A matter of hypocrisy [open]

[Scáth]

[bg=100000][atrb=border,0,table][atrb=width,450,table][color= Death. He had wondered what it was like, to realise you were in your last moments, to feel your life draining away, to take that last breath before slipping off into oblivion. It was surprisingly difficult for such a healthy dog in his prime to imagine, despite the fact that his jaws had ended the lives of quite a few creatures. Including other dogs. Perhaps it was his bored speculations about eternal rest that led him down this road. Few dogs dared venture here - certainly not for recreational purposes, anyway - and those who did couldn't be more different from him. They were loners, curious and lost, or Elysian ex-pets whining pathetically by the stones that marked the spot of their beloved human's place of burial. It was, in their eyes, hypocritical of him to set paw here, seeing as he was part of the pack that had annihalated all the island-dwelling people. He was Metnal, after all. But he was something else, too. Something more significant than that. He was Scáth. Jaws parted to scent the air, as a sharp muzzle poked its way through the thickened undergrowth. Gradually a tall, dark, lean form emerged from the tangle of green foliage, its scarred black-brindle frame one of the more frighteningly recognisable pelts around the West side. Scáth had taken it upon himself, bored and duty-free as he currently was, to visit the graveyard. The sinister Metnal warrior's trademark crooked grin was gone - as it usually was when he travelled in solitude - giving him a rather serious, sober appearance that was, if anything, more ominous because it was such an unfamiliar sight. He limped across the open space, his long legs keeping his belly clear of the overgrown grasses as he negotiated his way around, avoiding stepping directly on the graves out of respect for the resting ones six feet under. It didn't take long before he found what he was looking for - wait, he was looking for something? - amongst the unmarked graves that held the victims of that night's massacre. Slowly, Scáth travelled down the rows, passing the mounds of earth with little trinkets left by grieving pets, passing the poorly dug ones holding the abusive, unwanted masters until he came to a pair of small, modestly-made graves near the end of their row. These contained the slaughtered mother and her innocent, quickly-killed little girl that Scáth had lived with for a time. How did he know they lay here, precisely? The Dutch Shepherd had dug the graves himself. 'I'm sorry... I couldn't save you.' The black-brindle lay down, resting his head on the little girl's mound of earth, and closed his eyes. He remained like that for only a few seconds - long enough for anyone watching to wonder if what they were seeing was real or a mere trick of the light - then, his grieving time over, he rose to his feet, gave himself a brisk shake, and limped back the way he'd come to leave this parody of Necropolis. The ominous crooked grin had returned.

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[nivy]

A graveyard...how strange it was to find herself here. New to the land itself, her wandering feet had carried her straight to the land devoted to the dead. To say that Nivy had let herself go would be an understatement. Her normally lush red merle fur was matted and crusted with dirt. Dried rings of blood circled her white muzzle from her most recent kills... kills It seemed almost sacrilige to think of killing while one wandered through a graveyard.....like the dead themself would burst from beneath her small paws and pull her under.

She moved slowly, like a sneaking ghost. Not that she expected anyone else to be here...most dogs didn't wander around graveyards unless they were hoping to find a fresh grave....and then it was usually the insane that were hungry enough to devour the decomposing. Her chocolate eyes flitted from gravestone to gravestone...understanding nothing of the human markings that lined here. Their words were lost to her....but it seemed to her that there was no way to say what needed to be said on the front of a tiny stone.Did they express their loss? Their sorry? Their feelings of regret? What of revenge for those who's family members were stolen away by another creature trying to play God. She was so deep in thought that she barely noticed the smell of another dog until it practically assaulted her nostrils. He seemed to be laying on a freshely dug grave, but before she even had the time to figure out his intentions he moved.

He seemed almost like a shadow to her, so much a part of this place that it concealed him. Like he was death walking. Her first instinct was to hit the ground, her white belly hitting the soft earth with a barely audible thump. It was possible that this place was part of a pack land, though she didn't smell any distinctive markings she was in no mood to tangle with a territorial male that outweighed her. Her large saucer like ears swivled about her delicate skull, she couldn't see much now...save for the weeds growing right in front of her face....but hopefully she could hear him.

Nivy wasn't exactly the right 'color' for hunting, stalking, or anything really. There was no invironment where her coat blended in, but to humans it was desireable...useless....but desireable.....and in a location such as she was in now it was in her best interest to simply not move.....save she would stand out like a sore thumb.

"Crap..."

Under her breath she began counting one onethousand two onethousand, as she waited for the large hulking male to leave.....he didn't exactly seem like the type to offer her a warm welcome to the area. Even if she was on common ground.

[Nebulous]

[bg=100000][atrb=border,0,table][atrb=width,450,table] Scáth saw movement, just out of the corner of his dark burgundy eyes, as he rose and shook the earth from his pelt. His movements were deliberately slow, casual as he padded back the way he'd came - in the general direction of the stranger, only they were off some two dozen metres to the left - slipping through the undergrowth stealthily to circle back around and come up from behind. The overgrown grass could not fully hide the red merle coat from this angle, and the wind blew the bitch's scent directly into his nostrils, so he could get a firm lock on her location; Scath's head sank down, his eyes fixed on his target as he stalked forwards in the ominous silence of the graveyard... Then he pounced. His forelimbs landed squarely on either side of her shoulders, his massive frame looming over her and refusing her space to stand. His muzzle, twisted into his trademark crooked grin, halted just behind her ear. "Boo." Then he cracked up. His dark, rasping chuckles resonated through the emptiness of the large clearing, intimidatingly cheerful and only adding to the Dutch Shepherd's sinister, ominous appearance His black-brindle coat was marred, the flesh underneath sporting too many scars for the fur to cover up. As he moved off the bitch, granting her back her personal space once more, his mirthful, mischievious burgundy irises could be seen. His relaxed muscles and low, waving tail served as further evidence that the black-brindle was not here on aggressive terms. " Sorry, did I scare you? Well, a graveyard isn't the best place to play hide and seek, love."

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