BROKEN PARTS // JOINING?

[MARAUDER]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]There were plenty of sick fucks on this earth who thought they could beat whoever they wanted and get away with it. Sometimes they were right, because the people around them were content to turn a blind eye, or didn't give a shit about the children's sunken eyes and bruised bodies. He knew. Marauder had been there, once upon a time, a bloodied kid abandoned to the kinds of people he put his claws to now. Their mistake. They couldn't put him permanently in the ground, but they made him plenty fucking good at sending their kind six feet under indefinitely. Metaphorically. Marauder never buried them- if their carcasses could feed somebody, they were worth more than they'd been alive, so, with all that considered, the tiger had a particular vendetta against the ones who laid a hand on kids, on the innocent.

This bastard had left broken bones and impossibly young, terrified faces in his wake.

No more.

His prey stumbled through the dark forest, his fear stirring satisfaction deep in Marauder's belly as he stalked after him, slipping easily through the shadows. He wasn't a small guy, this scumbag; he was a fairly large wolf, size daunting enough that the people he hurt hadn't felt they could do anything about it. But Marauder was bigger, and even if he weren't, it just gave him easier access to his throat.

Said neck bobbed underneath his talons, the process of tackling him child's play. Of course, it'd helped that Marauder wounded him earlier, his leg a mess that prevented him from running. And now- now he would know their terror, how it felt for his life to be out of his reach. His fate was entirely Marauder's business, and he reveled in the broadness of his pupils, in the quivering he could feel. "Who the fuck are you?" He demanded, voice shrill, and he flinched when Marauder lowered his head to his, nose to nose, silent for a heavy moment.

"I'm the goddamn garbageman." Blood welled beneath his claws in a gurgle, and he remained close, only stepping away once he'd watched the life abandon his eyes. Exhaling, he took a good look at his surroundings; he'd recognized it as some group's territory earlier, but hadn't given a shit when there was business to attend to. He figured the blood would attract somebody- he had a habit of introducing himself via murder, although he hadn't bothered to get this close to a clan in a while. Too...populated. Too people-y.