deer had stopped moving in her jaws, and she raised her neck as high as possible and attempted to drag it back to the pack’s territory. She stumbled once, releasing a loud snarl as she continued to fight in determination.
Damn thing is more of a hassle dead. She spat, releasing her prey only momentarily. Eyes burned into the form that lay before her, bubbles of spittle and blood forming at the sides of her jowls.
Huffing angrily, she sprawled her front legs and arched her back; being an unorthodox beauty for no one except the dead deer. Teeth glimmered with saliva as she grabbed the doe by the neck again, teeth sinking into the flesh and releasing a warm flow of blood again. She tugged again, feeling the sinews and threads of muscle that held the deer’s head on ripping like the soft cloth of a ragdoll. Flesh fell off like stuffing, landing in the glade with a crunch and a thud on the grass. She’d never get it out alone.
Damacre had considered going with Darthyn and the pack when they decided to hunt, but had decided against it and chosen the lone road. It wasn’t that she did not want pack interaction; in fact it was something quite different. She longed to be an important asset to the pack, not just another member that was ‘special in their own way’. Damacre wanted to prove to the leaders of the pack that she had what it took. That she was important, invaluable. Despite her insecurities, she was determined to impress that pack leader of her’s. He seemed to view her as strange, perhaps even a threat, as he stared and watched her very carefully every time they saw one another. All of the other females of the pack were out having pups, while Damacre was sitting back and watching the world go by.
She looked around, ashamed of her situation. She could not leave the deer here alone to get help, nor would she really ask for help if she was given the chance. She was too proud to ask, to beg, to be needy. She lowered her head to the ground again, stub tail raised above her in a dominant pose as she flooded the area with her scent. Pricked ears turned back and she watched the deer as if it may move any moment now.
Face it, she needed help. |
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Post by theunforgiven on Jul 25, 2008 21:53:35 GMT -5
Damon noticed the honey-coloured female from across the forest. She was struggling with a dead deer. Damon's mouth wattered at the sight of the delectable young doe. Every few minutes, the young now blood-covered animal would look up. It seemed like she was looking for someone to help her. Damon knew that her will was way too strong for her to ask someone. Otherwise she would have already left the deer and came back with the required assistance. Ordinarily, Damon would steer clear of another stray, especially under the circumstances but this time it was different. He had to get a piece of that deer! Damon thought it out a minute and finally gathered the courage to confront the mysterious female dog. Would you like some help? Damon raised his hidden self from behind the tall grass, still keeping his distance. He felt he might have caught her off gaurd...
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Post by Noodle! on Jul 25, 2008 22:27:35 GMT -5
Teeth lashed out like a shark, again and again, chomping down on the neck of the doe. Vertebra snapped between her powerful jaws like some walnut in a nutcracker. She slung her head violently, sending a fresh spray of blood everywhere, and finally the decapitation was complete. She dragged the head some distance away, sheltering it in an old rabbit's burrow. Kicking dirt with her back feet to hid its scent more she sulked back to her prey. It was at this time that she caught the scent of another dog. He was a male, intact, probably about her age. The champagne-colored hair stood up along her spine in a dark ridge like a native human’s mohawk. Horn like ears turned inwards as she lowered her head into the grasses, muscular shoulders only visible over the top of the green vegetation.
She then saw him, a Doberman, poised some distance away. His shining ebony coat caught the light in a dazzling display, mahogany lozenges setting off his deeply-set eyes. She snarled, pacing from side-to-side like some encaged animal; in fact, that was almost exactly what she was. Encased by her own fear, insecurities, and pain. Fighting with her heart and soul to move on and become something more than the ruthless killer she was bred to be. Disgusting humans, playing God, meddling with the fates of innocent pups like herself. Forming and molding them into something they elsewise would not naturally become.
I will take it home in pieces before I accept the help of anyone. Her words rolled forth from her open mouth in steady, sharp barks. She spat on the grass in front of her, poising herself defensively but not giving any signs of attack or advancement. |
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Post by theunforgiven on Jul 25, 2008 22:48:05 GMT -5
Damon knew that her harsh words came more from her own pride rather than directed toward himself. Ultimately, he proceeded forward, almost as if she had accepted his offer. Damon knew what heartache was, the pain of being shunned and left for dead! He could see right through her tough exterior into the very heart of the beast. He understood her position. They call me Damon. Will you atleast tell me your name? he inquired, still pacing toward her slowly. The tall grass brushed up against his face, hindquarters, and sides as he locked eyes with the beautiful honey-coloured stranger. Damon didn't want her to think he was arrogant, ignoring her wishes, but this time it was about more than just the deer. He clenched its throat between his large, powerful jaws and glanced over to the still nameless character, offering his strength in return for her acceptance...
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Post by Noodle! on Jul 25, 2008 23:04:05 GMT -5
Her voice started escalating into violent barks as she growled and snapped at him. Her strangely blue-colored eyes flared, the entirety of them exposed as she gave him a wide-eyed glare. Drop it! She snarled, bringing herself close enough to feel the body heat resonating from his sleek form. Her own bodice shook with controlled urges as she snarled, saliva dripping to the dirt. The heart in her chest pounded, threatening to do an overkill if she did not calm herself. She brought herself low to the ground, nearly crouching, but her hindquarters were raised in their obsessively dominant position. She continued snapping at the air as if there were invisible pests there, but never made contact with Damon’s skin.
Here lies the difference in aggression and violent nature. Damacre possesses an unnatural amount of aggression for a dog, becoming defensive with any and all she encounters. She’s protective of what is hers, and will defend it to whatever end may come. As far as physical attacks? She limits them to few or none. Attempting to erase the violent gene that is integrated in her body, Damacre is a Jekyll and Hyde all in one. Two pieces of the same dog fighting for different aspects of her personality. In the end who will prevail? That shall be revealed in time.
My name hold’s no significance here. Now drop it! |
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Post by theunforgiven on Jul 25, 2008 23:38:16 GMT -5
Damon quickly let go of the deer and retreated, completely unaware of what he had done wrong. Her threatening snarls had surprised him, and left him dumbfounded. I don't want your damn deer! I just wanted to know your name... Damon turned his back and headed toward the city, head lowered. This was the first time he had opened up to another stray in a long time. It was a strange sensation that fell Damon as he contemplated what had just transpired. Somehow, he knew he had to have her...
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Post by Noodle! on Jul 27, 2008 22:03:55 GMT -5
The strange-colored eyes narrowed at him, mind turning over the situation like a pitcher with his baseball, sizing up the batter. He seemed to hold no threat towards her, and although she could tell he was not part of Darthyn’s trusted, she relaxed. The bunched muscles in her neck and sides relaxed and she raised her head up to a normal level. Tail resumed its positive, dominant pose as she watched him carefully. Damacre was not particularly at fault when it came to her trust issues, you could blame those control factors of her past; those who experimented with her natural brawn and power, testing the limits of her patience and endurance. However, it’s never too late; not even for a mentally-battered beast such as herself. That did not change the fact that it was very, very difficult to acquire her trust and respect. This young male, if he stuck around, would find that he had to do more than a little digging to get this diamond in the rough.
My name? She spat, words more gentle and quiet than before, If I give you such information will you leave me be? I do believe you owe me the favor of helping me hide my prey, for startling me so.
Her attempts at niceties sometimes failed miserably, but now she hoped the male would find her… Charming in the least. The corners of her lips curled into a crooked, somewhat unattractive smile and she said, They call me Damacre. She spoke the pronoun with a particular dislike, as the name that had stuck with her was the same the human child of her fighting family had chosen to call her. Something from a card game he played, or a similar effect. The exotic but guttural name gave her a particular twinge of uniqueness in itself. |
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Post by theunforgiven on Jul 28, 2008 11:02:30 GMT -5
Damon barely turned his head and glanced back toward Damacre, the look on his face had softened into an inviting smile, almost like something you'd see in a corny chick-flick. His eyes were locked on the peculiar pup as he stood there, contemplating his next move. I'm sorry if I startled you. Let me try again. He turned around and began to approach Damacre in a friendly, yet somewhat proud, trot. Hi, my name is Damon.
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