Miscommunication

A place for writers to offer creative feedback and post works in progress.

Postby gadabout » Thu Sep 23, 2010 6:53 am

YEAH! Suck on that evil collie!

sucks that youre going to still be alive though v.v

oh well, you better continue this laddie
RIP Baggy52.

Mutual Benefit - In Progress... 21/40 -> 52%
Cause for alarm - In Progress... 5/10->50% >|+|< No Cause for alarm - COMPLETE
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Postby mandude81 » Thu Sep 23, 2010 11:22 pm

whith all the stuf the new fox guy is wearing he seems like their form of batman with his utility belt and funky technology and stuff.
see that pic right there? i drew it. send me a pic and ill post a penciled version of it free of charge.
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Postby foxelite » Tue Sep 28, 2010 9:56 am

Don't hate on my Gada....

And yes, Ghost may as well be Batman.. and that's only going to become more true as time goes on.

And now.. the shocking conclusion to that cliffhanger.... enjoy

Pt11
------------------------

"Come on, Rico! We don't have all day!". Both the Carmen and Carlos, her cameraman, currently found themselves halted in their advances toward the action area. The culprit was none other than their pilot, Rico, who had suddenly come down with an extreme case of the 'do-not-want' flu.

Having touched down in a park several blocks away from the 'target', the crew had already hastily departed in an effort to get there before the police officially blocked off every square inch of the area, but from the looks of things, Rico just wasn't going to let that happen.

Shivering from an unnerving glare casts by the one and only Carmen, Rico took to blabbering off every single excuse he could find; one of them just had to work. "I- I need to stay with the chopper!", he nearly screamed out, feeling as though the bitch of a reporter would snap his head off at any moment. Fortunately, she just settled on stomping an inch away from his face and giving the objectively challenged pilot a piece of her mind.

"What the hell could you POSSIBLY need to stay with the helicopter for!?" were the reporter's choice, along with an undeniably disgusting spray of saliva in to her pilot's face. It was enough to make him quiver, and bring his hands up defensively, but it didn't make him go silent. Sticking to his guns, Rico gave Carmen the response she definitely didn't want to hear, "What if we need to get away, eh!? Or what if somebody steals it? Or what if--", he was quickly silenced by the back of the reporter's hand squarely impacting his cheek.

The pilot's head nearly rolled off at the high-pitched collision, but he still insisted on fighting the female's will, "What was that for!?". The reporter was quick to back up her backhand with an answer, "Because! You're acting stupid! That thing is already dead, Rico... there's nothing to be scared of!.".

He knew she was right, but the pilot was more-or-less caught up in the possibility of ending up in serious trouble. They were charging in to territory they weren't meant to be in, and Rico also happened to be the only one of the three that had a family to go home to. With these reasons locked in to the back of his mind, the pilot once again commenced begging to stay, "C- Carmen!? I can't just leave the chopper sitting there! What if we DO need to escape? I'll have it warmed up and ready to go.".

"FINE!", the increasingly irate female cried out, half ready to knock the pilot's lights out, but also realizing that the longer she argued with him the more likely they were going to miss their story; "Go ahead and sit in the helicopter by yourself until you grow some cojones!... and you BETTER have it ready to move when we get back!". With those words, and violent shove to the man's chest, Carmen, along with her faithful cameraman, turned tail and bolted for the scene of the incident. Rico simply cursed the both of them under his breath and trotted back to the still active whirlybird.

The duo consisting of cameraman and reporter-turned-camera-girl hastily made their way over low walls, chain-link fences and several alleyways. Finally, they arrived at their destination... well, on the same street as their destination; neither wanted to risk being caught too soon by local law-enforcement, and they had intentionally arrived in an alley between two two-story tenements over 60 yards away from the downed body of the oversized canine.

In the middle of the alley, Carmen paused, having been stopped by Carlos with a simple hand to the shoulder. Gripping his small, boxy camcorder, the reporter's faithful sidekick posed a very real question, "Hey, Carmen? You ready for this?". The girl rolled her eyes, slapping the shoulder away playfully as she responded, "Don't get cold feet on me like Rico; of course I'm ready.".

Knowing this was the footage that would land her enough recognition, and money, to finally move out of Mexico and in to the States, Carmen pocketed her petty voice-recorder in favor of the other video-camera; it was the one Rico was 'supposed' to be using. Flicking the device on and beginning to record, she hastily made her way to the edge of the alley, looking left, then right to make sure no police were eying them. Once their own physical safety was affirmed, the reporter raised the camera to her face, looking down to the left side of the street and commenced rolling. The grin that once adorned her face gradually began to to fade.

She had seen multiple crime-scenes, and witnessed gross and unusual events that left her stomach in a bit of a knot, but Carmen had NEVER laid eyes upon a sight that almost instantly made her want to vomit. Hand trembling slightly as her focus lay upon the massive dog for but a second, the camera-wielding reporter slowly drifted to view less of the dog, and more of what it had done. The only words she could find to describe it? "Oh, my, god.".

From the air, the path the canine had taken looked slightly violent, but overall just what you would expect to see in a PG-13 monster movie. The ground-level images on the other hand, completely blew that pathetic rating away, and replaced it with a strict R... which in Carmen's case, stood for reality, because it was definitely beginning to sink in.".

Littering the roadway, from the colossal mutt to where she stood, were a multitude of cracks and fissures that led the street to appear utterly impassable. Chunks of pavement were missing entirely in many of those damaged spots, which were clearly the work of stray rockets. There were much less, yet still very, familiar deformations in the asphalt as well; even the stunned female reporter could tell that, grouped with the cracks and shattered pavement were a trail of oversized paw-prints.

The structures on either side of the road seemed unscathed closer to where she was, but the tenements and houses in proximity of the downed canine were utterly riddled with signs of being crushed, blown apart, or suffering from ongoing fire damage. Shingles, bricks and broken glass littered the roadway, and the mass of overturned or half-crushed police cruisers didn't help to alleviate the unusable nature of the road. Even with the flames, dust and debris littering the decrepit residential street, Carmen's attention wasn't drawn to the architectural, monetary damage; she was too focused on those 'few casualties' she had so foolishly mentioned earlier.

From her position onward, the street was littered with the aftermath of the oversized mutt's run in with the ground forces. Many of the aforementioned police vehicles had been abandoned, and in doing so had left plenty of exposed law-enforcement officials scurrying about in an attempt to find cover that didn't attract so much attention. Those attempts had costs them dearly. Multiple paw-shaped deformations in the road were stained a deep crimson, and flung amidst the erratic pattern of paw-prints were the bodies of the officers themselves. Mangled beyond repair, most still squirmed and flinched on occasion.

Some of the officers were attempting to crawl, though a flattened pair of legs made doing so impossible. Others simply let off gurgled moans of agony as their inner organs had been reduced to a barely working array of pinkish goo. Still others had faired what some would call better; they had been given the grace of a crushed skull. Carmen and Carlos, would not have considered that fate lucky... but they were of course, the one's who had to film the grisly aftermath.

Even worse than those left mangled beneath the erratic paw-falls of that titanic beast, were those who fell to its voracious appetite. At least, that was the only explanation Carmen could find to the bodies strewn about the sidewalk and missing at least one half of their entire frame. It was hideous; the news reporter had never laid eyes on anything like this except in movies. There was a man's torso still hanging on to dear life even with his intestines dragging along behind him like lifeless blood-soaked worms.

She nearly dropped the camera; this was all just too much for her. Walking slowly back in to the alley, Carmen planted her head in to the brick wall of one of the tenements, blindly asking a question to her male coworker, "C-Carlos? Do you think we can even show this?". The cameraman continued to film, though he had long since focused on the police helicopters still circling the area around the canine, and not on the grisly horror show that littered the street. After a much needed pause, Carlos answered, "I don't know, but I figure if the news wants to show reality... this is it.".

It almost seemed as though Carmen would collapse at any moment, yet the woman still insisted on clenching the camera. Everything she had ever done came crashing back upon her shoulders in one painful realization. Most notably, the reporter couldn't help but begin hating herself for her recent airborne newscast. She had acted so nonchalant about... about THIS! But now that she stood within just yards of it, thoughts about other reports she'd done began to creep in to her mind. She always just saw what would make a good story, and never once did she actually care about the people she interviewed, or their problems.

"Carlos?" Carmen began to ask, "Should we just get out of here? This place is making me sick.". Carlos continued to focus his camera-view upon the four helicopters, then slowly faded to getting shots of the downed Border Collie, and still not answering the girl's question. "Carlos!" she outright screamed, seeming to become more desperate to leave. Once again she was ignored for the most part, and only given an uninterested 'not now' wave from the cameraman.

Carmen refused to take being treated like a mere pestilence; Carlos wasn't paying her any mind. With misted-over eyes, the woman furiously stomped over to the filming male and gripped his shoulder. Violently shaking him, she attempted to gain his attention, but as she did so something far more prevalent snatched both of their eyes.

As if a sudden *crack* wasn't enough to force both of them to forget about the filming and self-loathing, the sudden eruption of a police helicopter in to a metallic fireball sent both Carmen and Carlos in to a jaw-dropped state of disbelief.

There was a difference however, Carlos' camera focused exclusively upon the flaming pile of falling slag that used to be a helicopter; Carmen had turned to the source of the ear-piercing crack behind them. She didn't quite see the source of the thunderous sound, but she did see something far more... intimidating. Instantly forgetting every feeling she had in the past few minutes, Carmen began to shriek one word over and over, stuttering in the process, "D- d... D- dog!, Dog!". Her cries fell upon deaf ears, as Carlos soon found himself filming more than just a single downed whirlybird; the cameraman trembled as another one suddenly exploded in to a fireworks display, and then another!

Only one chopper remained hovering in the sky now, and it had taken to erratically swerving about and rapidly gaining altitude. Its intentions seemed unclear until it outright turned tail and bolted for for the edge of town, leaving the ground forces to duck and dodge the falling 'corpses' of the other three aircraft, and be left wondering just what the hell was going on. They all focused on the dieing Collie, figuring he had something to do with it when in fact, a horrified B-movie scream alerted everyone's attention to the other end of the street where the massive dog had come from.

The scream belonged to none other than Carmen, who found herself staring down the last possible entity she could have ever wanted to see right now. Even Carlos finally turned around after the horrified scream that placed even the head-rattling cracks and explosions to shame. "What is your problem !?" the cameraman began, before narrowing his eyes and following the reporter's gaze down the street. Needless to say, the cameraman's camcorder raised to his eye once more, though the entire rest of his body froze stiff in a mixture of shock and fear.

Only three buildings down from them, square in the middle of the unpopulated street, stood yet another monstrosity of a canine. This was definitely no Border Collie however, and to be completely honest nobody could fully comprehend just what kind of dog they were staring at. In terms of fur pattern and build, the extraordinary being appeared to be along the lines of a German sheppard, and yet one extremely important detail made it exceptionally hard to accept that as an answer. Where there should have been beige, there was green, and where there should have been dark brown, there was a dark green hue in its place.

"The hell is that thing!?" Carlos shouted, not even speaking in Spanish any longer, and having been reverted back to his European roots by the sudden startling image. Carmen on the other hand, didn't bother with screaming, nor yelling anymore; she had long lost her voice from such activity, and now she simply began to go lightheaded. Finally, she collapsed in a backward faint, only saved the horrors of impacting concrete by the stiffened body of her faithful cameraman.

For a moment, everything stood perfectly still. The authorities didn't fire, the dog simply stood motionless, and Carlos continued to fulfill the role of an inanimate object. It felt something akin to that awkward silence when two conversing people just run out of things to say. The men perched on rooftops raised their weapons, but had no intention of even firing. Those on the ground level, that had noticed the other dog in the distance, simply stared on in much the same way as Carlos.

Then, the moment of silence was shattered; the ball was dropped; the the conversation exploded, and it had suddenly gone from calm and collective, to an outright swear-fest. The standing, canine broke from a still position, to rocketing down the already mutilated asphalt.

Carlos couldn't seem to break his instilled nature: if there was action in front of him, it had to filmed. Lucky for him, the 'action' thundered right by him, rattling the camera's focus and even forcing the male stumble about slightly in an effort to keep his balance. Still holding up the passed out reporter, Carlos craned his head to follow the awkward looking dog as it charged headfirst in to the fray.

It ignored those who stood upon rooftops, or were perched on balconies; instead, it made a beeline for the bleeding Border Collie dieing behind what could be considered a police roadblock. Needless to say, the supposed obstruction proved about as effective as a window stopping a boulder in an avalanche. Stunned officers were merely kicked out of the way or trampled in to a gory mess under-paw. Within only seconds, the suddenly-appearing dog's reason for ignoring the police forces was made clear.

Hearing over the oddly colored mutt's incessant barking was becoming a chore, but for Carlos, there was absolutely no denying that another, much louder, sound was being produced elsewhere. The cameraman didn't even have to turn around to know that the ear-piercing *crack* sounds once again erupted from behind him, and this time they came in much greater numbers.

Roughly one of the noises echoed off every second or less, yet the cameraman found himself confusingly staring: not at the cause, but instead at the effect of the successive clasps. Each one seemed to coincide with one of the officers, perched on a roof or balcony, being... for lack of a better word: disintegrated. At least, as Carlos focused upon one of the officers struck by the force from seemingly nowhere, he could tell that nothing but a charred skeleton was left of the 'victims'.

Confusion and blind-fire was simply the name of the game now, and even Carlos knew when it was time to flee. With Carmen still out like a light, the cameraman's English was met only by his own ears, "Well then.. I think that's a wrap.". Hoisting the fainted reporter over his shoulder, Carlos snugly gripped to his camera before fleeing the scene. Funny enough, having the dead weight of the reporter's body on his shoulder was a welcome change from running with a bulky news camera.

---------

Marcus had done exactly as he was told. Even if his body still felt as though it had been microwaved, the Sheppard knew there simply was no time to complain. His muscles ached, his body sported multiple signs of scarring, and even if he hadn't noticed his fur color was different... to say the least. For the now three-story German sheppard, none of those things mattered; it was all about doing everything that shady Arctic fox said to save the best friend he'd ever known.

Their plan had been simple really; even if Marcus didn't fully understand what Ghost meant by "covering fire". Of course, Marcus also didn't understand just how the hell he had just been painfully broken and stretched to thirty feet tall, so he was definitely becoming used to the thought of just accepting most of these things. Aside from those few details, the Sheppard had understood the rest of the Fox's briefing entirely.

He was to wait momentarily until Ghost cleared the skies; as the Fox had stated, "Birds are merely an unwelcome pestilence". Once the aerial-threat was dealt with, Marcus was to simply charge forward and "Extract Brackish from the 'kill-zone' "; that's what the Fox had said at least, but if the Sheppard had learned any skill in the past 24 hours of dealing with aliens, it was how to translate. So, as he saw it, Ghost simply said "Run over the little people; somehow pick up the Collie, then run away really really fast.".

Those were instructions he could understand, so without a moments hesitation Marcus had bolted right through the lines of confused and terrified officers, and gone straight for the real reason he was here. Even if he didn't show it, the few unlucky souls he trampled truly gave the Sheppard a sense of a little thing called revenge. If they thought he was an aggressive mutt then, he didn't want to know what they would label him now.

All thoughts of vengeance and self-satisfaction soon vanished however, as the Sheppard now stood directly over the gunned-down Collie's unmoving body. He had already been told by the Fox not to stop to converse, as every moment wasted was a moment closer to the black-and-white dog's inevitable passing-away.

As far as Marcus could tell, the Border Collie was down for the count. He was saturated completely in his own blood, and he seemed completely unresponsive to the Sheppard's presence. On even further inspection, Brackish's eyes weren't even open, and his tongue hung slack from his half-parted jaws. All-in-all, if it weren't for his undying loyalty, and the fact that Ghost definitely sounded like he knew what he was doing, Marcus may have already dug a grave for his alien-brethren.

As reality settled in on the canine, he rapidly took to forcing his muzzle underneath the seemingly dead Collie's belly, following it with fitting his entire head beneath and wriggling the rest of himself in to position as well. By the end of the brief process, the Border Collie officially 'rested' across the Sheppard's back. With a hint of crimson-tinted dribble trickling from his lips, the Collie appeared far more limp and unmoving than he had when he was splayed out on the ground.

'Low' whimpers escaped Marcus' throat as he trudged beneath the dead-weight of his unconscious ally. The combined mass left running out of the option, and even trotting proved difficult as the Sheppard pressed on back towards the Fox's position. Needless to say, resistance was few and far between on his way back. The officers had all but scattered, fearing the thought of taking on another one of these monsters without an aerial advantage.

The fear-factor did at least give Marcus ample breathing room to amble on back to the awaiting vulpine, who had taken up a quaint perch atop a nearby 2-story rooftop. As opposed to the grim-faced German sheppard, the Arctic fox simply laid back atop the flat roof of the structure. It wasn't long before Marcus stood over him and began to inquire, "Are you going to help him?". Ghost simply replied with a shrug and a half-assed answer, "Eh, sure. Why not.".

That reply caught the Sheppard completely off guard, resulting in a head tilt and a curious erf, "I thought you were worried about him?". Ghost smirked, before offering a much better thought out response, "Well, my friend... in those short moments of you blindly charging in to the fray like a valiant war dog, I discovered that I do not necessarily need the Collie alive. --"; "So you're not gonna' save him!?" Marcus blatantly interrupted with an unpleasantly loud whine.

Even if he didn't show it, Ghost was definitely becoming fed up with the German sheppard's intrusive behavior, but he simply passed off his true feelings with a smile and a slow shake of his head; "Marcus, my canid friend, you should not interrupt me." the Arctic fox stated, not even bothering to look at the oversized dog, "Now, allow me to finish. I will still attempt to aid the canine, but I make no promises.". "Hurry then!" Marcus rudely interrupted yet again, though in all honesty the sense of urgency did seem necessary.

Ghost snorted at being yelled at; he would deal with the Sheppard later. For now, he called to the concerned canine to drop the very-possibly-dead Collie. Marcus rapidly obliged, bending down and shimmying out from beneath Brackish, leaving him splayed lifeless upon the street once more.

Hopping from the roof of the structure and landing with an unnatural grace(considering this was pavement) the Fox smirked and began to pad over to the downed Border Collie, pausing at its nose. His head shook in something akin to dismay as he spoke, "The art of growing simply is not as simple as shrinking another creature; I can not shift him with such a size difference as this. I am afraid there is nothing I can do, my friend.". It was then that Marcus once again let off an outburst that nearly defeaned the small vulpine; "Wait!" the Sheppard began, sporting an unpleasant anger to his tone, "If you made me grow, and Brackish can grow... why can't YOU grow?!".

The Fox suddenly stiffened, his ears perking as the Sheppard put two and two together, and actually got four. Frankly, Ghost was not expecting it; he didn't have a wise crack, nor' a previously thought out answer. Instead, the Arctic fox stuttered, "W- well.. I simply.. I nev--" he was cut off once more, only this time it wasn't Marcus' barking that derailed his train of thought: it was the faint voice of the Border Collie, "Yea.. 'fox'. Why can't you just grow?". Ghost completely froze in the double onset of shock, the Fox's tail going stiff as the Collie began to shift about, its half-lidded sapphire eyes focusing upon the mere vulpine's 4ft frame.

"W- w- well my friend; I simply can not say that I know how to do such things." the snow-white fox finally blurted out, though it did sound completely legitimate to the untrained ear. Brackish's ears however, were highly trained, as denoted by his weak response of "Bullshit! You just wanted me dead.". Ghost quickly intervened on the Collie's accusation, "My friend, if I wanted you dead... I could have easily done so myself, or let these people have my quarry. Have I not made an attempt to rescue you?".

The Collie snorted at the comment, slowly beginning to fade back in to sleep. He was kept awake only by a certain ecstatic German sheppard 's face-licking, and soon found the will to even respond to the vulpine, "You just wanted to be able to say you made an attempt. I know how 'you' bastards work.". Even with that statement, and the fact that he was staring two exceptionally giant dogs in the face, Ghost continued to relax as he retorted to the still-dieing Border Collie, "My friend, Coy-dog... you know nothing of our work; do not accuse me of wrong while I still hold your life in my paw.".

"Don't give me that crap, vulpine. Just-- just, do something!", the Collie winced and convulsed as his final word escaped. The sudden burst of pain quickly caught hold of Marcus' attention, and almost instinctively the Sheppard curled up beside his bleeding ally, offering only the occasional nuzzle to his leg. It was the best he could do considering he didn't even understand why these two were fighting, let-alone what the heck they were talking about. All the Sheppard did know, was that Brackish thankfully wasn't dead... yet.

Ghost had taken to clenching the Collie's collar in his hand, bringing an ominous smile to his face as he spoke, "Brackish, coyote at heart; why do you continue to spit in the face of your only savior? Would it not be wise to have even a hint of faith in the honesty of my actions?". The word 'annoyed' didn't even begin to describe the injured mutt; he was becoming outright pissed at the Fox's constant blabbering, and it was time to bring it to an end.

It was a last ditch effort, an incarnation of pure will, and it was as unsafe a procedure as any of his kind could attest to. Whimpering like a newborn pup, Brackish's injured and bleeding body began to transform in as agonizing a way possible. His entire frame creaked, his maw emitted a gurgled cry, and his entire being began to quiver from inside out.

Ghost already knew what he was trying to do, and he simply had to interject, "My friend! You will do nothing but kill yourself. This is suicide!". Marcus was left in a state of both confusion, and concern. He snapped his attention to the worrisome Arctic fox, furiously barking inquiries at him as if HE was the cause of all of this, "What is he doing!? What'd you do to him!?". His response from the Fox seemed like no more than another excuse to the Sheppard, "Marcus! I have done nothing wrong. The Collie simply can not accept the truth!".

A low growl began to form in the German sheppard's throat as his fangs bared. Standing up to all fours, the canine stared daggers straight through Ghost, and yet the Fox didn't so much as flinch. Before Marcus could make any rash, and probably lethal, moves, the Collie beside him began to show visible signs of just what it was that was happening.

Everything burned, right down to what some would consider his soul. The process was always painful, but this... this was an exception; the Collie was injured to near death, and yet he still persisted to return to normal. Every ounce of focus and willpower gradually came to bare in the weakened Coy-dog.

As his bones dislocated, they pierced his skin and fur, opening new wounds on top of those inflicted by law-enforcement earlier. Still, the canine pressed on, attempting to remember a complex set of every waking fiber he had to shift and contort within his very essence. Blood once again began to trickle from the sides of his maw, and that trickle soon turned in to a nightmarish waterfall. The latter had caused both the Sheppard and the Fox to step back; whatever he was doing, they simply didn't want any part in it.

The Collie's howls of pain were drowned out by gallon, after gallon of the red substance flooding out of his throat. His breaths were far
beyond just labored, consisting of no more than a brief inhale followed by a sputtering exhale. His eyes had gone bloodshot, but considering they were jammed shut, nobody could tell. Most importantly, the Collie was showing visible signs of compression; not in the sense of being crushed per say, but instead in the fact that his body seemed visibly smaller.

It was working, but the Border collie still wasn't one-hundred-percent certain he was going to survive his forced reversion. Over the course of several more seconds, his body continued to split, contort, and break itself, even going so far as to try and heal the damage areas, only to come up short and make them even worse. By the time he had downsized to a much more manageable 10ft in height, Brackish's body had all but given out completely, and he lay in a pool of enough blood to... well, fill a swimming pool.

Ghost looked on in something akin to a mixture of shock, awe, and disappointment, muttering but a simple "bullshit" under his breath. The dog was still moving, but the shrinking process had completely come to a halt; the Collie simply couldn't continue on this own. "My friend, I see what you have done, and for that... I guess even a fox can bow down and show a bit of respect; even if you are just a filthy mutt.".

Padding closer to the blood-soaked, blood-leaking, and blood-spewing canine, Ghost casually placed a hand on the dog's nose. The Fox's eyes once again took on the extremely faint sky-blue glow as they had done when he began to transform Marcus. This time however, it would be for the opposite reason.

Brackish may have gone silent, but the Collie's body once again began to visibly and audibly creak in protest to size changes. "Ah, you are as noisy as my mate on a ranting tirade.", Ghost commented. Soon after, his Collie associate finally lay in a deep crimson flood of his own fur and fluids, and back at his original height.

The brief silence, as the Collie refused to so much as flinch, was quickly shattered as Marcus quipped, "The collar!". Ears ringing from the oversized Sheppard's bark, Ghost reluctantly complied, gripping the Border collie's neck-piece in his hand before kneeling in the sea of blood. He cupped the smaller dog's head in his hand, before raising it off of the ground, peering at the blood encrusted mutt face-to-face. Considering the closed eyes, and the limpness of the body, Ghost had already marked the Collie dead.

With a giant German sheppard anxiously breathing down his neck, the Fox figured he may as well try to put the collar back around the silent mutt's neck, even if he didn't believe it would do anything. Slipping the collar over the top of the dog's neck, the vulpine commenced fastening the strange-device to the Collie, finishing in nothing short of a second flat. Afterward however, Ghost unceremoniously dropped the injured canine back in to the crimson pool.

Now finding the Sheppard's wants fulfilled, the Fox turned about and slowly began to walk away, offering no more than this statement to Marcus, "Well, you're one of his kind. You carry his ass.". The German sheppard erfed in disapproval, bending his head down to gently nose at the injured Collie, then at the back of the Arctic fox; "Ghost" Marcus began, "Can you put him on top of me, at least?". Worry had clearly overtaken the Sheppard's mind; he simply wasn't going to risk starting a fight, even if he did have the size advantage.

The Fox obliged Marcus' request, but only after a significant pause and a highly agitated growl did he heave the Collie atop the Sheppard's snout with an irritated, "Fine!". The vulpine's attitude was already getting old to Marcus, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say Ghost had something against Brackish.

The German sheppard's theory may not have been entirely proved by the Fox's next move, but it sure began to look like the snow-furred Batman wannabe had no intention of spending more time around either dog than he had to. Taking an almost unnatural looking leap from the street to the roof of a one story structure, the Arctic Fox began to ramble off a new set of plans, "Alright, you have your mutt; now go find somewhere safe, maybe deeper in this settlement. If the Collie does not wake before I am back, consider him as good as dead.".

Marcus nearly tilted his head in confusion, but rapidly remembered the little dog perched on his nose. Settling for a low whimper instead, the sheppard stated his piece, "I can do that... but, where are you going?". Ghost merely shrugged, smiling inwardly as he replied, "My friend, I am merely going to scout for more threats... and to deal with a certain issue I 'overlooked' earlier in our minor... confrontation.". Not even bothering to let the Sheppard speak, the Fox darted off in to the city, hopping roof-to-roof until he had all but fallen out of speaking range with the oversized canine behind him.

-----

- "Well, how did it go holmes?"

- "It was good, all up until another giant dog came out of nowhere." - "Another one?"

- "Yea"

- "What the hell are they feeding these things, man?"

- "Way too many dog biscuits; how should I know? All I know is that something shot down the helicopters, then that big-ass thing came out of nowhere and Carmen was out like a light."

- "Something shot down the air-support!? I do not have a death-wish, amigo!; You could have said this before I took off."

- "Well, then you wouldn't have wanted to go, so I decided to just tell you afterward.".

- "A true friend, you are."

- "Just fly us back to the station.".

The conversation took place over headsets, even if the two conversing were within arms reach of each other. Carlos, the cameraman who fled the scene with the fainted Carmen, currently sat in the co-pilot seat of the team's news chopper. He had been recounting the story, to their pilot, of just what had happened back at that horrific war-zone of a scene.

They had already accomplished being airborne for the past few seconds, and with but a lazy turn of the whirlybird they were off in the direction of their beloved place of employment.

Their reporter, Carmen, was still passed out, and had been laid out across a bench in the back of the aircraft's interior. At least, she 'was' still passed out when they had taken off. With a sudden snap back to reality, the woman all but flew to her feet. Heeled shoes clanked against the metallic flooring, once-straight hair went frizzed and wild across her face, and the stares of her pilot and cameraman let her know she currently looked like a class-A fool. That didn't stop her from asking the obvious however, "Dog, where's the dog, and the thing... where are we?".

Carlos quickly waved his hands at the woman in hopes of getting her to calm down, even attempting to explain the situation to her, "Look everything is fine; the dogs aren't here and we're on our way back to the station. We're safe.". The man nodded and clapped his hands for emphasis, "Safe!".

It was all well and good to say something, but to actually mean it, was a whole different animal. That statement was proven almost instantly as Carmen started to speak, only to be cut off by the side door of the chopper flying open, and then gradually closing... by itself. Everyone's reaction to that sudden action was the exact same: wide-eyed, silence. It was as if something had actually just entered the fuselage, and been kind enough to close the door behind themselves, but on closer inspection, there was absolutely nobody there.

Carmen was the first to raise a finger inquisitively and pop the question, "Everyone else saw that, right?". The others nodded, and Rico had long since taken his eyes off of flying to look about the cabin. "Alright, I'm not just crazy then." Carmen quipped, standing up slowly and walking over to the others at the front of the cabin. She then popped another question, "Anybody else feel like there's something in here? Watching us?.". She wasn't answered.

The woman restated the question, quirking an eye at both of the dead-silent males. They seemed to both have just gone silent, but the weird thing was, they were still moving about and speaking, just like her. Apparently the reporter wasn't going crazy, as both of her coworkers stared to each other and noticed the sudden silence. Everything was silent; the beating of the rotors couldn't be heard from outside anymore; the sound of her own heeled shoes clanking was non-existent, and the most noticeable part of this entire phenomenon had to be that she could still hear herself talk. With nothing but the sound of her own voice ringing through her ears, Carmen paused and came to a 'shocking' realization: She would never get to Hollywood with her voice.

Vain thoughts seemed to suddenly flood the TV personality's mind. Of all the awkward events happening in the last minute, all she could think about was how winy and unpleasant her voice really was. The female never bothered to question the strange happenings, nor the sudden disappearance of ALL of the camera equipment in the cabin. The latter fact did spark Carlos' attention, as denoted by his frantic screaming. Of course, considering nobody could hear him, it all turned in to comical disarray of angry faces and hand waving.

Rico had taken to flying his helicopter once more, as it seemed to him that the only thing capable of making this loopy situation any worse, was a fatal crash from shear negligence. Carlos had risen out of his seat and commenced frantically looking about for the suddenly missing cameras. Carmen merely posted her back against the open side-door. Yes, the OPEN side door. Needless to say, open doors do not provide much support, and people trying to lean on objects that aren't there have a tendency to... fall.

With all of the sounds of the world suddenly returning to her, Carmen found herself up a creek without a paddle or, for a more relevant phrase, tumbling through the air without a parachute. It was surely her end; this was that karmic payback for stepping on all of the little people to get to the 'top'. All of her dreams would end in her splattering on the pavement, and looking just like those men attacked by the giant dog. It was all enough to make the screaming Latina go deathly silent, as she fainted halfway to meeting a greasy death upon the street below. Of course, if a night consisting of two giant dogs, randomly exploding helicopters, and strange sound phenomena could prove anything, it was that life had no truly logical order.

---------------------------------------------------

HAH! QCF?
Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

http://www.furaffinity.net/user/xbrackishx/
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Postby mandude81 » Tue Sep 28, 2010 1:23 pm

Great now we got 2 giant dogs that don't have much of a clue how to go back to normal. (Those being the German Sheppard and the she-collie)

Now normal Bra... 1 sec .. Brackish.. no o well cant spell it without looking at the name has to deal with a 30 ft tall German Shepard. (spell cheked Brackish)

I think all forms of stealth are hereby gone. (Not that stealth was working very well for them anyways.)

I want to know whats going on with the giant she-collie. (I am terrible with names)

You haven't posted anything about her side of the story and I want to see what she thinks about the Internet!!! (As an FYI I seem to want to read more about the she-collie than Brackish)
see that pic right there? i drew it. send me a pic and ill post a penciled version of it free of charge.
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Postby foxelite » Tue Sep 28, 2010 4:16 pm

mandude81 wrote:You haven't posted anything about her side of the story and I want to see what she thinks about the Internet!!! (As an FYI I seem to want to read more about the she-collie than Brackish)
You haven't posted anything about her side of the story and I want to see what she thinks about the Internet!!! (As an FYI I seem to want to read more about the she-collie than Brackish)


Everyone always said they liked Kia's better =p.. but yes.. Kia is next; that part I just didn't want to leave at a flat-out action scene, as I figured it'd just be really confusing.
Last edited by foxelite on Mon Oct 04, 2010 6:58 am, edited 2 times in total.
Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

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Postby gadabout » Tue Sep 28, 2010 4:30 pm

Good job laddie, you do have some errors though, I'll tell about them later...

Sucks to be that woman though >.>
RIP Baggy52.

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Postby foxelite » Mon Oct 04, 2010 6:56 am

@Gada: Falling out of a helicopter ain't that bad. I figure it's sort of like sky diving without a parachute.. and at pretty low altitude.. with pavement being the only thing you have to look forward to... I stand corrected... it's bad.

@Kid: Wow... glad to have sparked your interests.. thanks.

And now, instead of writing a paper, I wrote the next segment.. and now I only have a few hours to write that paper... but I also like where I took this story so.. =) I'm happy.

Well, I hated to leave with a woman falling out of a helicopter, but I believe Kia needs some lovin'.. so why not looky what she's doing.

(This chapter is probably more dialogue than anything else, just to forewarn)

Pt12
-----------------------------------------

Well, it had been a twenty minute debate, a ten minute preparation period, and another five minutes of reluctance before Carl actually accepted the idea of forgoing modern transportation, in favor of a more natural form of locomotion. Of course, calling a six-story bipedal border collie 'natural' did depend on just what planet you hailed from. Then again, considering everything he'd already been through today, Carl wasn't quite sure where he was anymore.

Honestly, Carl's debate with Kia, as to whether riding on top of her was a good idea, had been a little one-sided. Her reasoning skills were impeccable by comparison, and by the end of it all, the human male had been run so deep in to the ground with logic, that his brain debated shutting off for good. The Collie was right on every aspect, and the Rancher's attempts to counter were just plain sub-par.

He wanted to drive back to his place in a regular vehicle, but Kia insisted that he just let her carry him. He claimed that him going by car wouldn't be a burden for her, but she brought of the point of his human body barely even weighing an ounce to her. Then, Carl just knew he had her; he brought up the issue of speed. He could go by car and get to his place and set everything up, assuming that there was anything left to setup; the Collie HAD pretty much totaled his house. That's when Kia once again annihilated the Rancher's attempts to argue; she pointed out how easily she had run down his brother's pick-up truck, proving her four legs were far superior to any of the four-wheeled vehicles in this town.

After another mass of debating, the Rancher had given in and taken to riding atop a man-eating, person-stomping, house-wrecking alien monster with a voracious appetite. Personally, he couldn't understand the rationale behind it either.

Hands clinging to two black tufts of what actually seemed like thick human hair, Carl planted his rear right at the head of... well, Kia's head. It was an odd feeling seat, though it probably had something to do with being sixty feet off the ground and surrounded by enough hair to fulfill any chaetophiliac's dreams. That wouldn't have been so bad if the hair itself wasn't full of random leaves, branches and bits of oil that all conglomerated to form one helluva stench. Was he going to complain about the smell? No; he'd rather not have the science-collie verbally rip him a new one about olfactory inferiority of human-beings, or something of the like.

"Are you ready?" the she-collie called up to her only friend on Earth. "As I've ever been." was the Rancher's response. Honestly, 'ready' was not the word that best described Carl. As Kia forwent the usual countdown given before one takes off at full-speed, the bitch fell to all fours and rapidly bound away from the town's general store. The Rancher; he was left clinging for dear life to his makeshift 'reigns' composed of hair.

Having wrapped the tough strands around his wrists, to insure he didn't end up airborne, Carl quickly began proving that he was more cut out for the rodeo than anyone thought. Rear-end constantly bouncing up, before slamming back down with a hair-cushioned *ruffle*, the Rancher found himself debating just how much the Collie knew about the laws of physics. Considering the passing sub-urban scenery had nearly begun to blur, the man-turned-dog-rider already deduced that letting go almost certainly spelled death. The real problem however, was that the rushing wind and the fact that the girl had no intention of stopping, meant that the Rancher found himself in a potentially fatal situation that couldn't be avoided with simple communication.

As bad as it was for Carl, Kia found herself completely calm, focused, and ready to achieve her goals. Retracing her visible tracks of cracked asphalt, the she-collie bolted back through the disturbed town with the grace of a buffalo-stampede. Attempting to shave time, the Collie took a shortcut 'over' a small house, easily clearing it and obliterating the front-yard instead. Grass uprooted in paw-shaped imprints, and lawn ornaments trampled or shattered, the oversized girl found herself carving a much larger swathe of destruction on the way out, than on her way in. Truth be told, as long as no one was being hurt, she could care less.

Having put the town back in to an uproar of frenzied rednecks, Kia blissfully took in the sights and sounds of panic, before leaping over another one-story, and another. Technically, at the speed the Collie was moving, she only shaved off about five seconds with her four-legged hurtles, but considering the added reactions of the masses, that minor benefit was well worth it.

It wasn't until the furred rocket flew out of town borders, that she finally slowed her pace to something akin to to a four-legged dog's walk. Eyes crossing as she attempted to look at the man on her head, Kia began to question her emotionally distraught friend, "So uuh, you okay up there?". She didn't receive an answer; she figured he didn't hear her, so the girl asked once more, "Carl? Are you okay?". Again she received no answer, but this time the dog actually stopped. Standing erect before reaching atop her head, she felt around for the human, finding him to still be perched on the peak of her cranium. Slowly poking, then grasping him in her hand, the Collie brought the Rancher out to viewing distance in front of her nose.

From the first glance-over, Carl seemed perfectly fine. He didn't look like he was in pain, and he sure didn't look like he had any cuts or bruises of any kind. As she surveyed a little deeper however, Kia took note of a very peculiar detail; the Rancher's eyes were twitching, and his body was completely still. On top of just the twitching, there was also a noticeable glimmer upon his cheeks, but she couldn't quite tell what it was. Even if it was such a small quantity, the giant found herself curiously touching the tip of her tongue to the Rancher's cheek... well, his face. Whatever it was, it tasted kind of salty, and on closer inspection, Carl had sprung back to life, and wasn't taking kindly to being licked.

With her tongue batted away by one of the man's hands, Kia took a moment to slurp the appendage back in and question the little guy, "So, what is this stuff all over your face?". "Dog slobber." the Rancher quickly retorted. The dog clearly didn't get the joke, and her reply proved it, "No, not that. That stuff under your eyes.".

Carl shook his head in disappointment; here he was with a being that called herself intelligent, but didn't even know what tears were. Mulling over the thought of giving her a fake answer, the Rancher finally settled on just spilling the truth, "They're tears, Kia. They keep our eyes from drying up and all sorts of good things like that. And when someone decides to go pushing mach-1 with enough turbulence to shatter their skeleton, you can bet there will be tears.". If Kia didn't know any better, she'd say Carl sounded a little bit peeved at her.
"Oh, um... is something wrong?" the Collie inquired, beginning to slowly pad her way back toward the ranch even as she spoke. Carl fondled his shadowy beard as he gave an honest answer, "Yea actually, there is. I know I acted all cool about it, and gave you the benefit of the doubt, but to be honest, I think you're going a little bit overboard.".

Kia's eyes narrowed at the shrimp-of-a-man, her grip tightening slightly upon him as she retorted in a suddenly adverse tone, "What do you mean, 'overboard'?". It didn't take a genius to know the dog didn't take kindly to Carl's choice of words, and with that in mind he cautiously replied, "Well, uuh. Back there you sorta' trashed some kind folk's yards, and from what I've been hearing you kind of took a likin' to eatin' people.". With her grip tightening just a hair, the Collie narrowed her eyes even further, offering the worst word ever invented in any language, "So?".

Her claws had begun to uncomfortably dig in through his shirt and pants, but overall he could tell she had no intention of squeezing him to death. Then again, he wouldn't put it past her. "So?" he stated right back to her defiantly, "So those people had lives! That's what's so.". The canine rolled her eyes like a pissy teenager before adding her own two cents, "Well they also shot at me. It's not like I ran after them unprovoked. Besides, I am pretty sure that I'm worth more.".

That last statement sent a wave of shocking emotion down the Rancher's spine. He had to clarify if this potentially hazardous foreigner had truly just said what he thought she said, "Did you just say you're 'worth' more!?". The nonchalant nod the Collie answered him with was all but a clear indicator to Carl, that this bitch was NOT right in the head. He hadn't been this worried about her since the night they met.

He wasn't trying to die here-and-now, and he definitely didn't have any intention of pissing her off any further. Attempting to show that he wasn't afraid, the Rancher cleared his throat before presenting both a counter-argument and a reason to get off of this subject as fast as humanly possible, "Now, Kia. You being the science type, I understand that maybe you look on everything from the rational point of view, but that doesn't mean you can go around killing just 'cuz you're bigger en' everyone else.". The Rancher started to present a second addition to the argument, but instead found himself cut off by a snarl and a female voice that had clearly taken offense, "Don't try and degrade me to your morals; I had every right to kill those idiots that shot at me!".

Kia's grip only continued to tighten, digging her not-so-dull claws in to the man's torso. "Look, Carl, let's just get back to your place and see if I can find that jerk. Forget I ever hurt any of your little friends.". With but that utterly horrible blurb of communication skills, the Border collie crossed the line in to redneck-hurtville.

"Hey now wait just a cotton pickin' minute!" Carl broke off in to an accent so southern it nearly fell off the planet, "I'm all for letting bygones be bygones, but when you act like you ain't done shit wrong, that's where I draw the line!". The Rancher flailed about in the female's coiled fingers, futily pushing in every direction in an attempt to break free, though a fall from that height would have killed him anyway.

Unfortunately, anger plus anger can lead to a moment of irrationality that could very well end badly for one party. In this case, Carl was the obvious choice, and it became apparent as soon as the female rose her voice for the first time since the night they met.

- "Don't give me that 'right-wrong' speech! It doesn't exist!".

-"Yea!? Maybe not where you come from, but here on planet Earth, we don't just kill for fun!"

-"Oh please, human! You're no better than that blimey soldier boy and the rest of the ingrates back on that rock I call home! All you do is whine about how we're 'supposed' to act, and then go persecute those who want to be different!"

-"There ain't shit wrong wit 'different'; its when different involvesmurder that it just plain becomes WRONG!"

-"Again with that bloody word! It's just an idea, and until you realize that you're value to me is VERY limited."

-"My value?! So what then, I'm just some object for you to exploit now? I'm trying to help you, the least you could do is give me a little respect!"

-"Respect!? Bloody hell, it's just another made up word!"

-"The hell kinda' drugs you smoke in that lab o' yer's!?"

-"I don't smoke ANYTHING! All of my drugs are oral or nasal!"

Carl just, paused. How was he supposed to respond to a statement like that? Was the girl seriously oblivious to the fact that his question was just a rhetorical insult, or was she really the equivalent of a canine crackhead? Either way, the Rancher found himself with ringing ears, struggling for breath, and staring down a set of ivory fangs that could scare a tank away. The latter wasn't helped by the fact that they were laden in shredded clothing and slathered in gore. "You, really gotta' learn to brush, girl!", the Rancher blatantly stated, figuring this probably wasn't going to go well if he didn't at least try to push the subject away from blind fury.

-"B- brush? What? Wait, don't try to change the blimey subject!"

-"Why not?"

-"Because we were arguing!"

-"Maybe I'm sick o' arguin' like a buncha' kids.".

-"Y- you. Ooooh! You're right."

The Collie loosened her death-hold on the Rancher and slowly began to relax. That wasn't quite the end of the she-bitch's reign of terror however; she simply fell silent and dropped her hand from face-view, leaving Carl to be swung about as she padded along the roadway in an anger-induced silence.

The Rancher honestly couldn't do much in this situation. Swinging back and forth as the oversized mutt trampled asphalt, he attempted to wave his hands and scream for her attention, or at least to be let go. When she didn't, the male was simply forced to face facts: he was little, she was big. Honestly, it made him sick to his stomach, and that wasn't only caused by rocking back-and-forth.

After a full minute of being ignored by Bitchy-Bitch, Carl settled in, crossed his arms, and accepted his fate. They would of course, be back at his ranch in a moment, and then she would actually need him again. At least, that was the plan, but nothing around Kia EVER went according to plan.

The road had shifted from pavement to dirt, and the tracks of a few dozen pickups, along with one really big dog, were still visible in the moistened excuse for a roadway. This change was a clear indicator that they were close to the ranch, and with it they could hopefully use this 'internet' thing that Carl had mentioned. But, as the silent-bitch saw trees break in to open field, her entire mentality was swept away with the last thing she ever wanted to see.

Kia damn near forgot the Rancher was in her hand. Whipping around in a near instantaneous 180, the Collie initiated the fastest possible sprint she could muster on two legs. No longer wanting to deal with open road, the girl blasted in to the forested area behind her, splintering every tree that dared make contact with her solid frame.

Carl... well, Carl got the worst of everything. The suddenly spooked Collie had taken to flailing him about erratically as she ran, and her almost-comical form only made the human's experience all-the-more unpleasant. From whiplash, to the feeling of having a stray tree branch smack him square in the face, the Rancher found himself wishing Kia would just kill him already. Considering her ears were pinned back, and the foliage in her path rustled and screamed, it was impossible for Carl to even question WHY the bitch was running.

The violent assault on the forest only began to settle as Kia's lack of conditioning began to take effect. Gasping, wheezing, and outright panting like she'd just run a marathon, the alien-canine slowed her pace before simply dropping to her knees, skidding slightly forward before coming to a complete halt. With her chest heaving in an almost convulsive manner, the oversized mutt cast an utterly terrified glance over her shoulder to assure safety from... something.

As if having a bloody nose, and multiple scratches across his face wasn't enough, Carl couldn't help but note that the fury coursing through his veins burned far worse than any of his injuries. Nearly exploding on the dirty, flora-covered Collie, the Rancher pointed square in to the girl's face and let his feelings flow forth in a raging torrent of wild fire, "What in the sam hill was that!?". He paused, clearly not finished as he merely turned his head to spit out a leaf, "The hell you got to be so scared of?! You're the biggest damn thing on this planet right now!".

Kia glanced down at the Rancher in her grasp, still panting and heaving as she could answer with nothing but a high-pitched whine. Whatever she was afraid of, it had gotten completely under her skin. "Don't cry at me!" Carl continued to fume; he was sick of taking mercy on the man-eating canine. Even so, the female refused to answer with anymore than noises the Rancher couldn't translate. Knowing that yelling at her wasn't going to get him anywhere too fast, the Rancher shrugged and calmed his tone, "Kia! What are you running from?".

The girl still seemed far too frightened to answer, but she did at least stop whining like a puppy. That was a decent enough start for Carl, so he continued to inquire whilst keeping his irritation to a minimum, "Alright, calm down! Who's chasin' yew?".

Finally, Kia's heaving began to subside, and the female's shoulders began to relax. In only a few short seconds, her hazel eyes locked with the Rancher's brown, and at last the Collie gave a 'clear' answer, "Carl, you wouldn't understand if I explained, but just know that there was something back there that--"; the female paused, glancing off to the side and clearly holding something back, "-we.. we need to be as far away from it as possible.".

Carl hadn't gotten the slightest pek at what it was Kia had seen back near his house, so he was forced to take her word for it. Of course, he could still question, "Wait wait wait... why can't you just tell me?". The Collie quickly retorted, though she still didn't face him, "I already told you; you wouldn't understand. I- it's not important anyway.". The Rancher couldn't help but quirk an eye at that poor excuse for a lie, and he made his stance on the canine's fibbing known, "You done went and started lyin'; it's written all over your face.". Unfamiliar with the human expression, Kia began to run the back of her free arm over her forehead, questioning the Rancher afterward, "Is it gone?".

If the situation wasn't quite so dire, Carl may have laughed his guts out, but for the sake of getting more answers from the girl, he passed off her ignorance with a casual smirk and an answer, "It's fine. Now just you settle on down and tell me whatcha' runnin' from.". The titanic canine sighed, gently setting her 'friend' down upon the forest floor before falling upon her rump and explaining to Carl, the nature of a certain, terrible situation.

---
---

Twenty-minutes later, the Rancher's mind had been filled with information that blew his mind, sparked his imagination, and most-of-all sent a death-fearing chill so far down his spine, it nearly passed right out in to his jeans. "Well look, if you really gotta' find your friend for help, I think we outta' head back toward town, then from there I'll lead ye' to the library in a town not to far from here; they gots internet. Just stay off the road until we get back in, errr 'city' limits.". Kia nodded, her tail slunk down between her legs as she proceeded to scoop Carl back up and hold him gently in to her bare chest this time. She was in over her head with 'something' she had no control over, and yet having someone to share her problems with made the situation seem just a wee bit less overburdening.

Carl didn't seem to mind being held close the female's heart like a child's teddy bear. If anything, it just meant she liked him enough not to eat him, and there wasn't much more anyone could ask for around the oversized canine. Even with most of the leaves rustling, Kia's beating heart dominated Carl's ears, though the peaceful rhythm of a human heart was the last thing it actually sounded like. Instead, the canine's heartbeat felt as though the organ itself would explode any minute now. In the best analogy he could find, the Rancher figured the Collie's heart sounded more akin to an idle motorboat than anything else.

Even if it wasn't as relaxing as a human heart, Carl found solace in the organic sound, for it was far better than the one originating within the belly of this beast. It was easy to tell she was getting hungry again, but it was even easier to tell her emotions overcame the need to eat. Kia may not have said it openly, but anyone with a brain could tell she just wanted to go home.

The trip through the forest back to town took all of fifteen minutes for the Border collie; her slowness was easily attributed to having to squeeze between trees and just coping with depression in general. That depression only furthered when she broke through the treeline and in to the little-town Carl called home. At least, it WAS the little-town he USED to call home.

The once quaint little backwoods settlement no longer showed any signs of life. There was no fire, and only a few areas about the streets let off a hint of smoke. There did of course, seem to be a very good explanation for the lack of usual property destruction indicators; this fact left both Carl and Kia speechless and struggling to keep their jaws from falling to the ground. While there did seem to be the occasional black, smoking burn-mark here or there, the majority of everything in town had been completely... vaporized.

Dust, of what used to be people and buildings, shifted about in a gentle breeze, gracefully performing a sort of memorial dance for what used to be here only an hour ago. Now, all that remained of Carl's precious hometown were the ashes of despair, death, and destruction. Gawking on in a depressed awe, there was little doubt in the Rancher's mind, that nobody survived whatever had transpired here. For a total of five minutes, both Kia and Carl could do nothing but stare on in complete silence.

Kia was the first to speak, even if it was no more than a failed attempt to show sympathy, "Oh, oh my. They leveled everything.". She honestly couldn't find anything better to say at the moment; she just didn't understand emotions, and that fact quickly became apparent as Carl inserted his two, sulking cents, "Kia? Put me down.". "Why?" the Collie began to question, only to be cut off by a much louder and commanding voice from the Rancher, "Put me DOWN!".

His authority was realized as the canine submissively fell to a knee and placed the man upon solid ground. The sole's of the Rancher's boots crunched against the earth he walked on, and on closer inspection he could tell why. The entire area used to sport grass wherever there wasn't a home, but whatever had obliterated this area left the ground barren and charred to an ebony crisp. The only areas that weren't completely dry, were those graced by the Rancher's own tears.

He may have considered himself a hardened soul, but even Carl couldn't keep his eyes from flooding over at the sight of everything he loved being lost. His posture remained firm even as tears streaked down his cheeks; if he had learned anything in his years on this Earth, it was that having a complete breakdown only made things worse. Unfortunately, Kia was of no assistance in consoling, only able to offer a pitiful whimper towards the Rancher's predicament.

Just what Carl was looking for as he trudged further in to 'town', puzzled the Border collie. Not even so much as a discernible street lay in the area, yet the Rancher still insisted on walking around the non-existent remnants of his hometown. She wasn't sure just what to do here. He wasn't talking, and he no longer even acknowledged her presence. The only thing he did do was sniff the air occasionally and sigh, then go right back to having his head held low and his hands in his pockets.

Eventually, Carl made his way back towards Kia, his face still laden with the salty waters of despair. The Collie attempted to calm her only 'friend', but failed miserably, "Well, what did you expect to find?". The Rancher glared up to her in a mix of irritation and disgust, pointing a finger right between her eyes as he began to tare in to the unsympathetic canine, "You got any idea what it's like to lose EVERYTHING you ever loved?!". The Collie shook her head slowly, giving but a simple, "No", for an answer.

"I didn't think so!" Carl continued, "I just lost all the closest family I ever knew, and you gon' have the nerve to ask me what I expected to find!? Well... NOTHIN', thanks to yew and yo' problems.". The Collie still didn't quite grasp why she was being scolded; from what she'd seen, all of these people treated Carl harshly. So why did he care if they died? That was exactly the question the Collie posed, and she was quickly replied to with a flurry of cursing, insults and just plain reality, "Why did I care!? Them there people was my family... ma' friends. Sure I hated just about each en' every one of em', but not as much as I loved em! Them was my flesh en' blood, and all -your- bullshit went and fuckin' took em' away!".

Kia never truly had thought about it. Sure she realized that Carl may have died just because of her presence, but she never considered that her lack of control for her own problems could end up boiling over and affecting so many people. Whatever left his home town a vaporized memory, was all her fault. However, her reply to the Rancher's tirade simply didn't convey her true feelings, "I- I'm sorry.". "No you ain't!" Carl quickly retorted, "You're just tryin' to move the subject along so I can help you run away from your problems!".

The Collie rapidly fell to her hands and knees with a thunderous rumble, baring her fangs and snarling to the truth-telling being just inches away from her nose, "That's not true!"; she bit her bottom lip in a clear sign that she knew he actually was right. Carl merely stood his ground and glared right back into Kia's eyes, until finally she broke down and admitted defeat, "Alright, FINE! You win; I am too scared to face up to what I've done, and I don't really care about your loss. But--" the she-collie rose to her knees, crossed her arms about her breasts and turned her gaze away from the Rancher in a saddened manner, "-- B- but that's just who I am. I can't change that, and since I've been here I've realized that I don't want to change that... not entirely, anyway.".

She hadn't expected the Rancher to stay angry after her sudden realization statement, but his response completely shattered that assumption, "Ya' know what that sounds like to me? That sounds like an excuse to ignore everyone else' feelins', so you can just feel sorry fer' ya' damn self!". The Collie replied with her usual retort when she was losing, "Th-that isn't true! I.. I don't need this!". The Rancher took a cautious step back as Kia rose to her full height, panting in a rage of nonacceptance and biting in to her lower-lip yet again; only this time, it was purely out of anger.

The Collie's eyes jammed shut as her hands curled in to fists at her side. If she even had the ability to cry, she would have done so, but alas, the dog lacked the innate ability to tear up through emotion. Maybe it was the lack of being able to cry, or the fact that Carl had more-or-less shattered what she wanted to believe; all Kia truly knew, was that this little twerp was having a mental breakdown over a bunch of idiots that were probably going to kill him anyway. "I thought you were one of the smart ones, Carl!" the Collie began, screaming at the top of her lungs as if she wasn't already twelve-times the Rancher's size, "You're not supposed to be some idiot that gets worked up over a bunch of dead ingrates!".

Proving himself to be one hell of a David against this Goliath, Carl defiantly stepped towards the colossal canine, once again pointing an accusatory finger right up between the bitch's eyes. "You even listen to yer'self!? You sound like some mad scientist! But I reckon that really is all you are.". The she-collie tensed every muscle in her being, holding back the urge to just grind her current problem beneath a single heavy paw. 'Fortunately' for Carl, the alien-canine decided against sending him to an early, paw-shaped grave. Instead, Kia's decision was to do what she always did in situations like these; she planted her palm on her forehead, growled, and walked away(nearly stepping on Carl in the process).

"Where the hell are you gon' go!? Kia, don't go getting' yer'self shot! Tha' hell you think yer' doin'!?". Half torn between tears of anger and despair, Carl continued to scream at the Collie until she had made it past the other side of what used to be a town. From there, the canine simply took to the road, refusing to acknowledge any of the Ranchers incessant yapping, and disappearing in to the late-afternoon.

With that, Carl was left alone, in a charred wasteland that used to be a town. Alone... it's what the Border collie was, but what Carl only 'thought' he was.

Even if he didn't see another soul for miles, Carl had begun to get a sick, uneasy feeling in his gut. With irritation and sadness suddenly giving way to this feeling, the Rancher found himself perking an eye in paranoia, and calling out to a force he didn't even know was there, "H- hello? The hell is this shit? Dog's got me losin' it.". He glanced over his shoulder to find nothing. Maybe it was just the wind, or the way the leftover leaves and charred debris were fluttering in it.

"Ah, I got more important things to do than freak out over ghosts en' shit." the Rancher reminded himself. It was true after all, he no longer had a complete house to sleep in, and the nearest town was a two-hour walk away. Ignoring the chilling feeling surrounding him in the dead of summer, Carl proceeded to head back toward his Ranch. Kia may have swore something was there before, but the Rancher was positive that whatever it was, had probably moved on. The ebony char-mark, where a town used to be, proved that suspicion.

Sure, he wasn't actually hoping that whatever Kia was running from killed her, but the Rancher also couldn't deny that the bitch's head wasn't screwed on right. She would definitely hurt somebody if she wasn't stopped, and she had already done so on multiple occasions today. Now, as far as Carl could see it, if the Collie didn't want to listen, she could just deal with her own issues... alone.

If continuing to help her only meant he was going to be used and abused, until something finally offed him like the rest of his family and friends, Carl wanted nothing to do with it. "She don't wanna' respect nobody, she can just quit askin' fer' help. I pretty much gave her an arm and a leg, and she paid me back by getting everyone I know killed. Ain't that a bitch?", the Rancher had officially begun conversing with himself, and only continued to do so as he traveled along the road, "Still, she ain't have to go walkin' off on her own. Now she's liable to get a rocket through the face, er' somethin' worse. Welp, maybe I'll toss a prayer her way, and hope she ends up home one way or another.". He craned his head to the asphalt at his feet, not truly wanting to admit he was still overcome with a depression unlike any he'd ever felt before.

Even as he created more-and-more distance between the obliterated area that used to be his hometown, Carl couldn't help but feel as though he were being watched. He never did believe in spirits on Earth, but now that idea seemed like it may have held some truth. The gentle breeze had taken on an eerie tone as Carl found himself between forest on either side.

It whistled softly, yet the rustling of leaves gave off that something was moving, but the Rancher insisted on believing that it was just the wind. Yet, as Carl proceeded to glance over his shoulder one last time, he was given a clear indication that he wasn't just paranoid. "The fuck er' you?", were the first words out of his mouth, and they were answered with no more than a low, ominous growl.
-----------------------------------------

Questions, comments, critiques, flames? I suggest you keep them to yourself or else I may beat you!

P.S. Yes, I do love my cliffhangers
Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

http://www.furaffinity.net/user/xbrackishx/
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Postby mandude81 » Mon Oct 04, 2010 1:11 pm

what i get out of that last part could be manny things i guess.

1. It could be a group of soilders from kias planet sent to search for either them or for a way to fix whats happening

2. some enimy on the other world that would be the reason for the need of soldiers that had somehow found their way through the rift in space.

3. demonic wolves that annything they touch turnes to ash "aka the town" and have been folowing kia for so far unexplained reasons.

feel free to use anny of these for the next part of kias side of the story if you get a box of writers block. :D
see that pic right there? i drew it. send me a pic and ill post a penciled version of it free of charge.
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Postby kool kitty89 » Tue Oct 05, 2010 1:01 am

mandude81 wrote:what i get out of that last part could be manny things i guess.

1. It could be a group of soilders from kias planet sent to search for either them or for a way to fix whats happening

2. some enimy on the other world that would be the reason for the need of soldiers that had somehow found their way through the rift in space.

3. demonic wolves that annything they touch turnes to ash "aka the town" and have been folowing kia for so far unexplained reasons.

feel free to use anny of these for the next part of kias side of the story if you get a box of writers block. :D


I was thinking more in line with something related to Ghost. (either an associate or Ghost himself -as it's unclear just how mobile he is)
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Postby gadabout » Tue Oct 05, 2010 1:04 am

:o
:o
:o

a post... with not too many ouchies? Is this for real? AWESOME

Good job laddie, I like this B)
RIP Baggy52.

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