[Time] to Meet an //End// {pr for finch,fallout}

[``SUBdue™]

[Hellion's] sickly thin body barreled toward the rusted chain link fence that surrounded a broken down thrill park that once catered to humans and now belonged to the dogs. Though, the park was claimed by the Fildrin gang, this hell hound barely had a single concern of what her arrival onto this territory might produce--her nephew Syndrome and his poor excuse for a gang. She laughed at such an idea for no gang on this city was as as terrifying as the Sha'Moore's. In fact, in her entire existence she had never seen a gang more vicious than them. She was thrilled to be a part of it, practically begged by Mia to join for she had needed guidance from a hound who was experienced in the art of deviance. Days of olde, in other gangs where she became known and feared where forgotten and the images of the faces she once ran with blurred. Age could have contributed to this but, it was more likely her deep insanity was the real factor. In her current status, the old bitch was far gone, he mind nothing but mush and her insanity deeper than it had ever been before.

She blacked out frequently, each time her episodes lasting longer and longer until the point where she went into complete darkness for hours on end; her world nothing but a shadow, where she could barely see and lived as if she was within another world. In a sense, she had gone utterly mad and sadly, there was no returning from her senility this time around. Her last episode had been her last and she was forever cast into this hazy existence and her mind was left to nothing more than glop and her words were often not logical(she blurted random things out that made no sense) or even remotely comprehensive. Only her basic senses and primal instincts enabled her to continue cavorting within the living; getting her by to hunt down a meal here and there to keep her belly somewhat full and enough water to hydrate her deathly thin bodice. Where once a layer of fat kept her ribs from showing was now nothing more than hallow spots in between ribs which protruded from behind a skin that was once taut but, had long since lost its elasticity. On top of her back where thick, course hair grew, highlighted in bright purple had finally succumb to the elements of time and age and now the color was faded and that hair was incredibly sparse, mere clumps of it popping out every few inches where once it lined her back as richly as a Rhodesian ridgeback's spinal tuft. In between the sections of clumped spiky fur were spaces where the fur was either short or just non existent; worn down or bare.

Her thick frayed banner which usually hitched up behind her and was tainted with a bright purpley-pink hue, almost an ultra violent hue, now hung low and the frayed edges were now strings of fur. All the color was nearly gone for most of the hair which held it had fallen out and the ones that were left grayed over, making for a very ugly shade. Her wretched face which was torn apart from many battles, was barely recognizable as the wounds had become infected and her muzzle was covered in grotesque liver spots, some of them trickling puss. Her lips had frozen into a permanent grimace as her teeth had become so infected she couldn't close her jaws without subjecting herself to a mind numbing amount of pain. Though, once tolerant to pain her elderly age and loss of wits had left her vulnerable and now for the first time ever she actually sensed fear and paranoia. Even, as she thundered toward the thrill park, she casted those eyes (one almost completely black to blindness and the other a foggier, slimier olive green as it was slowly developing a cataract)
back and forth, making sure no one followed her.

Reaper her most elite friend, followed her of course, never one to give up on her master even though it was obvious the elder was permanently within la-la land. Even, after a few close calls with the elder snapping at her once partner in crime; the only one who stood by Zy'riah since the start, the Raven would not let up until her master was dead. Only then would the raven quit her; leave her side and fly off for an unknown destiny. It was doubtful Reaper would find a new master at her own ripe age and without Zy'riah the massive bird would most certainly be lost without a mission and so, the likely destiny was that the carrion bird would live out the remainder of its days and then pass away. Until said day, the bird would keep in tow with the ebony bitch and continue to be her dark guardian; her dark angel. The bird floated above, tailing after her master as the bitch headed through the gates and went into the amusement park. Her red eyes stared down at her watching as she weaved like a drunken rat through the tall brush and nearly slammed right into a pole.

The bird screeched but it was no use for the demented bitch was basically deaf to the world around her, voices coming to her ears as nothing more than incoherent mumbles. Rarely did she catch anything significant, piecing together what another was saying and making little sense of it. Often she was dead wrong and rarely was she ever right. The psychopath bounced off the pole and shook herself off and continued going on as if nothing at all had happened. Her gait was tipsy, almost as if she could barely keep her balance as she loped through the brush and met cracked and worn pavement. Grass, weeds and small saplings grew in the cracks and trash was strewn every where but, the elder was non the wiser. She simply carried on until she reached some sort ride in utter ruins, her paws setting onto the rickety platform of the rollercoster ride. Before her metal twisted in confusing directions, rose up to terrifying heights and rocketed down to stomach rolling lows. However, all she could make out was a blurred version of this and detail was something she had long since been torn of due to her failing gaze. The elder sat down on the platform, the boards creaked and groaned but she was too exhausted to move and simply laid down. Reaper took to perching upon one of the metal beams to watch over her master as she rested, maybe for the last time [ever.]





OOC stuff;
muse; explosive
words; excessive
comments; for Finch with Mack and FallOUT with Lullaby only.
other; I know I made a few references to her dying but, trust me she won't..just my way of setting the mood for her and explaining her age. :]

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[׃all»OUt]

i have everything i need
{BUT IT'S NOT WHAT I WANT}

She proudly walked, proudly trotted and proudly ran. She was queen of Sha'Moore the most feared pack but was equal to Fildren. Her sweet-disgusting cousin's pack. With the smirk still plastered upon her muzzle, she laid her paws down on the ground at a trot and her head raised in triumpth. Her paws quickened; where she was heading, hell was going to start. Off she was, going to see her sweet cousin, he was only a year older than her and she had heard rumors that Bullet and him split, no longer in love. The other rumors were very delicious, he had met a new bitch to love and then break her heart. The smirk widened upon her lips and her lovely blue eyes laughed at these, but hell she knew they were probably true, he was a ladies man but hell, never could find the right one; so that bitch better be ready with thread and a needle to sew her heart back together.

Her icy eyes searched the terrian, finding nothing to mingle with,, to kill were the right words. Weeds and grass sprawled over her, twining around her legs and the evil bristles stabbing their points into her legs. This pain didn't matter, it was pure pain... pure pain of death. That was what she wished for, for her mother though. Blue eyes deteching nothing, she hit into a run, tripping a bit because of her evil back leg messed up since birth. Her old wound opened up again as her body stretched, she remembered back when she did this, fell on a stick, thank goodness it wasn't fatal but it did make her black out into darkness. The last image she before the black was her mothers disappointed eyes, her sister, Whisper, eyes looking upon her, pretending to be all superior as she watched her own sister face death itself. When she awoke, she was in a den, back at her own birth pack. Her mother sat in a corner, staring out and when she made a noise, the same angry eyes hit her and she just stared back. They argued and she opened the wound again, no one told her to lay down until the wound was fully healed and that was how she recieved the never ending wound.

It was until a few months later did she do something reckless, the punishment was far worse than anything, it was either death or banned from her own birth place forever. Wanting to live... to kill her mother, her fathers and the one who banned her, Wrath... she dreaded toward a new city and this was the city. She still planned revenge, wanting to go back and murder the ones she planned all along to kill. But after hearing her own mother was in town, she wanted to kill her, deal with her and then go have her revenge. She searched for her and when she found her, it was at Sha'Moore helping the bitch, Mia. But now as the leader, her mother had to bow to her, no matter what and if she quit she would do what she planned, kill her but first she wanted to see her mother.

Trotting toward the Fildren territory, she crossed the border and continued. The metal things went up in the air, and went under the dirt, nothing played, just rats and popcorn laid scattered in the dust. But it wasn't that that made her stop in her tracks, scenting the air was a very familiar smell. Her mother. The smirk widened and she laughed. Today was her lucky day. Carefully she followed the scent until she saw her mother, sitting on the metal board to a roller coaster that sent butterflies to your stomach. Her upper lip pulled back, revealing shiny teeth. The snarl was silent and her fur bristled in anger. "Mother!" She roared, growling toward her. Her claws scraped the ground, her fur spiked up in bristles and she stared at her mother with the same icy blue eyes as she did as a young baby.


---

words. 681
tag. Subs with Zy'riah and Finch with Mack
notes. nothing :3

[Finch]

He sniffed the air. Interest perked his olfactories up in a hurry. Target aqcuired. He recognized the scent from teh trace he'd been presented with. The supposedd "demon" was here. If she was really a monster liek she was supposed to be, her killing would be with no remorse and would not stain his honor. He had warned the client that his final judgement of ehr condition would determine whether his actiosn went straight through or not. If she was very much sane ,and not as evil as she was made out to be, then he would leave her be. He hated being lied to. Perhaps a bunch of cut-up loved ones could be arranged for the client if he had been. Average though he was, he was hiding his own little mobster and demented self within. He could be very imaginitive, when he wanted soemthing. And a little access to assets or some breeding perks were never bad, if you really wanted to take them. Eventually he would need to reproduce. It was a fact of life- Your superiority was measured by your ability to destroy the opposition and spread your blood to the corners of the globe.

His olfactories picked something else up. What in hell was the client doing around here? Sure, the old saying, "If you want soemthing done right, do it yourself" might apply, but this bitch was the target's own flesh and blood, her daughter. The only people he'd even consider killing even remotely close to him like that were "cousins;" Louie for instance. Louie was "family," but honestly not that important. He had screwed up a lot back home. And who had ended up covering him? Mack's actual, immediate family. Oh well. He was no real big shot beaurocrat anymore. Too bad. Now he was a simple drifting hitguy... Whose objective was now being compromised by none other than the client herself. What was the world coming to?? Oh well. This might help or hurt his judgement. "Too bad, eh Mackie boy??" He shrugged, or went as close to a shrug as he could being a canid.

He caught the scent of his target full force. He rushed forward, seemingly at no more than a comfortable walk, but in reality at a brisk and rigid pace. He was ready to do what was needed. His "knives," his ivories, were ready for use. He'd have to watch himself if the information he'd been given was accurate. He made soem quick rushes around several corners, getting ready for the first view, and then... It came.

Physically, the target was obvious and matchedthe description given. Would her innerds match her exterior? A little nag behind his head said probably. She was old, that was definite. Female(here he shuddered, he was glad she was such a monster, or he'd never forgive himself for killing her, or even trying to.) for sure, but with hair loss and infection rampant on her. He could see why his Client had given him such strong encouragement and unrelenting evidence that killing her would be the perfect thing, he coudl do no wrong. He'd have to stop secretly advertising himself as The Knife and running around knocking off canids for just anyone. "Nothin' can't be done, nothin'." What bull. Here he was and despite being sure he coudl do it without remorse he was suddenly... What? Afraid?? How in the world... She might harm him, sure, that was a constant threat with jobs, but what if... He shook the thought out of his head. She was losing her life and her sanity naturally, he was sure. She couldn't possibly be limber enough to have the chance of killing him. But still... That prick in the back of his mind. He shook it off. BAck to the subject of the Client... Oh, here she was now! Of course, how convinient. Can't trust a good Dane by his word, had to come try it herself or simply waqtch. Such deliccate work... Carving this bitch Zy'riah would be a little difficult with a guest. Oh well. He stepped forward.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind much, I'd like to get to my work now." That little touch of Soprano accent. Just that little touch. But what a strong touch it was, for one so small. He turned to Zy'riah. "Now to you. See, I gotta give you something..." He inched as close to her as he could as fast as he could, and brushed her just slightly at his little run with his jowls. Giving a light lover's-rub to the side of her head. His run then redirected him straight back to the place he'd been initially standing, and he turned back to her. That little nuzzle of affection was nothing like what it seemed. 'Twas that little Kiss of Judas.

That little Kiss of Death.

---

Muse- Astounding. Muse EXPLOSION.
Words- 817. Brilliant. Guess who's back in town??
Other- Finally got it up, this site needs activity and I feel guilty for being the least active. Now maybe we can get this party ball rolling. Hope I didn't go over teh top with the intent Mack has towards Zy. Hoipe this inspires some muse for you guys, even though at present if I'm right you're on break, Fall. Anyway, hope it satisfies.