The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning [open]

[biteme]

Does it make you happy?
You're so

strange

Civilization; or what remained of it. The numerous buildings with their large windows and endless, intriguing objects had people flocking to Harthorn Center daily.

Where there was people, there was food.

And where there was food, sooner or later, there would be Scáth.

With his scar-littered coat, large, wolfish frame and ominous crooked grin, the black-brindle Dutch Shepherd was, overall, an intimidating canine.
Compared to the cute little terriers - who could roll over and beg, earning coos of endearment from naive shoppers eating lunch with ease - Scáth was rather frightening and far more likely to provoke a panicky call to the dog warden than anything else.

So with these odds stacked against him, Scáth got creative.

The black-brindle always walked with a limp, ever since being hit by a car at two years old. It was more habitual than out of actual pain - he was perfectly sound in all other gaits - but this illusion of being crippled got to all dog lovers in the area without fail.

Tactic two was more deliberate, and came from experience rather than pure improvisation. Assuming he could get close enough, Scáth would target a relatively friendly family having a meal. The sight of the stray dog patiently allowing children to stroke him, pull at him - and, if he was lucky, offer him food - usually helped the adults warm up to him.
Unless they held an irrational fear of the 'uncleanliness' of street dogs.

Tactic three was grab-and-run.

Scáth limped into the square, and with obvious care stood on his hindlegs, with his 'good' leg firmly on the wall as he took a drink from the fountain. His 'bad' leg hardly touched the ground, and his limps were slightly more pronounced than usual as he casually made his way to the shade. The midday sun beat down mercilessly overhead; already his black-brindle coat was quite warm.

Most people ignored him, focused on their own trivial activities, but a few were watching him already. Scáth limped past the tables slowly, pretending to look for a place to lie down; as he neared a table with a family, a young girl broke away and cautiously approached him.

Scáth wagged his tail and pricked his ears, the image of a friendly, harmless cripple, and sat down as she neared him. The girl gently stroked his head, then darted off to her table. The Dutch Shepherd limped a few paces after her, but she quickly returned with small boy.

Under the watchful gazes of the adults both children tentatively offered him some scraps. A somewhat smug Scáth took the food with exxagerated care; he hung around, letting himself be fussed over, but there were no more offerings. So as soon as they left Scáth was at it again.

It was a difficult daytime act, with vastly varying results, but at least there was little competition; literally.

The black-brindle male did not notice the suspicious stares from across the square. Even if he had, Scáth would not have understood the significance of the mobile phone that was produced, or of the low, serious voice in which the caller spoke as his companion slowly rose, making his way over with one hand behind his back..

---

Yup, Kilco people have come for coffee; and now have their eyes on Scáth. Open to all; just keep to the theme, please ^^

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[( whisper )]

(OOC- I call it! Posting:)

Kahn rarely came near the humans, live on the streets had taught him better than that. But hunger had driven him to insane measures, and he found himself in the bustling Harthorn Center. The humans made him nervous. All the noise, all the people. It was so dangerous, but a growl from his belly reminded him of his duty... His duty to himself.
A loner's job wasn't hard: Take care of yourself and keep out of the pack drama. But lately taking care of himself had gotten harder. Kahn had been spending time in the Fen Forest, taking live prey from nature, but after the fire, most of the small creatures were gone, dead or hiding. The smaller scraps he found in the trash hadn't been enough; the humans had been getting stingy. And so, there he was at the Center, watching.

Why wasn't he begging for food yet? Kahn himself didn't know the answer. Maybe he was watching, learning how to get food from the people. Maybe he was scared. Or maybe he just was watching. Age made you calmer, nothing could scare you, and age certainly afflicted the mutt. You could hardly see the white that tinged his muzzle on his white coat, but you knew he was old from the odd bumps and puckers in certain places, and the bits of black on him being eaten by gray. Age was a terrible thing, and yet it brought peace and calm, harmony and live-and-let-live.

A large brindle dog caught his eye. What a technique, to pretend to be cripple and target the little humans, the children! What a con! What a magnificent, terrible con! The old mutt let his eyes wander, but there were few dogs in the center today. So, back to the dog.

He had gotten some food, Kahn could tell as he lay there. But not nearly enough to satiate hunger. The other dog was so engrossed in pleading for food he didn't notice the two-legged figure walking towards him... Kilco.

The word came to Kahn's mind in a flash, a distant memory of walkign past the place in fear. Wasn't this dog paying attention? Kahn's anxiety grew by the second, no, by the step, as the human got closer and closer to the dog. Kahn tried to make himself seem smaller, as if that would help, but it wasn't nessecary. The human was focused on the beggar dog. Kahn couldn't say anything, if he did, then what would happen to him? He could be captured as well....

But the human was too close for Kahn to stay there, doing nothing.
"RUN YOU IDOIT RUN!" He screamed at the dog, warning him. The human's head swiveled towards Kahn. He had to run.

In a burst of adrenaline that defied his age he ran at the other dog, barrelling out of the center at full speed, trying, hoping to get away from the dnager. The other dog must have gotten the hint by now, so Kahn was no longer worried about him. Just keep running towards the exit, he told himself.

[biteme]

Scáth heard footsteps, approaching from behind, and turned around.
Dark burgundy eyes took in the man, dangerously close, one arm behind his back, the other holding food.

The black-brindle hesitated for the briefest of moments; then the unmistakable stench of drugs and death from the man's clothing reached his nose.

The ominous crooked grin curled into a contemptuous snarl, and Scáth stood his ground.

Watching, waiting, as the hand whipped from its hidden place - fast to its owner, but extremely slow to the agile, amoral stray - revealing a large syringe.

"RUN YOU IDIOT RUN!"

The screaming bark of another dog distracted the man, and he faltered in mid-lunge.

Scáth neatly dodged, and gave the offending arm a sharp nip.

The man swore; the syringe dropped and smashed on the cobblestones. The commotion had caught the attention of other shoppers by now, and Scáth casually limped off before he got caught in the anarchy that was certain to ensue.

Keeping up the appearance of a cripple even in escape; all the focus was on the Kilco employee, so the stray's departure went virtually unnoticed.

Scáth leapt into a long, loping gait as soon as he was out of the city centre, following the other dog by scent. The Dutch Shepherd caught up to the black and white loner rather quickly; as soon as the stranger was in sight, Scáth slowed.

The ominous crooked grin was already back in place - he was rarely seen without it -and his limping walk was relaxed. Completely unfazed by his close encounter, the four year old had calmly decided to follow the other stray; out of curiosity, if nothing else.

Though with Scáth's curiosity, you weren't likely to thrive. The black-brindle male had a bad reputation and an unpredictable, somewhat psychotic personality. He was an intimidatingly cheerful canine, and there was no end to the dark stories that circulated about him.

Scáth operated alone for a reason; because other dogs avoided him; and strangely enough, he didn't seem to care.

"Huh. I've been called many names before - monster, freak, psycho, sadist - but I believe this is the first time for 'idiot' to be screamed at me."

The large dog mused as he stood, just metres behind the older stray. His voice was deep, masculine, and unmistakable. Scáth's twistedly cheerful, fearless tone, so subtly sadistic and unsettling, was impossible to forget.

[( whisper )]

Kahn had slowed just outside the center, huffing to catch his breath. He was old enough to be shaken by his dash, and he managed to walk a short ways farther away before his breathign returned to normal. Of course, the sickening, peircingly sweet scent of the other canine, the idiot, following behind him like a gross cloud. Kahn was a loner, could no one undertsand that?!? He wanted to be alone and safe, trying to stay out of everyone's way. Not followed by same maniac.

The brute's deep voice called to him. "Huh. I've been called many names before - monster, freak, psycho, sadist - but I believe this is the first time for 'idiot' to be screamed at me." The words stopped Kahn in his tracks, not from fear or pain, but from something about the stanger reminded him of his younger days, in a sick, twisted way. Sure, this brute was much more clever thank Kahn had been, but the way he had acted.

"Well, don't worry kid. It's good for your ego to get a little kicked up sometimes." The casual way Khan said this wasn't aggressive or insulting in any way, just a tidbit from the dog who'd seen it all. A helpful, crude fact to splash cold water on this dog's face, to open his eyes to the real world: where there was no winner and there was no sanctuary.

Then the brute's words hit Kahn dead in the face, though he would never show it. A monster? A psycho? A sadistic freak? Was this dog a daemon? Usually they had a sharp, burning scent, not liek this dog's, but could it be possible? Hopefully not, but Kahn knew better than to take a chance with fate.