sinking + roman

[toboggan]

An entire gator cadaver was what he had donated to his employer last. That was, what, two weeks ago? Nothing had been given to her since then, and now that the spider had disappeared (whom also aided the boss in her efforts), the supply of body parts likely shriveled.

That meant additional effort was needed. Gizzards and stomach chunks could only get you so far. Fresher, better portions were required.

A leather attaché encircled the mongrel’s midsection, inside containing a flask, a few scraps of food, an a rather sharp curved blade meant for dismemberment. An unlucky sap was gonna lose a limb. An unlucky sap from the Ascendants. It was the perfect operation. All the eggheads that were cooped up inside that observatory of theirs weren’t going to hear the yowls of agony emanating from his amputee-to-be. No offence to the group was intended; the whole science-y aspect to them, you had to look up to it. But, the enterprise they had running meant that somebody would easily be in the right place at the right time, a factor which Leroy hankered for.

The plan was simple: get in, get a limb, and get away scot-free. It would be humorous he obtained someone’s back-left leg, as that was the same appendage that was injured on his own frame (that damn gator). Hobbling along on his three that worked, the Irish wolfhound chose the penumbra cast from a tree along the contour of the canopy as a site for his little stakeout. Once a victim came along, he’d strike, first with wit, then with violence.

Murder was not his intent.

[member=1420]romanempire[/member]

//as mobile as mobile gets 

[trojan g.]

It seemed as though, albeit he did not know, Roman would be the one to eventually have his leg taken from him. It was something that he often thought of, losing a limb, as he had done so long ago in a different life, and the older male seemed to have a knack for thinking - and dwelling - on the past. It was a flaw, that was sure, but not one that he saught to change any time soon, as thinking of the past was the only way that he could remember Caroline, his old love. He didn't want to forget her.

The canine had come over close to the border, thinking that he had smelled someone, a potential person that would have liked to join, but yet when he got there, he could not see one. Roman supposed that he would have to look around more, see if he could find them potentially hiding. The thought made him put his guard up.

[toboggan]

In no time at all, someone had encroached onto his preying grounds. Okay. This little interaction was not going to be difficult. Just sweet talk him up, and take the leg and dip.

"What’s buzzin’, cousin?" a voice would greet from the shadow, before the tall figure of a mutt limped towards the stranger, before halting at what seemed to be a respectably normal distance. The air here was much cleaner than the radioactive humidity that was Tanglewood’s. He rather enjoyed it, too bad he wouldn’t be welcome back here until his friend here moved on. ”You a traveler, too? Leroy asked innocently, attempting to not sound too cheesy. If the person he was dealing with had an upper level of intellectual prowess, identifying that something was a tad off wouldn’t be very difficult.

Leroy had his antics, though. He wouldn’t lose easily. 

[trojan g.]

Ears pricked as the sound of another came out of the shadows, and head turned towards the noise as Leroy spoke his words, Roman looking him over, wincing inwardly at the sight of the leg, a reminder of what had happened to him when he had been known as "Tunnelkit" and was trekking towards trying to be a medic, dead set on the task. Now he didn't care what he became, but kept the knowledge of the medicine he had learned at the time with him.

The mannerisms of the words were something that Roman had not been prepared for, as most who addressed him that did not live in the Ascendants did so in a respectful tone, whether it be due to that being their common greeting for a stranger or due to the fact that he was often old enough to be their father - or, at times, even their grandfather - was not yet determined, but needless to say, the words threw him off for a second, so he was unable to respond at first. Watching Leroy's movements, however, Roman shook his head at the second question, finally able to answer with his own words. "I live here, in the Ascendants." He would finally answer, ears flicking once as he thought before speaking quickly once more, leaving little room to pause between the last thing that he had said. "The place of which you're tresspassing. I hate to say the formalities, but I'm going to need a name and a business, at least."

[toboggan]

On his mug, nigh convincing visage flourished as the Ascendants’ denizen explained that facts of the situation. The mongrel foresaw this, him being too straightforward to a defensive reaction. It was all going swell, this was not outside of the scheme. To Roman’s request for a name, the prevaricating Leroy smoothly lipped "’F that’s tha case, I’ll tell ya that m’name’s Otto." Otto, his alias for foreign affairs such as this. Assuming that a surname was ever required, ‘Barrett’ would be provided. Here happened to be the debut of his fake name, which he had thought up while drunk a few days back, and would be one of the many times that the name Otto was muttered in ordeals similar to these. ”I don’t exactly have business here, per se,” the rich vocalization started, ”I was simply campin’ out ova’ here for tha time bein’.”

”’F that’s a problemo, I could bounce”

[trojan g.]

Things seemed to be going well, and that was something that Roman appreciated, though it had been a while since he had heard someone tell him that they were simply 'camping out' or on their territory for no reason other than to be there. The last time this had happened had been shortly after he had joined the Ascendants and that other happened to be someone that was an enemy, though Leroy - or, Otto as he introduced himself - didn't seem to be from another clan exactly. He smelled of many clans, though each one hiding another underneath it, and due to the fact that he didn't have the best sense of smell in the world - for his powers had long since gone - he couldn't quite tell where each of them were from.

For the time being, he would allow himself to relax, as it seemed as though he didn't have any ill intent, giving straight answers and not skirting around things. Roman had asked for a name and business, and he had gotten such, well, sort of, seeing as no business was made to be here. "I'm sorry, but you could join if you would want to, Otto. Otherwise, you would have to leave." Or, bounce, as he had referred to it only moments before. Something Roman didn't quite understand was the language some others picked up along the way. Other languages such as Spanish, Italian, etc. he could understand learning and speaking, but oddly placed English was something that he didn't understand fully. it confused him, as he didn't know of any places who spoke exactly like that, only specific others.

[toboggan]

Poor Otto. Just hanging out by a tree and being told by a stranger to vacate the area, as it was his group’s land. Who’s to say Otto wasn’t here first? What if this place was his home long before the Ascendants came along?

Buffoonery aside, work was indeed advancing well. Presuming this guy’s quick changing of sentiment from sharp to relaxed was out of good faith, the hound could count on these next few steps to unfold comfortably. "I’ll geddup and go, then," Otto mumbled morosely, falsely beating his own breast. Roman was quite a sublime fellow, the fact that he’d soon be mortally wounded nearly bugged Leroy , howbeit not enough to modify his will. Slovenly fur affixed securely its surface as he rotated towards the canopy, his tail hung low in concocted gloominess, before beginning to hobble in the direction of the hardwood. ”See ya ‘round, then”.. It may not seem like it, but the canine was going through a lot of effort to emulate disappointment - displaying any genuine emotion (barring anger and passion) happened to be a rare feat for him. Otto was not him, though. Otto is a traveler, Leroy is a swindler, the only similarity between the two was their appearance and voice, as well as that goddamn foot.

Speaking of which-

Once barely in the shadow of the woodlands’ leaves, his injured leg, the one on the rear left, deliberately made contact with the earth below. Both Otto and Leroy felt the pain. Proceeding from a holler of agony, his frame collapsed, hitting some rogue twigs preceding striking the same earth he stepped on with his damaged limb. Though in authentic pain, it was exaggerated to the point he felt like a fool. It would all be worth it in the end, as long as his victim assisted him.

[trojan g.]

Roman watched, for the most part, as Leroy left, ears pricked in case he decided to come back, before he was out of sight, and, what seemed to be leaving. The shiba would turn around, heading back towards camp, before he suddenly stopped at the sound of pain, and suddenly instincts kicked in and Roman turned around, heading into the direction that he had seen Leroy go. "Otto?" He would bark out, concern ringing in his voice before he found the other on the ground on top of some twigs, and his eyes would flash with the same concern that his voice held.

Coming closer to him, Roman would look quickly at his missing leg before looking towards Leroy's face. "Are you able to get up?" He would ask, trying to remember the medicines and treatments that he had learned so long ago, though they rushed through his head. He didn't smell any blood, and nothing could be broken, could it? He had to make sure though.

[toboggan]

Smirking into the ground below, the hound bordered on flipping his wig in anticipation as the footsteps of Roman neared. The ploy was progressing. Unlucky pooch, he’d be going home legless today.  "I’m-" he’d feebly mutter, raiding his head to face the caring individual, ”’m okay, I guess.”. Too bad his friend here wasn’t about to be.

Hastily rearing his head, the wolfhound would force his hardy forehead towards Roman’s mug, attempting to stun the lad. If that worked, not only would it hurt Leroy, but it would also render his prey immobile for a short while, just the right amount of time for the amateur surgeon to operate on him.

[trojan g.]

A small sigh of relief left Roman as he heard Leroy speak, saying that he was okay. The 'I guess' wasn't too reassuring, but it was something, and Ro couldn't do much out here on the outskirts of the clan. "I'm glad you're -" He was cut off by the face of the other hound coming towards him. Trying to take a step back, Roman found that he was too late, as he was suddenly hit in the head by Leroy's own, knocking the breath out of the male shiba.