Care to hate ? [ Scath ]

[»β.ɛαüx«™]

[bg=536001][atrb=border,0,table] [atrb=width,400,table] [th] The day couldn't of ended any worse. Already there had been bloodshed between two tartarus members. Niveda did what had to be done to put that little b**** in her place, not holding back anything. The beaten was a small hound by a name that Niveda did not know. The only thing she knew was that she had knocked her off her high horse. She knew the femme was rather new to the pack, but that really didn't leave anything for the large female to care about. So what if Niveda was pushing her weight around? You need to make a name for yourself of course. It had been a short fight, various shreds of skin and fur here and there. Licking her blood red in color muzzle, she finished cleaning the bits of blood from her muzzle, icy jade eyes piercing into the smaller female that coward. Ears kept pressed forward distinctively, watching and waiting for the female's stance to break. She wanted to see her bend her spine, and tuck that precious tail of hers between her legs. No even better if she did a full submission and exposed her weak parts before her. The hound seemed to have some sense of pride as she didn't do as Niveda wished and even dared to keep eye contact with her. One , and Two and Three! The liver red femme bluffed against, her bared ivories clashing with the female's shoulder. This did it as she stumbled over and fell on her back, whining and gasping for breath. Looking down at her, Niveda shook her head in disappointment before something, yes a voice fell from her lips. "Learn to stay within your place and you'll avoid this embarrassment" After she finished, ignoring the eyes of those other subordinate members of the Tartarus, a scent rose to her nose. Eyes narrowed further as she curled her lip over her fangs, nares wrinkled. "Your a disgrace, get out of my face..." The irish crossbred spat at her, sending the brown thing scampering away. Raising her head, all that was issued was another one of her grins that she was so famous for, to send the others away from her sight. Looking back down, the urine from the other female had spilled onto the broken cement floor. Chuckling to herself she picked herself up, knowing it could feed the very rats that called this dead lab their home, as a liquid to drink. She would move along these broken walls alone, but with hopes of seeing her master again for it had been a very.. very long time since she had been blessed with his sight. But she knew too well.. this would never come. Words :: Four.Five.Seven Muse :: Very High Doll :: Niveda Tagged :: Scath OOC :: ey buddie <3

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[Scáth]

[bg=000000][atrb=border,0,table][atrb=width,380,table] This day's work, had it been taken up by any other, would have been doomed to a nasty end. Skiving off from pack chores, leaving pack territory without informing the pack leader - or even a fellow pack member - to roam a enexplored part of the island housing another pack of unknown size and intentions... The whole roadtrip stank of trouble. Even the cockier Metnal warriors were not so bold as to deliberately venture on such a potential ride to suicide. It was generally and tacitly accepted by the majority of island-dwellers that no pack dog would do something that dangerous of its own accord, just to stave off something petty like boredom. Howver, the majority of island-dwellers had not taken the Metnal Beta into consideration. Scáth had recently been promoted, if you will, and had promptly decided that the best way to use his authority was to not use it at all; ergo, he'd casually slipped off as per usual without so much as a wag of farewell to his fellow Metnal members. He'd left his pack territory behind him with the dawn, and by midday had limped his way past an unknown lake and negotiated his way through an unknown swamp. The merciless sun overhead heated his black-brindle coat to the point of discomfort and made him pant subconsciously to cool down; the Dutch Shepherd had paused several times in his impulsive explorations to rest in the shade and rehydrate himself, but had yet to come across anything that served as an easy meal. Then, as he voted to scramble nimbly over the rotting wooden perimeter fence rather than squeeze under it, Scáth paused and cocked his head. Rats. Now, that was the kind of prey he was talking about. The flightier, more paranoid woodland herbivoures all sheltered from the heat and were restless, difficult to sneak up on, but the abandoned building before him promised a lazier, less cautious alternative. The broken window he entered through overwhelmed him - nudging open the window as it was always left open for him...cold silence, smell of death... mother's body in pool of blood... child dropping blanket to clutch at his fur, seeking comfort...claws on wood - and the Dutch Shepherd had to stop and wait for the flashback to end. The memory of the last time he'd set foot in a building was not one he liked to think about. It made him... Confused. Scáth shook his head, shook off the past, and limped down the deteriorating hallway. The scent of other canines was fairly fresh, indicating that there was at least two or three others in the vicinity; syre enough, a small brown female hurtled around the corner and abruptly halted, her paws skidding and sliding on the floor in her mad attempt to prevent herself from colliding with the tall, dark, sinister stranger who grinned crookedly down at her. The bitch dithered in front of him, uncertain as to whether she should get out of his way or raise the alarm, but when Scáth stepped forward deliberately she chose the former and skittered off to the side. "Cheers, mudbud." The Dutch Shepherd limped past briskly, and disappeared around the corner without giving the other a backward glance. Parting his jaws he calmly scented the air; several strangers were moving through the complex, his ears told him, and by their scents the majority were going to get a nasty surprise any second now as they turned onto his hallway. 'So much for a quick meal...'

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Scáth mused absently and slowed his pace, ready to meet them at the darkest part of the hall. Sure enough, they rounded the corner at a trot and immediately kicked up a territorial ruckus, barking and bounding towards their 'intruder'. Scáth stood his ground until the first had nearly reached him, then abruptly moved into the light.
From first sight, Scáth was an intimidating canine. Tall and lean, he hadn't an ounce of spare fat on him. His black-brindle coat was marred, littered with scars. His 'bad' leg was habitually raised off the ground. His dark burgundy eyes were amused, but there was an ominous feel about that twisted crooked grin. It was the grin of the Grim Reaper himself, welcoming those whose time had come.

"Attacking a lone cripple? Tut, tut. And here I was expecting better manners from you Easterners."


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