Joined: Apr 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 740 Location: New South Wales, Australia
Residence Mark Two « Thread Started on Jan 13, 2009, 4:55am »
((Please note this character's blood content is Harmful(N) and Dangerous for the Environment(Xn)))
Tricker had never seen the sea. He had been in Rakine for less than 24 hours, and every moment not concentrating on other things drew his eyes to the shore. The orange and black wolf had arrived by day in Rakine, after having been exiled from Arnlan, an fact he was still coming to terms with, but as far as he could make out from the local residents, whom were presumably all dogs and therefore found his presence stranger still, he was permitted to stay, at least for now.
The wolf had found himself a temporary den. It was a wooden barrel, with no bottom and no top, sunken into the small beach below the wharves. It was a fairly insecure location, however it lay beside other detritus, such as rotted crates thrown away due to being no longer useful, and covered Tricker from the sight of humans above. So, the barrel had been termed 'Residence Mark Two' by Tricker, Residence Mark One being Arnlan, though it had not been home for long at all. He often abbreviated it to RMT, to save his breath.
Tricker soon discovered, on the next morning of his stay, that Residence Mark Two was not entirely secure from all possible intrusions. The wolf was unaware that there were tides, having only discovered the barrel last night, the tide began rising early that morning, flooding Tricker's improvised home. The wolf woke with a start, rising up weakly to avoid the water, and hitting his head on the barrel, rotting wood falling about his orange ears.
Tricker was a slow waker, his slow blood flow dulling reflex, and suppressing the adrenaline flow that might have occured from the shock. His eyes filmed over, he began blinking repeatedly, eventually registering the fact that the barrel was taking on water. "RMT compromised?" he mumbled to himself, his coarse voice worse in the mornings. Wading out of the barrel, he saw the sun had risen, giving him a good view of the small waves breaking over the submerged sand, the waterline already high enough to keep Residence Mark Two waterlogged.
Tricker often felt thirsty in the mornings, and it should come as no surprise that a wolf having never seen nor heard of the sea would assume the water fit for consumption. Tricker stuck his muzzle into the water, and it was quite a few seconds before he realised the water was foul. The chemical in him had dulled his senses, and it's high concentration in his mouth had left his tongue mostly devoid of taste, but he could still determine something was not right. He ceased drinking, his mouth seeming drier than before.
Tricker began wading to the slipway that led up to the dock. He was mainly interested in finding breakfast, and hopefully Residence Mark Three, since he could not be certain how long Mark Two would be flooded, or if it was permanent. The dock in particular had crates all over it, and it seemed that the rats were interested in their contents, some making themselves quite obvious, even to Tricker. He lay down between two crates, his scent, a washed chemical smell, fooling the rats into believing they were alone with some particularly potent washing detergent.
Eventually one of the rats began investigating the crate opposite, gnawing between the planks of wood. Tricker inched towards it, then snapped his head forward, fangs impaling the animal. It squeaked, and thrashed, soon escaping the wolf's weak hold. Tricker watched it streak off impassively, and followed after it at a walk.
He found it a few crates down, walking drunkenly in circles. He sat beside it as one symptom after the other, incoordination, tremors, frostbite and finally cardiac arrest came to pass. It was only then Tricker began breakfast, his mind back on finding a more suitable den than a barrel that now resided several inches below the waterline.
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Joined: Nov 2005 Gender: Female Posts: 1,791 Location: Richmond County, NC
Re: Residence Mark Two « Reply #1 on Apr 29, 2009, 11:34pm »
"But he started it!"
"No, he's the one who started it!"
Faline shut her eyes tightly and lowered her head, a silent snarl tugging at one side of her muzzle. No more that three feet away in front of her were two young mutts, their bodies turned slightly away from each other. They were both German shepherd mixes, and obviously friends, despite the current situation. Neither could have been more than a year old either, and their attitudes clearly reflected this fact as every now and then one would quickly flash a dirty look at the other. A few minutes ago the two had been a mess of fur and teeth, locked in a childish brawl. Normally the old mutt would have ignored the skirmish - she wasn't a babysitter. However, once one pup had sent the other stumbling backwards and right into Faline as she had been making her morning rounds, it had become her first problem of the day.
Now, if she'd had to be honest, Faline would have just snapped at the offending puppy and then gone right back to her own business after being so rudely bumped into, but for some ungodly reason, the shepherds had then decided to make Faline their official peacemaker. Back and forth they now argued, although over what was still a mystery since all they'd done so far was name-call and blame each other for a still-nameless crime. Deciding she wasn't going to get them to shut up and leave her alone until she gave them a verdict, the old dog interrupted the puppies, her voice raised just enough to be louder than theirs' was.
"What'n the Hell are you two going on about?!"
She never got an answer. Just as puppy number one opened his mouth to speak, puppy number two turned and stuck a pink tongue out in puppy number one's direction. This was obviously the worst insult you could offer in puppy number one's book. He launched himself at puppy number two, and the original fight was again initiated. Faline sighed.
"Shit."
She began to follow them as they began to chase each other away from her, but she stopped as a strange scent reached her. Deciding that if allowed to duke it out on their own the young mutts would no doubt once again be the best of friends in a few hours, Faline began in the direction of the smell, weaving around crates and barrels as it lead her on. She soon reached the source: a wolf. Confused, the dog cocked her head. Was this wolf really what was producing the odd scent? It didn't make any sense. Curious, but still cautious, she made her presence known.
Joined: Apr 2007 Gender: Male Posts: 740 Location: New South Wales, Australia
Re: Residence Mark Two « Reply #2 on Apr 30, 2009, 1:30am »
Tricker looked up slowly. There was still blood about his mouth, but he hadn't really noticed, thus looking rather messy in front of the personage addressing him. It was some sort of terrier. They had not met, though Tricker had become aquainted with a few of the residents of Rakine, such as Skye and Murk, but at large was still unfamiliar with the port town. It was shorter than he, female, and had approached from downwind, thus leaving Tricker little warning of her presence. The question posed to anyone else might have come across as conversational, accusing, confronting, even patronising, dependant upon whom it was asked. Tricker, however, missed many idioms in speech, and took it literally. "Affirmative. Number of rodents negative one rodent equals less." the black and orange wolf now considered the question justly answered, and was about to go back to his meal when it occured to him he should probably get to know a few more Rakine inhabitants. He was slowly building up a list of personages he had met, both on friendly terms, and other not so friendly. He could still remember the day he had wandered onto Sallin territory, and nearly killed an inhabitant by poisoning. A most unfortunate affair. The wolf would certainly make certain to dispose of the rat's corpse later, should a curious animal ingest any harmful fluids. "Self identifies as Trichlorofluoromethane, or abbreviated as Tricker. Identify?"
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