07-19-2018, 08:45 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;"]/ will be open eventually
Everyone here thinks they make so much sense. With the schedule they keep, the borders they're so strict about, maybe they'd just never seen anything to make them think something else. But here he is, a living, breathing reminder that their system's not always so damn perfect, and life goes on as it always does. Life goes on. And on, and on. Social niceties have already taken a toll on the Cane Corso, daily kindnesses grating at the exposed nerves. Life on street corners and gravel roads had already torn away any excessive softness, and then any softness that wasn't obsessive. He'd been honed, but not with someone else's careful hand. Life had pinned him to the ground and dragged him, leaving ragged edges. It's only now that he realizes that not everyone else has experienced the same. The people here are kind. He kinda fucking hates it.
The dog has kept himself isolated so far. A few interactions, just once or twice, and most of his time then had been spent making fun of them in some way. Even that became tiring quickly, and where Gabriel adjusted enough to at least figure people out, the mutated creature had decided to stay out of everyone's way. The grasslands are too open to feel comfortable, and with time, Lazarus slowly wanders towards the southern border, eyes flicking to every shuffle of the grass as if he's expecting some other creature there, some other dog with a scarred muzzle and torn ears. There's nothing. Consistently nothing. He's imagining things, and they're not here to cause him any trouble. Staring wasn't a challenge, they didn't need anything from him.
Lost in his thoughts, the day ends with the canine laying underneath the trees' canopy, his mouth stained red. He's not entirely sure what he's eating — bleeds red, has hooves, tripped when he bowled into it — but it's as decent as anything else he's ever put in his mouth. Like he's already said, people can be picky haven't fucking been raised the same. They don't mind sharing, they don't go to bed hungry, they don't mind when people creep up a little too close when they've got a mouthful of food. That, or they don't notice.
Laz notices, and he minds. He'd tried to be tolerant at the first signs of someone creeping near him. It was a border and all that, it could've easily just been a patrol, or someone looking to join. Though he doesn't move to greet them, and offers a low warning growl with coppery teeth, he does nothing more. But he can hear them moving. Not the familiar, subtle shifting of wings above his head, or leaves. Slow, heavy steps at his back, body low to the ground. The growl from Lazarus's mouth now is far more aggressive, his back tense and spine straightening. Another step, and his hackles raise, short fur along his spine bristling. The canine stands slowly and they both circle, the half-eaten prey between them. Even with the sun setting and the shadows of the tree, the other form looks pitiful. A leopard of some sort, thin but not starved, with wild eyes. Lazarus knows that sort of desperation, but he has no sympathy for it.
When they reach for the remnants of his meal, his jaws snap into the air, a harsh bark breaking the fragile silence of the forest. They withdraw, and the cycle repeats with slow steps inwards, neither fully backing down. Then claws slice into his cheek and it's fair game, the battle over in a few short seconds. The leopard is pinned in a heartbeat, the weight of his body more than enough to hold them in place even when they trash underneath him, even when their claws dig in, even as they cry — there's a sick sort of sound and then red, and it's over. He withdraws with harsh pants, tongue lolling out of his mouth and short ears pinned back. Everything settles slowly at first, then all at once.
Lazarus's mouth closes. Fuck.
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Everyone here thinks they make so much sense. With the schedule they keep, the borders they're so strict about, maybe they'd just never seen anything to make them think something else. But here he is, a living, breathing reminder that their system's not always so damn perfect, and life goes on as it always does. Life goes on. And on, and on. Social niceties have already taken a toll on the Cane Corso, daily kindnesses grating at the exposed nerves. Life on street corners and gravel roads had already torn away any excessive softness, and then any softness that wasn't obsessive. He'd been honed, but not with someone else's careful hand. Life had pinned him to the ground and dragged him, leaving ragged edges. It's only now that he realizes that not everyone else has experienced the same. The people here are kind. He kinda fucking hates it.
The dog has kept himself isolated so far. A few interactions, just once or twice, and most of his time then had been spent making fun of them in some way. Even that became tiring quickly, and where Gabriel adjusted enough to at least figure people out, the mutated creature had decided to stay out of everyone's way. The grasslands are too open to feel comfortable, and with time, Lazarus slowly wanders towards the southern border, eyes flicking to every shuffle of the grass as if he's expecting some other creature there, some other dog with a scarred muzzle and torn ears. There's nothing. Consistently nothing. He's imagining things, and they're not here to cause him any trouble. Staring wasn't a challenge, they didn't need anything from him.
Lost in his thoughts, the day ends with the canine laying underneath the trees' canopy, his mouth stained red. He's not entirely sure what he's eating — bleeds red, has hooves, tripped when he bowled into it — but it's as decent as anything else he's ever put in his mouth. Like he's already said, people can be picky haven't fucking been raised the same. They don't mind sharing, they don't go to bed hungry, they don't mind when people creep up a little too close when they've got a mouthful of food. That, or they don't notice.
Laz notices, and he minds. He'd tried to be tolerant at the first signs of someone creeping near him. It was a border and all that, it could've easily just been a patrol, or someone looking to join. Though he doesn't move to greet them, and offers a low warning growl with coppery teeth, he does nothing more. But he can hear them moving. Not the familiar, subtle shifting of wings above his head, or leaves. Slow, heavy steps at his back, body low to the ground. The growl from Lazarus's mouth now is far more aggressive, his back tense and spine straightening. Another step, and his hackles raise, short fur along his spine bristling. The canine stands slowly and they both circle, the half-eaten prey between them. Even with the sun setting and the shadows of the tree, the other form looks pitiful. A leopard of some sort, thin but not starved, with wild eyes. Lazarus knows that sort of desperation, but he has no sympathy for it.
When they reach for the remnants of his meal, his jaws snap into the air, a harsh bark breaking the fragile silence of the forest. They withdraw, and the cycle repeats with slow steps inwards, neither fully backing down. Then claws slice into his cheek and it's fair game, the battle over in a few short seconds. The leopard is pinned in a heartbeat, the weight of his body more than enough to hold them in place even when they trash underneath him, even when their claws dig in, even as they cry — there's a sick sort of sound and then red, and it's over. He withdraws with harsh pants, tongue lolling out of his mouth and short ears pinned back. Everything settles slowly at first, then all at once.
Lazarus's mouth closes. Fuck.
[align=right]—— [url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=2939.msg22800#msg22800]TEMP TAGS
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｢ GRAVE DIGGER, GRAVE DIGGER. [url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=7333.msg48711#msg48711]INFO. ｣