「 ❝ PRETTY LITTLE GANGSTER ❞ ┊ JOINING 」

[BUGSY]

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The b l o o d ; it stained the brute's muzzle, soaking to his skin. Two cuts were freshly carved onto the bridge of his nose, [sub]deep[/sub] red in color and stinging like mad. The scratches were recent, indicating that he had been in a bit of a scuffle, though the male had managed to make his way to the thick canopies of the Ascendants. He wasn't clueless—he knew what these clans were. Although he had been born and raised in a concrete jungle, he was still aware of the groups of feral animals living miles and miles away from human civilization. That being said, the male knew what to expect when he came out here. Now it was just a matter of running into a feral.

He gave a long sniff of the air around him, and a border was clearly indicated here. Dark eyes ( scanned ) the horizon, and once they landed on an approaching figure, the Beaceron straightened up and spoke, "'Scuse me . . . do ya' suppose I could stay here?"

As his cranium s h i f t e d , his silver chain necklace adjusted, a tooth-charm dangling from it. His tone was calm and leveled, a clear upper east-coast accent present in his voice. While many tended to view "street dogs" as rabid, dirty, and vile, it seemed that the brute here was an exception. The Beauceron dog was t a l l and handsome, lean with muscle (though not overly bulky). His fur was relatively well-groomed and glossy—quite impressive . . . for a stray. It was as if he could pass for a former housepet, though that would've been far from the case. He just so happened to be raised in a group who valued not smelling or looking like rat-shit. The only parts of his body that remained d i r t y for most of the time were his paws — take that as you will.