by foxelite » Sun Oct 23, 2016 3:13 pm
Hah, next chapter before August ?! Hell no, you're waiting 2 years for it X.x
But seriously, I have FINALLY finished transcribing notebook to digital text, and now I am capable of pushing out 3 chapters wordy chapters (maybe more depending on how these all break up). It also means I can actually start WRITING again, as opposed to just transcribing.
For now, I leave you with the first of these.
Miscommunication Pt. 39
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Hallways; why was it that he always had to wake up and traverse hallways? That thought was all that Brackish seemed to be able to force through his mind as all four of his legs stumbled through a maze of barely lit halls connected to unlit rooms. Of course his vision was more than just a little bit cut out to contend with the low light situation, but that didn't do him much of any good when it came to actually finding his way around a complex network of tunnels that were made specifically to confuse intruders. Granted, he wasn't so much an intruder as he was a prisoner. A prisoner in excruciating pain at that.
Indeed, as the coy-dog pressed on, led only by the occasional hint of non-vulpine scent, he found himself forcing back the urge to just give in to the pulses of agonizing rejection both his forelegs and torso gave him. Every impact of paw-to-floor sent a surge up from his pads through the entire respective side of his body. He'd initially forced through it without so much as a noticeable twitch, or peep. A moment in and he'd simply settled for a low growl to power through the pain. Several moments after that, the collie found himself making no true progress, though that growl had grown in volume.
By the time Brackish glanced and sniffed into the eighth empty chamber of sand, he'd graduated to showing visible signs of injury. With the 3ft wide entrances of rooms being only about 10ft apart, the coy-dog knew he'd only made it about hundred feet when his right foreleg buckled beneath his own weight. It caught him completely off guard, as was easily evident when the dog's right cheek planted itself into the compacted earth. For the nonexistent bystanders who's vision could not grant them an image in the terribly lit atmosphere, they would undoubtedly catch wind of the defeated whine that erupted from the collie's throat.
Rear-end still standing, the coy-dog found himself looking like a half-sunken ship on ice. Both forelegs had merely collapsed beneath him. His right had of course gone first, whilst his left had attempted to support him in his sudden time of need. Obviously, it failed entirely in its duties. That physically left Brackish little more than a pile of black and white fur with two broken legs. Mentally, the coy-dog was a gradually spiraling wreck.
If there was ever a time to just give in, Brackish was certain he'd found it. Neither of his forelegs even bothered to respond to their nerves commanding them to move. To make matters worse, the furry obstacle could not ascertain whether his new nerves -actually- weren't responding, or if it was all just in his head. Honestly, the former thought forced a high-pitched howl from the canine; whether the howl was out of mental agony, or an actual plea for help, was anyone's guess. Granted, if the latter was his goal, then then coy-dog's appeal was rapidly answered.
A female voice spoke softly out from well ahead of the helpless coyote-mix: “I'm not a... wait, yes I am a specialist.” The voice seemed confused for a moment, but they did cause the border collie to perk an ear in surprise before going on, “So as a specialist, I am definitely going to say that that was -not- a fox whining.”
Brackish found himself in what seemed like no mortal danger at the moment. As such, the collie seemed all too casual in giving the unknown figure a quick bark and growl amounting to “You'd be right, mysterious figure who doesn't much smell like a fox.”. To that, the out-of-sight voice merely snickered. Its verbal sounds were quickly replaced by the vibrations of soles against the compacted sand floor. The rhythmic beat grew slightly louder as the collie found himself being approached in the dim light. Granted, by the time the figure had slipped out of the room she was in, and entered the hall, he was instantly able to identify her.
“Well” Brackish erfed, his body still a totaled mess yet still capable of forcing his eyes to look up, “You're a lot shorter than I remember you.”. In response, the female figure just ten feet from him paused and giggled through a half-closed muzzle, only tacking on a cheeky retort a full second later, “Well you... wait... no... you always did look like death.”. The border collie's mind began to sort through a list of possible replies in an attempt to defend himself yet, thinking back on the past few days, the collie really had looked like death... >a lot<.
With the coy-dog locked in silence, the feminine figure took it upon themselves to close the gap before sliding down upon their rear. Considering Brackish was in too much pain to fight back, if he even wanted to, it was of no surprise when the mottle-coated female merely reached forth, grasped the collie by his hind-quarters, and pulled him into her lap. What resistance she did receive was only in the vocal form: a series of erfs, whines and agonizing whimpers brought about by the injured coy-dog's sudden forced movement. That all settled however, once the female had positioned the large four legged canid to sit at the split of her spread legs, his head pulled up to rest over her shoulder. As if being man-handled wasn't bad enough, they had the audacity to pat his head consolingly.
“You could have asked” the collie growled with no aggressive intent. In response, his two-time savior found herself rolling her eyes in an extremely exaggerated manner; “Yeah, yeah, a thank you would be nice” she stated in a somewhat annoyed erf. Brackish paused as he seemed to contemplate for a moment. It was not until several seconds passed that he bothered to inquire through a curious head-quirk and a pitiful whine of minor pain “What exactly would I be thanking you for, Hunter?”. Almost instantly, the collie was given a growl that spoke of mild irritation from his bipedal acquaintance, “How about you thank me for saving your ass, and carrying you out of harm's way, -and- almost dying for you?”
To the sudden explosion of reputable actions, Brackish was forced to truly ponder in silence. Mulling over the past few days once more, he delved through his memories in search of the Hunter's claims, eventually ending up with anything but what she wanted to hear. “So” the collie began to growl lowly, his tone casual, “all I remember is seeing you that one time you came to try and save me, but we ended up having to back down. After that, I remember a breakout attempt, but I feel like that failed entirely.”. It was at that moment that the collie crossed a line he did not know existed.
Eyes widened, muzzle going slack for a moment, the Hunter found her previously gentle hands suddenly clenching the two-tone mutt's ears. Yanking them painfully, she brought the collie nose-to-nose with her, that slack jaw rapidly transforming into clenched, bared teeth on full display. No longer was the female's growl a vibration of possible irritability, no, it suddenly flared into a sound usually preceding the complete mutilation of another soul. “I didn't -fail-!” she snarled, only to return to her infuriated reverberations that weren't much quieter, “I fucking got you out! I fucking kept you alive, treated your sorry tail!”. By now, Brackish had gone completely wide eyed, his sapphire peepers fully revealed and vulnerable to the piercing eye-contact of the upset Hunter.
The rage filled growling continued, and with Brackish's ears still firmly held up, the collie undoubtedly heard every waking 'word'. “I came back just for you! I fought a fucking -child- just for you! “I got poisoned and almost died thanks to you! I wouldn't even fucking be here right now if you weren't -you-.”. To that, Brackish couldn't decide whether to whimper at the insult, or let loose his bladder in outright fear. No vocals of his own came however, not until the female stood to her full height.
Still clenching the collie's ears in her fingers, the Hunter shuffled to both of her feet, hoisting 70 pounds of coy-dog by two extremely uncomfortable points, and leaving him to dangle almost two feet from the ground. That action alone forced a high-pitched whine from the mutt, yet it did nothing to appeal to his sudden assailant's better nature. The dog swore he heard a good portion of his ear tissue begin to tear, yet even as he began to kick, whine and force through the pain in the rest of his body, the Hunter refused to show any sort of mercy. Instead, she only heightened the volume of her growl, and dug the claws of her fingers into the smaller creature's ears.
“Fucking ungrateful bitch!” she snarled, her glare slicing the collie's sapphire eyes with a laser-like focus, “You're not -worth- anything! You're not helpful in anyway! Why the hell am I stuck here? Right, because -you- fucked up!”. A single frantic swipe of the coy-dog's forepaw knicked the Hunter's chest, the damage non-existent, yet her reaction did not show it. In a furious explosion of muscle movement, the female's arms rose, still partly curled to hold the dog, before rapidly thrusting downward. Releasing her two-tone prisoner mid thrust, she succeeded in slamming him back to the compacted earth at her feet.
Brackish landed in a crumpled heap upon his belly, the concussive force being enough to force the wind from his lungs in one painful yelp.
“The fuck do you get off hitting me!?” the Hunter blared from over the gasping mutt, his response no more than further heaving. Apparently, that was -not- what the female wanted to hear. Not aiding in the collie's situation at all, she delivered a heavy heel to the back of his neck, planting it there to pin him as if he wasn't already disabled. The act only further complicated the collie's attempts to grasp whatever breath he could from the dry air about him.
“I could be home right now!” the Hunter snarled, her own chest heaving out of anger as opposed to necessity, “But no, I'm off confirming that two dumb dogs, already known for fucking up everything they touch, >fucked this up too<!” As if Brackish's pathetic mixture of gasping and whining wasn't enough of a victory for her, the female rose her foot only to stomp back down upon the collie's upper back. Unfortunately, he hadn't enough breath to even give a sizable whimper of pain. The growling from above only continued as he was assaulted seemingly for existing, “I was hoping it was just going to be a simple scout, ignore the locals, and maybe get lucky with both of you mutts being carcasses by the time I got to you.” Her weight returned to the back of his neck as she tossed her hands out as if to plea, “But noooo! >You< had to be captured alive!” The growl slowly began to lose some of its intensity as the female went on, “But at least one of you tried to make this process easy.”
Through labored breaths, the collie heaved, choked, and finally expelled a coherent whine, “W-What are you talking about?”. The Hunter paused, her growling even ceasing for a moment as she glared down to the fluffy pile of black and white. “What do I mean?” she erfed rhetorically, “I mean that at least the bitch had the courtesy to get offed before I got here.”
To that, Brackish merely fell silent, jaw forced shut by his position on the ground, yet losing all involuntary tension. His entire frame seemed to suddenly dull, no longer feeling the pain of his bones and flesh. No, all of that physical discomfort soon forwent his nerves in favor of forcing a burden far greater upon them: the mental anguish of a broken heart.
Even without a vocalized response from the collie, the wild dog could comprehend his reaction. Unfortunately, sympathy did not seem to be on her list of current concerns, as denoted by a continued rumble from her closed lips “Don't go all pity party on me now, you should have known that crazy bitch couldn't keep herself alive.” For a moment, the Hunter lifted her hind-paw from the back of the collie, allowing him to emit a proper whimper, though it did not seem to translate into much of anything. It was however, enough to bring a roll to the Hunter's eyes whilst she finally planted her paw back upon the sand. “Fine!” she barked, “I guess I'll leave you to your pity party. You're lucky you're my mark; the other dog was yours, so I'm not even remotely responsible for its well-being.”
Brackish did not respond. The collie merely continued to lie in a distraught heap with barely any signs of life. Eventually, his silence paid off. The Hunter snorted after her last comment; what she needed to say had been said. Pivoting upon one foot, she turned away from the collie and headed back in the direction of 'her' room. The coy-dog was of no use to her; he merely needed to be kept alive for the time being. Assuming Aeris kept her word on letting them return home, the mottle-coated female was confident that she could at least return home without a mission failure. Greater still, she could just put thoughts of all those she'd had the unfortunate experience of befriending behind her. As she pivoted ninety degrees to begin entering the downward sloping threshold to her room, the Hunter settled her mind upon but one goal: returning home with no true blood on her hands, and with her mark still alive and well.
Well... alive anyway.
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Carmen... Carmen thought she had seen it all in the past few days. She'd been in a helicopter reporting a giant alien dog. She'd been in that same helicopter when a car was thrown in its direction. She'd witnessed said dog be almost completely blown apart by the military and police, then saved by another giant dog. On the same token, she laid her eyes upon the horrors of those who'd been in the way of that very same canine, the slaughter that it truly was at ground level. Then, to make matters worse, she'd become a casualty of yet another dog with entirely too much height. The latter fact meant that she now knew what it was like inside of a German shepherd's stomach, and even if it was too dark to see anything, that was a smell and feeling she'd never forget.
Yet, all of that was only the beginning. Now she could say she'd been thrown in jail, talked with an alien, and even had a foiled prison-break scheme with said alien. On top of then seeing a giant being shed its size, in a most gruesome fashion, the reporter now had more than enough to warrant her entry into the nearest insane asylum. Unfortunately, her life was not finished tossing more stones into the already tearing sack of the woman's sanity.
A small ranch home out along the borders of what used to be Del Rio is where Carmen found herself. She'd already slept to her mind and body's content, then found a bathroom, delighted to also stumble upon running water and a working shower. As if life were actually looking up for once, the home even sported a wardrobe filled with all of the womanly items Carmen could desire. Well, at the very least, there were two or three outfits worth of female clothing, but honestly Carmen was more than happy to exaggerate even the most minuscule of positives after her last few days. After all, this was the first time she'd had a proper shower and change of clothes in at least three days. The girl was ripe, to put it nicely.
While she may not have liked the short sleeved plaid T-shirt, or the white blouse beneath it, Carmen found her options quite limited. The denim jeans she found fit her at least, though they seemed just a bit baggy on her skinny frame.
After resolving all matters relating to hygiene, the female human made her way to the kitchen of the small home. The entire two-bed one-bath structure had its walls painted an inviting, if not bland, cream color. The kitchen was just barely large enough for the rectangular, six-person table that sat in the midst of it, though with the removal of several chairs, one could comfortably access the fridge and stove without much hassle. Simple, dark gray hues adorned the laminated counter tops, and the home's white back door sat nestled into the wall near the one of the table's ends.
It was the back door that the Mexican woman stepped over to, turning the golden knob before moving herself out upon the back porch of the modest structure. A light drizzle tapped rhythmically upon the tin roof, accentuated by the gray overcast of the clouds above. Whilst Carmen could not even tell if it was morning, noon or night, she had far too many points of interest to even allow the thought of sleep to slip into her mind.
Upon her the first knock of sneaker soles to treated wood, the woman gained the attention of two males, though not for the usual reasons. One was but a short Mexican man resting upon a wooden bench beneath the overhang. Adorned in a white T-shirt and pants two sizes too large, the man looked over with little more than a wave and a low “buenos dias.” Honestly, the more Carmen looked over the man, the less she understood how he was such a high ranking official in any military. Of course, General Tajo's success wasn't exactly attributed to his dashing good looks and sense of fashion. Either way, she returned his vocal gesture out of sheer respect.
Greetings exchanged, Tajo gradually took to staring off at the expansive green field that this home claimed as its backyard. Dead silent, Carmen followed in suite, though it soon became clear that neither of them were focused upon the beauty of the nutrient rich grasses that stretched off into the remarkably flat distance. No, both Carmen and Tajo's eyes lay upon the bloody heap of white fur just a dozen or so yards in front of their current position.
Perhaps the night when this all began had steeled Carmen's constitution, or maybe the woman had been exposed to so much crazy, disgusting and outright unbelievable that her mind simply forgot to be squeamish. Whatever the case, she gazed upon the bruised and beaten body of her white-furred saviour without the slightest hint of a contorting face or negative body motion. The saviour in question was the 6 foot Arctic fox curled up, sleeping upon the mat of green blades. What stalks of short, soft field lay closest to him were stained a darkened shade of what used to be crimson.
“Do you think he will be alright?” Carmen softly inquired in her native tongue, the woman assuming that the General knew the question was directed at him. For a moment, she thought that he might not have heard her, or that he was possibly ignoring her, though those thoughts were quickly extinguished once a male voice responded lowly from behind her, “I believe he is just sleeping: I'm almost certain he's not in danger of bleeding out however.”. Carmen allowed her gaze to roll over the giant wounded creature, her head slowly beginning to shake back and forth in disbelief as she took in a sight that was far more awe-inspiring than it was gruesome. “I thought it was all a dream” the female uttered, almost not even reaching the man's ears. Proving once more that his hearing was impeccable, Tajo hummed briefly, rocked back in his seat, and offered the reporter a comforting truth, “Considering what I've gotten used to seeing in the past year, even I must admit that last night was unbelievable.”
With a heavy sigh, Carmen crossed her arms and proceeded to walk over to where Tajo currently sat. Relaxing considerably, the woman turned about and gently settled herself down upon the wooden bench. However, before she could utter a word, the General went on, his tone almost seeming as though he was reminiscing of years past, “Heh, when he told me we were going to fly away, I figured he must be crazier than I previously believed.”. “He still is crazy!” Carmen interjected with a huff. “Ah...” Tajo began once more, “but I am beginning to think that his craziness is the sole reason that you and I are not in the belly of any beasts.”. As if on queue, Carmen tensed up before cringing. Immediately, Tajo shot her a curious glare through one raised brow.
“Is something the matter?” the General asked quizzically. Carmen offered yet another sigh before replying with mild irritation, “It is just you mentioning being eaten; it brings back the worst of memories inside that mongrel.”. The male was forced to think for a moment as he turned back to face the slumbering vulpine creature. “Ah” he began, raising his finger as if to make a point from something Carmen already knew, “You mean the German shepherd. I am still amazed you were alive when we found you.”. The woman growled before waving the man and the topic on, “Can we >please< not talk about this?!”. The reaction drug a chuckle from the General, though he obeyed the request and set the original topic back on track: “Right, right, where was I?” The man could not help but continue smiling as he went on, “Oh yes, I thought we were doomed to a terrible fate, and perhaps his talk of flight was simply humor to cover for overwhelming fear. I mean, how could I know he would actually sprout wings?”.
The mere mention of the last word was enough to cause both humans to fall silent and lock their eyes upon the four-legged mammal before them. Indeed, one did not usually think of wings when thinking of furry creatures, though the two large, feathered appendages drooped down upon either side of the alien were undoubtedly wings. With the fact that said wings seemed more appropriate for a bird of prey, rather than a fluffy, four-legged canid, it was of no surprise that either primate still found themselves completely flabbergasted at the peculiar sight. Granted, the fact that they were not stunned by the 6ft Arctic fox spoke wonders about just how much they'd grown used to passing off as normal.
“It is only fitting that his wings be white, Tajo noted aloud with his arms gradually crossing about his chest; “he made for quite the guardian angel.”. Carmen snorted at the remark, her own arms tightening about her chest whilst she lowly blurted out a contradictory reply, “Well perhaps neither of us would have to have been saved if it weren't for him and his kind to begin with!”. To that, the General shrugged, his shoulders remaining raised as he retorted in an indifferent tone, “Perhaps. But of all of his kind, he has proven to be the most reasonable.”
Carmen glared towards the man, her eyes narrowed to near slits as she forced words through clenched teeth, “Reasonable? He helped those murderous dogs, and broke one of them out of prison.” The woman paused for a moment before tossing her hands in the air to 'yell', “>Your< prison!”. General Tajo was indeed forced to bring a hand to his chin, fingers stroking the stubble of several unshaven days. “Hm” he began inquisitively, “You may have a point there, but in general he seems less callous and hateful than the others. The rest of them seemed ready to end any life at the drop of a hat. He may have had his own agendas, but I feel as though they did not directly threaten others.”
A response from the female was temporarily put on hold as the fox stirred. After several seconds, the human's anticipation faded, for the white-winged creature returned to its healing slumber.
Without skipping a beat, Carmen picked up where the man had left off, her finger raised to aid in making a point, “Does not threaten others? If he had not done such foolish things, he would not have almost died! I believe putting us in harm's way counts as threatening our lives.”. Tajo once more shrugged before offering a retort and a light chuckle, “How true, though it is merely unfortunate that you were caught in the crossfire. That being the case, you were indirectly threatened. And let us not forget he also saved your life... twice.”
Carmen merely huffed once more, the female standing and stepping away from the man and the bench. “I would consider almost being murdered by those seeking his death to be a direct threat to me!” the woman forced angrily through clenched teeth. Once more however, Tajo had a quick answer to the woman's growing ire, “I will let you have that, though you seem ready to denounce him at any moment.”. Carmen shrugged, her eyes closing as her voice softened, “I would not say I want to denounce or abandon him, but I do not feel safe around him.”. “Oh?” the General quickly shot back with a smile, “and would you feel safer not having a giant flying fox around as you are potentially hunted down by other giant dogs and foxes?”. To that, Carmen briefly fell both still and silent. Arms about her chest, fingers nervously toying with the fabric of her shirt, the woman stumbled about her mind. She did not fumble for an answer however; no, Carmen found her inner thoughts manifesting upon her tongue in the form of a question. Ever so gradually glancing over her shoulder, the female's demeanor screamed of fear and anxiety. As her words spilled forth, her tone of voice held true to her body language: “Wait. Do you really think they are still hunting us?”
Not bothering to offer any candy-coated responses, General Tajo merely gave several slow nods of his head.
-----
To say Stalker and Tilla looked the part of assassins would be more than just a petty lie. As the duo trudged on over barren earth, barrages of windswept sand, and a sun that knew no mercy, neither seemed fit for the journey, let alone the task at hand.
Whilst Stalker's head hung low and stiff, facing the sands with physically forced interest, it was Tilla that would draw most attention from nonexistent on-lookers. An arm about her abdomen, another about her chest, the fennec covered the few puncture wounds upon her that threatened to bleed. Fortunately, there seemed to be no crimson stains beneath the material of her tunic-like apparel, though upon short removals of her arms, the fox did spy deep reds upon her golden coat. All of that said however, Tilla's issues spanned far beyond open circuits of the biological kind.
It was now the fifth time that the four-legged Stalker found himself burdened beneath a weight not his own. Just like the last four instances, his head painfully craned to the side in an effort to look behind him, though the action failed not even a quarter of the way through. Whether the inner crunch was his spine or his brain-stem, or even just muscle, was a puzzle not worth currently solving. Head and nose pointed to the baked grounds of the desert, the the male flexed his four legs, braced his back, and adjusted as well as he could to the weight of the forty foot female who's outstretched hand braced her full mass down upon his backside.
Being the fifth stop for this exact purpose, Stalker found himself further burdened with lowly growling back up at the fennec using him as a crutch, “Tilla, I think it's best you let me go alone. Your condition's getting worse, and that alone is reason to go back to Farsight.”. His fennec companion snapped her teeth and growled indignantly, yet a true vocal response did not follow. Instead, Stalker merely felt the load upon his back gradually increase with no signs of halting. “Tilla,” the fox barked, trailing off into an increasingly frustrated growl, “you don't need to be here.” His frustration manifested into a noticeable ire as he was answered with little more than an additional burden.
Ears flattening to his skull, the black furred male mulled over his options whilst simultaneously tuning out the pitiful whining that had replaced his ally's stubborn rumbling. “Okay,” the male began whilst all four of his vulpine legs sagged in protest, “if you're not going to get yourself help, I'll get it for you.” Surprisingly, that was all he needed to get his golden-furred companion to make something other than indecipherable undulations with her throat. Granted, still through a whimper, Tilla only managed a weak “No.”
While it wasn't much Stalker's ears perked at the single coherent 'word'. His response was briefly interrupted by two dull thuds, and the vertical force pressing into him becoming substantially more perpendicular. As Tilla's ever-faltering frame collapsed to its knees, the vulpine creature supporting her was forced to awkwardly stumble their quadrupedal self sideways. Head and shoulders just barely cresting the back of her ebony crutch, the weight of the entire fennec's torso pressed heavily into Stalker's side.
“Tilla!” the male finally outright barked furiously, “I'm getting help. We're not that far from home; Farsight could have someone out here to get you in minutes.”. The attempted retort from the tan fox was both ignored and overshadowed by a flick of his left ear, and another bark. Of course, the male no longer spoke to the female trying her damnedest to tip him over. “Farsight,” the irate, yet sincerely worried male yapped to what seemed like nobody in particular. For the fennec, only being able to hear one side of the long-distance conversation made it all the more awkward.
“Took you long enough to answer” the male snorted to the tech-savvy vixen on the other end, “Look, Farsight, I need a medevac for Tilla.” Stalker fell into a low, mildly threatening growl as he continued with the runt, “Hold on for what?!” A growing agitation in his throat's rumbling quickly dissipated, “Oh... I didn't know you could just... tell so much about us like that.” Stalker ever so gently lowered himself to his belly, the fennec upon him sliding down in concert until at last he went from furry crutch to fluffy pillow. “So you'll send someone?” A brief 'erf' interrupted the growling, though it swiftly returned, “Thanks, and it's all because Aeris wouldn't let us heal before going out on this trek through the desert to kill one idiot.” With that, Stalker paused briefly, no doubt interpreting a reply from the talented vixen back home. Once he found his opening in Farsight's babbling, he ended the conversation with an abrupt “goodbye” bark, and a flick of his ear.
Still unable to crane his neck more than a few degrees to either side, Stalker's 'words' were merely growled to the Earth itself, “Alright, it's done.”. Air sucked and blown through teeth clenched in agony, Tilla forced already strained breaths between the gaps of her incisors: “why would you do that, idiot?”. To her pained whimpers, the male erfed with an erect state overtaking his ears in surprise, “Why? Because I'm not going to let you slow me down, and get yourself killed.”. His concern was met with an ungrateful fist pounding into the fur of his back.
“Dammit!” the vixen half growled, half hissed, the male's fur before her taking the full brunt of a spittle assault, “did you even once think what Aeris would do to either of us if we return so suddenly with no mark?”. Her shadowy ally gave little thought to what rolled over his tongue, “I fucking know what'll probably happen!”. Instantly, another flurry of saliva rocketed from the clamped jaws of the tan vixen, “Then why the hell would you send me back then?”. Stalker took no time raising his low growl into a gargled, bared fang roar, “Because you have a better chance of surviving Aeris than Ghost!”
-”How do you figure?!”
-”Because Aeris won't kill you!”
-”I beg to differ!”
-”Well I know the truth!”
-”What truth!?”
-”That Aeris hates us, but she needs us!”
The duo's volume rose faster than their lungs had the capacity to cope wit. Unfortunately, a brief stint of peace partially disturbed by frenzied gasps for oxygen, was all the reprieve given to the environment before the vocal inferno once more ignited. Like a match in a lake of gasoline, the arid open desert exploded with a deafening array of barks and yapping. To make matters worse, the injured Tilla sported the louder of two infuriated voices. As if every aggressive contraction of her diaphragm wasn't sending her careening towards inevitable shock via pain, the irate vulpine satellite parted her jaws with the reckless objective of shutting Stalker down.
-”You think she needs us?! Are you fucking stupid?”
-”No!” Stalker furiously barked, the sand beneath his muzzle quickly caching together as it soaked in his unchecked slobber.
-”Sounds like it! You know good and well Aeris has no qualms...” the fenenc clamped her teeth down as her nervous system plead with her to cease the self mutilation. Not surprisingly, she continued after but a second of telling her nerves to suck it up and quit crying. “Dammit, she has no qualms killing any of our group... except... except Ivan and... Isis.”
This argument was proving completely illogical and counter-productive in the recesses of Stalker's mind, however the adolescent -could not- lower his tone or convince himself to back down. He may have long discovered that life was about choices, but he was beginning to realize that he wasn't always completely in control of which path to trod down. Perhaps it was testosterone, pheromones, or just a seldom seen sense of overt competitiveness, but Stalker's foremost thoughts, and what actually escaped his throat, sharply contrasted one another.
“Well Isis is gone, and we haven't heard from Volt!”. Tilla shot back an unnerving bark that faded into a weakening growl, “And that somehow makes us any more favorable? Face it, if nothing else, she'll just have us replaced with some other foxes willing to lick her asshole without question!”. Stalker desperately wanted it to end, but his jaws continued to fill the desert with aggravated vibrations, “And maybe we do deserve to be replaced, but not murdered! Aeris knows this.”
The large eared fox rolled over upon her back. Basking in the sunlight, still clenching about her abdomen and chest, the female allowed the excessive heat and cosmic light to aid in masking the agony of her wounds. Even with her relaxed position however, her incessant yapping continued, “You say she knows, but how do -you- know she knows?”
Stalker's barking fit came to an almost adorable halt in the form of a head tilt and an 'erf'. “I...” he choked on an attempted bark to respond, forced to fall back on a stuttering growl, “I guess because... because she would have killed us back there.” A stroke of confidence struck him as his true thoughts, and those of his adolescent mind finally decided to share the task of operating his vocal cords, “Ire; you, me... she doesn't like us for sure, but if she truly wanted us dead then all of our heads would be her's already.”
Eyes gradually losing the war with the relaxation level of their fennec wielder, Tilla found herself ever so gently drifting off as her skull slowly sank into Stalker's back. Her once thunderous yapping rapidly found itself replaced with less aggressive strings of growling, “That might make sense, if she wasn't sending us out to go kill somebody she doesn't like. Maybe she's just letting us solve her problems first... or hoping Ghost solves two of her problems.” As if it wasn't clear enough, the girl added in her own cheeky yip before Stalker could reply, “You know, those two problems being us.”
Emerald eyes rolled at the unnecessary clarification, but the ebony furred male was more than happy to give a minute growl in response, “Maybe she is just hoping we both get offed in the process, but I'm certain she is more so hoping to get rid of Ghost. From what little I've seen and heard, I'd say he's the worst kind of traitor there is.”. Tilla tossed up a hand before promptly slapping it back down upon the perforated abdomen hidden beneath her uniform. What was going to be an impatient gesture proved far more painful than expected, though she managed to whimper out what she had intended to say, “And what pray tell makes him anymore traitorous than the rest of us?”
Stalker shrugged as best he could in his four-legged form whilst lying down. “I don't know really;” he began in a very mild growl, “probably because his loyalties to everything are questionable. He'd probably throw his own mate into a hail of enemy fire if it would save his ass. Wouldn't even tell her first.”. After but a brief pause, Tilla giggled, though that ceased the moment another twinge of pain weaved its way from her diaphragm to every other part of her torso. She was however, able to offer a snarky yip, “Stalker, every single one of us would be dead silent about using the other as a shield.”.
To that, Stalker merely erfed. True as it may be, he... well honestly it was just plain true. Forced to accept that fact about his own species, the ebony furred, virulent male finally relaxed himself. He need not force Tilla to struggle through further communication. His entire goal had merely been to defuse the unnecessary argument and calm her nerves for the inevitable: she was going to be leaving him alone to contend with a threat that challenged multiple opponents of far greater caliber than he could ever hope to be. Perhaps, in the far corners of his mind, locked away behind cobwebs and walls of dust, the male wanted to do something uncommon by vulpine standards: he wanted to be their shield, as opposed to the other way around. Not because Tilla was his mate, which she wasn't, and not because he had an undying loyalty to the mission, or to Aeris, or anyone for that matter. No, Stalker was merely being completely un-stereotypical for his kind. He was looking out for someone he considered a friend. In all reality, most of his species could never attest to even having such a thing, much less being willing to sacrifice for them.
Those thoughts warming his heart and mind, Stalker stared off to the horizon. Whilst he awaited the fennec's evacuation, he knew deep down that he could very well be taking his final breaths.
----
Two full hours had passed since Carmen first commenced speaking to General Tajo. After a slow adjustment, she was not sure if she'd learned not to get quite so offended, or if the General had merely established how to talk to her, able to pick and choose words for the sake of not igniting her easily confirmed case of PTSD. As proof to the latter, Tajo had not seen Carmen so much as fidget uncomfortably upon the bench where they both sat. Of course, it didn't take long for them both to cringe as their savior awoke.
Perhaps if Ghost had shown some common decency by moving out of sight, he wouldn’t have caused both humans to cover their mouths with a fist before casting their gazes anywhere but in the direction of the Arctic fox. It only took one wet snap, and a crimson spray for Tajo to know what was to come. Quadrupedal form still splayed out in a resting position, the fox's first order was to shrink his six-foot tall frame. While he could complain that any size-shift was painful, at least he had not grown to full height. Whether he simply knew he could carry both humans without becoming any larger, or if he did so for the sake of not becoming too large of a target during the escape was anyone's guess.
Unfortunately, the only guesses tumbling about in Tajo or Carmen's mind was how long it would be before the vulpine creature stopped being so audibly mutilated. Even if their eyes could shut and avert their gaze, no amount of finger based ear plugging could silence every moist squelch, crack and crunch of the shrinking alien. Thankfully, it was over after little more than ten or so seconds. At least, the primates both believe it to be over.
It's not as though Ghost was making an effort to repulse his human companions, but as they both opened their eyes to the sight of a bloody(ier) fox surrounded by small bits of meat and standing in in a thick puddle of his own life juices, they all but hurled their nonexistent breakfast from their stomachs to the wooden boards at their feet.
And to think... the fox wasn't even done.
At his foot high four legged state, the Arctic fox cracked his neck with a rotation in both directions. A vigorous shake of his limbs followed, each of them sending miniscule droplets of fresh blood out to further corrupt the land surrounding the battered vulpine fighter. It was that much that Carmen and Tajo could successfully view with minimal issue. The moment Ghost's ribs, elbows and pelvic bones all split out of his skin marked the perfect time for both humans to resume averted gazes and finger earplugs.
Thankfully Ghost was not quite as out of practice as Brackish, and in but six short seconds he was hunched over, even more bloodied, upon hands and knees in his bipedal form. Granted, it was not till the panting fox worked up the strength to bark at the humans that either of them dared to so much as peek.
It would be considered impolite for either Carmen or Tajo to comment on how Ghost appeared. The words that danced about in their minds held no positive connotations: weak, pitiful, defeated. Indeed, snowy white fur lay almost entirely matted down in every possible shade of red. His nose turned to the ichor-flooded grasses beneath him, the fox gasped and wheezed between pained coughs. As if he didn't seem close enough to keeling over, the otherworldly male's sputtering cough sent flurries of crimson hurtling from his maw, and occasionally delivered what looked to be an organ.
Amidst the ostentation of suffering, Tajo remained undisturbed, yet Carmen once more adopted a posture of waning fortitude. Whilst she cowered for the sake of her stomach, the General beside her rose to his boot-covered feet. Plodding along with heavy thuds of rubber soles to hardwood, the Earthling male proceeded with a slow and deliberate approach towards the bloody hunk of what barely constituted as a living organism.
By the time Tajo reached Ghost, the violent attempts at hacking up a lung had ceased. Even so, the gargled rushes of air pulsing in and out of his parted jaws were more than enough cause for alarm. Even if the General had seen his fair share of combat injuries, he couldn't attest to having ever walked through a pool of bodily fluids thick enough to seep into dirt, lay a quarter inch deep upon a dry porous floor, and sport a diameter threatening five feet. Even more unnerving was the fact that the creature from whence the pool stemmed was still mostly alive.
A single finger rose to adjust the tinted glasses upon the bridge of his nose. With a hesitant step, the man allowed his boot to sink into the coagulating ooze. Several chills ran up from his feet through his spine as the hard rubber of his soles splashed down, leaving a crimson imprint filled with ridges. A second step placed his entire footing upon the disturbingly scarred Earth. Only after adjusting to the mildly viscous fluids he stood upon did Tajo glance down to the fox and inquire, “Are you going to be alright?”
Clenching his fingers into the seemingly mutilated earth, Ghost erfed in response before remembering just what species he was talking to. “Yes” he replied, deep, sultry Spanish accent partially gargled. Replying with a shrug that betrayed the concern in his voice, Tajo uttered further inquiry, “Would you like help?”. A low growl preceded Ghost's seemingly irritated reply, “I just... just need water.”
The General's eyes gazed over the multiple lacerations slicing their way erratically over the fox's back, sides and legs. The sight left him pondering if water truly would be enough to keep the alien alive. “Hmm...” the man pondered aloud, “Perhaps you should come inside; you could use a better place to rest than the ground.”. The fox's blood soaked tail fell limp between his legs and upon the saturated earth. “I” Ghost stuttered, knowing he would not even have the strength to argue, let alone physically resist the human's will, “I think that would be best.”
Tajo once more adjusted his glasses before presenting an outstretched hand to the downed vulpine warrior. It was only then that Ghost even bothered to break his stranglehold stare with the soiled blades of grass. A gradual crane of his neck eventually allowed his eyes to meet the reflective black lenses that covered each occulus of the General. Jaws slack, red hues dominating every inch of his countenance, the arctic fox panted, wheezed, and struggled to so much as lift a single hand to embrace Tajo's. The moment he rose his five-fingered support, his frame wavered: slashed abs tightened and clenched, whilst the upper most portion of the pectoral on his raised arm suddenly surged forth with pain. The combination sent the black pads of his palm splashing back down into the crimson lake beneath him. A pained whine accompanied his failed attempt.
Thankfully for the fox, Tajo had suspected his body was too weary to do much of anything useful, and in a show of gratitude the human bent down, hoisted up the canid's arm and slung it over his shoulders. “Inform me if there is too much pain” he spoke dryly Standing up with the vulpine deadweight, the man forced his mind to accept the horrid feeling of bloodied fur against his arm and neck.
Ghost may have been able to stand with the human aid, but his less than five-foot frame forced the primate to hunch slightly. Of course, aside from that minor issue, the pair found 'walking' to the porch easy enough; a less disgusted Carmen even offered to hold the door open for them.
----
The late morning sun threatened to bake every organism that dared to call the desert its home. Yet, as his paws cracked and fissured the parched, rocky earth, Stalker placed the gaseous ball of light as far back in his thoughts as it truly was in space. The young fox had far more pressing matters to attend to, though he counted himself thankful that what he sought was in no way difficult to find.
He needed no tracking equipment to find the Arctic fox in question. Well versed in the art of stalking, locating and dispatching of any and all types of prey.
While they may have had different standards than the dogs and wolves they so despised, the Vulpine Elites also demanded that one 'earn' biological enhancements. While Jazz had mentioned her class-5 status, and had the fact relayed countless times by Ghost (and eventually Tilla), Stalker had not once concerned himself with the fact.
Memories of the fear and disgust he was shown by most of his peers threatened to overcome his thoughts. He stemmed the tide of yesteryear's issues, but only enough to let them play out in his eyes like a home movie with no sound.
The VE's always adored stealth; foxes simply weren't ever going to win in a battle of pure strength with their... fellow canids. Stalker's focus on tracking and stealth was often seen as a hindrance however. He'd never proven himself with a blade, and he was the worst shot with an arc-cross his instructors had ever seen. In truth, that meant that he very well should never have earned the right to be amongst the ranks of any force bearing the name 'elite'.
The male's paws found themselves trampling more shrubbery and pockets of grass now. In the near distance he could see the sand, rock and desert shrubs give way to fields of dry grass. The sky ahead looking to provide substantially more cloud cover than his current position.
“So even without their blades and their bows, they couldn't pass the final tests against me” the fox growled playfully to himself as memories continued to play out before him.
Indeed, as much as those in his class kicked and beat him; as much as they scorned his name and labeled him useless, Stalker defeated them in all competitive trials. Of course, it helped that all of the final trials were held in the completely untamed forest regions of Antaria's miniscule VE territory. While others would skulk about and attempt ambushes, virtually all of the trials had a tendency to end in swordplay. Stalker's however, ended with his opponent psychologically broken.
“What's the point of stalking if you don't let them know they're doomed from time to time?”
Had he not been in his feral state, Stalker would have smiled and cackled at an image from the past creeping into his mind's eye. A small fennec vixen sitting at the base of a tree. Her back to the base of its trunk, the large-eared female's knees were pulled to her chest. A twitch beset her eye, and both massive ears lay splayed out in distress upon her head.
“Such stupid skills I worked on, they said” Stalker growled playfully as he mocked his peers of times long gone. “Why size-shift silently? It's supposed to be for shows of force... they said.” The male's tail wagged slowly behind him as he remembered all of 'their' ridicule. “Why ask for augments to your olfactory senses? They're already keener than a dog's. His mockery continued as the grass beneath him grew ever more green, “Why go through so much effort to focus your hearing... your scent tracking...” his playful growl grew infuriated briefly, “Why not work on something useful, like your strength? Why do you only struggle for evasion?” He slowly reverted back to a lighter rumble as the mental image of the familiar fennec flashed within his mind.
Oh, Tilla” the fox barked softly, his tail kicking up quite the gale behind him, “you'll never know how much it pains me to know I almost made you fail. 'Psychologically unfit' they labeled you. Everything you'd been trained for suddenly became useless... how could you not break down? Your blade, stolen; your attempts at stealth, foiled like a kit's game; your belief that I truly would devour you, a credit to those six hours of constantly changing size, finding you and licking over you ever so slowly... over and over again.”
The image finally concluded with Tilla's forfeiture in a mixture of anger and fear. “Mostly fear, if my nose is accurate in its recollection... and it most always is.”
Images of 'the others' played throughout his head, all of them ending roughly the same. All of them aside from a malevolent little red fox vixen that made it her primary avocation to torture him throughout his schooling career. Her... “I'll never forget her taste: fear all over, sweat on her pads, a complete lack of anger and nothing but regret beyond that. A shame the trials are not to the death... I may have done more than partially digest her.” A feral grin did its best to part his lips, the fox's mind gradually wrapping up his in-flight movie.
“Right,” Stalker barked, a lewd expression having overtaken his visage, “time to get down to business.”
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