10-12-2018, 12:20 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]/please wait for Laz!
It was a problem.
The dog. It was too close to the front's mind, a stubborn burr Reaper needed gone before he could continue. Inconsequential to the plan itself but a potential threat to it. If the dog interfered or became involved, Reaper would not risk the weak-willed face of this operation to wilt and jeopardize the entire objective, and what better way to knock a piece off the board than coax the others into doing it for him? Death riled them so easily, was a tool Reaper could wield with finesse.
Direct injury of it was ill-advised, would result in destabilization as well as a ruination of the plan, but he was nothing if not capable of twisting the tables in his favor, in rooting out the loopholes and seizing them for his benefit. He did not need to harm the antlered dog directly when, again, he had his instruments wandering the territory, unknowingly caught in a web he needed only to strum.
And play a tune he did, with the desperate cries of another mutt on fire, whose mind flashed with images of a dark Cane Corso. Around its body, he planted paw-prints, his own intangible, and he arranged them in the pattern of a scuffle. A smattering of torn rabbit decorated the area, as though it had been torn between two forces. A bit of the gray fur was in the mutt's mouth, singed by flame but visible. Once it reached a certain point of jerking thrashes, he leaned down, muzzle shifting to something squarer and more canine, and he tore the throat. It was not clean. It was meant to be a frenzy, and Reaper allowed himself a taste, shuddering with the hunger.
It was nothing the target hadn't done before.
He stepped back from the scene. It smelled of blood, smoke, and fear, and below it was the scent of the dog, spread by use of the blanket it slept with. That was back in the dog's room. More incriminating was the sign his disguise had created for the dog many weeks ago, the rope torn as though frayed in a struggle.
Lazarus would be by soon. It liked this spot.
With one last glance cast about, the lion disappeared.
/uh yes so basically NotGabe has framed Laz for murder
[align=right][i]——INFO
It was a problem.
The dog. It was too close to the front's mind, a stubborn burr Reaper needed gone before he could continue. Inconsequential to the plan itself but a potential threat to it. If the dog interfered or became involved, Reaper would not risk the weak-willed face of this operation to wilt and jeopardize the entire objective, and what better way to knock a piece off the board than coax the others into doing it for him? Death riled them so easily, was a tool Reaper could wield with finesse.
Direct injury of it was ill-advised, would result in destabilization as well as a ruination of the plan, but he was nothing if not capable of twisting the tables in his favor, in rooting out the loopholes and seizing them for his benefit. He did not need to harm the antlered dog directly when, again, he had his instruments wandering the territory, unknowingly caught in a web he needed only to strum.
And play a tune he did, with the desperate cries of another mutt on fire, whose mind flashed with images of a dark Cane Corso. Around its body, he planted paw-prints, his own intangible, and he arranged them in the pattern of a scuffle. A smattering of torn rabbit decorated the area, as though it had been torn between two forces. A bit of the gray fur was in the mutt's mouth, singed by flame but visible. Once it reached a certain point of jerking thrashes, he leaned down, muzzle shifting to something squarer and more canine, and he tore the throat. It was not clean. It was meant to be a frenzy, and Reaper allowed himself a taste, shuddering with the hunger.
It was nothing the target hadn't done before.
He stepped back from the scene. It smelled of blood, smoke, and fear, and below it was the scent of the dog, spread by use of the blanket it slept with. That was back in the dog's room. More incriminating was the sign his disguise had created for the dog many weeks ago, the rope torn as though frayed in a struggle.
Lazarus would be by soon. It liked this spot.
With one last glance cast about, the lion disappeared.
/uh yes so basically NotGabe has framed Laz for murder
[align=right][i]——INFO
[align=center][table][tr][td]
I'M
[/td][td]FADING
[/td][td]FADING
[/td][td]MUCH TOO FAST
[/td][/tr][/table]