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Post by Deleted on Oct 30, 2016 12:34:41 GMT -5
A Finnish Lapphund paced his cramped pen, once-lustrous fur coarse and tangled. He had once been something more, something better: A prized import turned—rightfully—show dog. But now he was here, as mongrel as the rest. Hell, his masters didn't even acknowledge his elegant breed!
The dog slumped over, waiting patiently for the ritual practice of the fight to commence. And that it soon did, for in a moment he was out of his cage and thrown into what was called the Arena. A cavity filled with dust and gravel and bestrewn with food wrappers and other garbage, it was the only place he saw freedom.
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Post by ➵ chironides on Oct 30, 2016 14:24:07 GMT -5
[ by the way, my character is a young wolfdog, sorry not sorry. he's got black fur with amber eyes, and has a tall and thin yet muscular build. he's about 26 inches tall at the withers. ] [ by the way, I usually write between three to five paragraphs per response, and I'd love it if you could at least match that. ]
- - This hell was never what the young half-breed imagined life could ever be like.
There was no more gazing around him at the endless expanse of land and sky, nor fresh kill to fill his belly, nor crisp air to fill his body with the life of the forest: all there was now was the ever constant yellow lamp above his head, his cramped pen, the smells of other dogs, and the looming threat of the Arena. It made the half-breed how much he had taken his previous freedoms for granted, when he lived with his pack all those months ago. It seemed like he had been in this vicious cycle for years now--each day was so long, so monotonous, that it made his brief three weeks with his new owner feel like centuries.
His owner was a cruel man. He had exploited the young half-breed at a time of childish vulnerability and curiosity, and a day didn't go by when the wolf didn't question himself: why didn't he just listen to his mother's advice and stay away from the Pale Ones? Why couldn't he have just resisted the temptation to explore just beyond his pack's territory, at the edge of their buildings? He wouldn't have known the tendencies of man and their crookedness, so when his owner approached him on that fateful night with a muzzle and collar, he didn't know what to expect. The half-breed naively trusted him for a second, and a second was all it took for life as he knew it to end. A quick flurry of snow, a clash of metal, and a yelp--then he was locked away, terrified in the back seat of a car.
Now, he was here, in whatever place this was, and he was terrified every day. The half-breed watched from his corner with wide eyes as the lucky dogs got to limp back to their cages, broken and bloody, but victorious nevertheless. The unlucky dogs never returned, and it didn't take long for the wolf to deduce what had happened to them. The possibility of facing his death in what these other dogs called "the Arena" terrified him, as well as everything else did: it was all frighteningly new, these appliances of man. He could barely sleep at night with this leather collar around his neck, his belly full of dry pellets. But, he could tell these other dogs feared him, at least to an extent. Every day, he heard murmurings of "wolf" and "wild" among the cages, but he never replied to their whisperings. He never spoke to these other dogs, even the somewhat friendly ones next to him.
Today, however, he was roused from a moment's rest by the rattling sound of his cage being unlocked. Immediately the half-breed sprung to his paws and shrunk against the back wall, his pointed ears flattened against his head. This display of fear didn't rattle his owner at all, and he roughly grabbed him by the collar, his muzzle in the other hand. The wolf writhed against him, though it was in vain, and the muzzle ended up slipped over his nose and mouth. A leash was then fastened to the collar, and before he knew it, he was being dragged out into the dirt hallway. Other dogs watched from behind their cage bars with halfhearted interest as the two proceeded forward.
"Today's your first fight, huh, Shadow?" The man's voice was gruff, like the rest of his appearance, and the sickly sweetness of cigarette smoke permeated his clothes. That's not my name. He'd been inappropriately named due to his pelt color, which was a beautiful, sleek, unbroken black hue. He kept his amber gaze fixed on the ground ahead of him as his owner spoke.
"Don't you --- this up for me," he continued on, this time a hint of threat in his voice. "Today I've got you in the top division. The board wouldn't let you in anything else, since you're a wolf. They wouldn't listen to me--you've never fought before, you're young, yadda yadda. But I know you're gonna make me lots of money, right, Shadow? A lot of people are betting for you out there."
The two had now approached a small door, and just beyond it, the half-breed could hear muffled cheers and speech. When the realization of what this was finally occurred to him, he hesitated, shrinking back slightly: this was the Arena. He could very easily die out there, at the hands of another of his kind, but before he could make any kind of action to protest, the collar and muzzle were slipped off, and the door was opened, light and noise and horrible, horrible smells spilling out from it. He was roughly pushed through the opening.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 30, 2016 14:48:49 GMT -5
Kahuna, the Finnish Lapphund, stood foursquare, his fighting posture. He wanted to get the whole thing over with, to escape the gaggle of drunkards and layabouts that surrounded him and would soon part to allow entry to his opponent, a limber black wretch going by the name of Shadow, known to be a wolf, or at least something of one. And the animal called Shadow certainly did appear wolfish as he neared. Kahuna growled, lowering his head.
His mind was devoid of thought and emotion. A shell of a dog, he lived the life of a rock, a piece of bark, or any other lifeless object. The sudden change of environment had certainly taken its toll on him, and that showed in his ireful, almost deranged nature and bearing. Mouth frothing, Kahuna tugged his muzzle back in a leering snarl.
Notwithstanding his outward aggression, though, Kahuna was observant. Very observant. Creepily adaptive, he never took his eyes off of his opponent in any fight. And he abided by that law as always today, evaluating Shadow's every move with a scrutinous yet attentive eye.
"Get 'im!" screeched a gambler in the crowd going by the name of Scat (though he was certainly too ugly to be compared even to scat, of all things). Scat, Kahuna's 'handler', was anything but beautiful, in fact, with a weird chin that seemed almost elongated, dangling off of its metaphysical "hinges", and yellowish eyes surrounded by grossly discolored whites. These features, especially when combined with the pale, doughy skin characteristic of Scat, certainly allowed for a comical yet horrible appearance in Kahuna's handler, who looked like an invalid, especially when his pale flesh was struck by sunlight, which it coincidentally was right at that moment. Kahuna growled and snarled in Scat's direction, and upon a second glimpse he caught the malevolent glimmer of the silver shotgun in Scat's pocket. Scowling, Kahuna turned away.
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Post by ➵ chironides on Oct 30, 2016 15:33:03 GMT -5
So far, at this point in his life, Felan had never fought anyone for something of value. His experience was mostly limited to play-fights with his siblings and other packmates, but this was suddenly much more grave. His life was literally on the line, at the mercy of this slightly smaller, but stockier dog a couple body lengths away from him. His body language projected fear: the half-breed's ears were flattened against his head and his tail was low, though not quite between his legs. He also shrunk back slightly, appearing as if he was trying to make himself smaller. But, as he watched the dog in front of him snarl, he realized his actions wouldn't do him any favors, as he'd foolishly hoped. He actually had to defend himself.
The wolf unraveled himself slightly from the corner he'd backed himself into, standing up taller, his pointed ears now halfway up. As he eyed the dog in front of him with his wary, careful gaze, part of him felt reassured that he towered over the smaller dog. It was enough to coax some confidence out of the young wolf, whose tail finally rose and the fur on his neck began to bristle. Lowering his head, he began to circle around the smaller dog, watching his movements but staying close to the edge of the Arena. As he paced, Felan suddenly realized he had no idea how he was going to go about this. If there only there was some kind of cue, some indication to attack--
In the stands, the half-breed's owner was starting to grow impatient with his prize's reluctance to attack. He sat by the edge of the pen, perched on a stool, leaning forward with intense interest with a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. Soon after he took a long drag, he yelled, smoke spilling from his lips, "Go on, Shadow! Get 'im!" There it was, his cue. With a snarl, Felan leaped at the smaller dog, his long fangs bared.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 30, 2016 17:18:16 GMT -5
Kahuna gave a baying yowl as the ganglier dog leapt upon him. Knocked onto his belly, he had no choice but to lie there, spread-eagled and shock-still, until he finally regained his composure in bucking the other dog off after several futile tries.
Kahuna shook his shaggy coat—an odd and rude thing to do in a fight, as it indicated ease and leisure—and turned back toward the other dog, ruff spiking. He had never been much of a fighter anyway, what with his stocky, almost rotund body, so easy to immobilize. And yet Scat seemed to think he was omnipotent, for some reason. Perhaps it was because he had been a majestic sight years ago, with a shaggy, lustrous bib of fur adorning his neck, a voluminous tail lined with fluffy plumages, and beautiful brindles embossed into his fur. Kahuna felt himself being absorbed into memories of his dead pride before snapping back into reality. The husky dog hunched over tersely, torn between ire and submission. He had been bred for beauty, not for power or aggression!
Kahuna snuffled, addressing the other dog in a gravelly growl. “I'll rip you to shreds!” he proclaimed somewhat feebly, though he could not imagine himself even ripping off another dog's hair, much less tearing him to smithereens.
“GO!” screamed Scat in the audience. Kahuna felt himself buoyed up into fury by the sheer arrogance seen in Scat. Puffing up, he gave a furious hoarse bark and rammed his side into the other dog, Shadow. The sheer force of the movement seemed to stir a great gust; Kahuna felt it whooshing by his ears, weaving in and out of the downy strands that lined the inner flesh.
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Post by ➵ chironides on Oct 31, 2016 10:50:27 GMT -5
Oh--knocking that smaller dog down was surprisingly easy. In a way, this was similar enough to the play-fights he used to have with his siblings, except here, he was supposed to go for blood. Still though, he couldn't quite bring himself to use his teeth on this dog. It seemed entirely unfair with his clearly obvious size advantage, until the dog threatened him with some savagery that the half-breed wasn't aware that he had. He immediately folded his ears back, feeling fearful again. He opened his mouth to protest, to tell his opponent that he didn't want to fight when--
Oof. All of his breath left him in what sounded like a wheezing sigh, and the taller dog felt his feet get knocked out from underneath him by the smaller dog, who now had the advantage with his lower center of gravity. He then felt another impact, but he was so dazed he could barely discern that he'd been knocked to the floor. Then it suddenly hit him--he couldn't stay this vulnerable on the ground for long. After shaking the fuzziness out of his head, the wolf sprung back to his feet, the fur on his neck bristling with this new challenge. Something told him that he couldn't reason with this dog, so why not settle this his way?
Finding the wolf in him, the black half-breed lowered his head and drew his lips back, letting out a low, menacing growl. He leaped at the smaller dog once more, this time his mouth open, seeking any kind of contact.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 31, 2016 14:19:18 GMT -5
I would add a third paragraph, but what happens next depends on your character. ]
§
Kahuna felt the wolf giving underneath his weight. He felt no triumph, but instead seemed to focus on the awkwardness of their position with remarkable, almost twisted intensity, as though his brain could weed it alone out of the jumble. He could not exactly get his head around this wolfish beast. One second he seemed rather meek; the next, he was assertive and competitive.
Kahuna caterwauled in pain as the wolf's teeth caught in his jaw. His foe appeared to have been snapping with no particular intent on where he wanted his teeth to go, but where his fangs had snagged had certainly been lucky. Kahuna writhed and thrashed, worming halfway out of the jumble before being pulled back under, notwithstanding his despairing efforts. Desperate, he craned his broad, bearish head back to grab hold of his opponent's paw. With a growling grunt, his teeth busted the plump shape of a paw pad. The blaring screams of the ragtag crowd rang in his ears, atrociously loud.
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Post by ➵ chironides on Oct 31, 2016 23:52:49 GMT -5
Felan, to the dismay and embarrassment of his owner back in the crowd, made quite a feminine, weak yelp in pain in response to the smaller dog biting his paw. It was one thing to do the attacking and not feel much pain, but this first bloodshed on his part put this fight into perspective for him: even if he didn't want to hurt this dog, his opponent had a duty to hurt, if not kill, him. The half-breed used this fact to muster some more strength, justifying it to himself that this was for defensive purposes only. It set his mind just slightly at ease--he still wasn't completely comfortable with hurting another dog.
But, nevertheless, after taking a moment to react from the pain, Felan yanked his paw free from his opponent's jaws. He then snapped his jaws again at the smaller dog, this time getting a hold towards the back of his opponent's thick, matted ruff of fur. Though he struggled to make contact with the actual dog beneath his layers of fur, the crowd couldn't tell: most of the men closest to the Arena rose to their feet, cheering in their unattractive, raucous ways, spilling beer and bits of food around them. The half-breed's owner was particularly proud of his prize, and even though he cheered, his voice became indistinguishable from the rest as the volume in the cramped, sticky-hot building increased.
Fueled by the crowd, the wolf sought a deeper grip, desperately trying to get at his opponent's neck. However, he teetered slightly as he stood on all fours, due to his new paw injury. It sent waves of pain up his limb every time he put pressure on it, which gave him a precariously unstable base.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 2, 2016 16:05:36 GMT -5
Kahuna felt his teeth barb deeper into the paw as the other dog, rather clumsily, unfettered it. He jerked his muzzle away halfway, however, and he immediately regretted this move, for his mouth was now clogged with small pieces of bodily matter—fur, flesh. Kahuna spat out these remnants.
Oh, God! panicked Kahuna as Shadow got hold of his ruff. He felt the wolfish animal bearing him down to the ground. Joints popping and cracking with the effort, Kahuna attempted to headbutt the wolf, but the wolf responded by further trapping him. Shadow seemed to be inching closer and closer to the bare flesh concealed underneath his dense, floccose fur. Kahuna bucked wildly, but could not barb his spine far out enough, as he was much too bulky. Had he been smaller and bonier, things might have been different, but this was not the case.
The bulky dog suddenly reared up onto his hind legs; the wolf now dangled from his neck rather painfully. The crowed screamed and jeered as he twisted over beneath Shadow's grip and attempted to reverse their position, but unavailingly, as he only fell over sideways. The black-furred, wolfish creature now had the advantage, as he loomed over Kahuna's neck, teeth still attached to the brown scruff.
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