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The Fox and the Hound [Closed] - Printable Version

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The Fox and the Hound [Closed] - skiesofpurple - 03-26-2017

[Image: fuck_my_life.png]



RE: The Fox and the Hound - skiesofpurple - 03-26-2017

The endless red sands were calling to him today. The city couldn’t hold much sway when it barely felt like home anymore. Sooner or later, it was a given that he would have gotten bored with the games he’d been playing upon his return. Sooner or later, something different would have had to catch his interest. In this case, that something different had nearly caught him a few times too many before he decided that it was something worth investigating.

His bike cut through the terrain, kicking up a cloud of dust that could be seen for miles in all direction. He was probably going too fast. Any unseen dip or buried something in the sands could easily lead to a more embarrassing meeting than he’d been planning. That didn’t matter, he had a few backup plans prepared just in case. He was reckless, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t plan for his recklessness, fuck you very much. Just because he was about to strand himself in the desert looking for a local myth who’d taking waaay too keen an interest in his, uh, nocturnal extracurricular activities didn’t mean that he couldn’t be smart about it.

In retrospect, this probably wasn’t what his financial advisor meant when they recommended he lay low for several months upon returning to the city.

Matt enjoyed the feeling of the wind pulling at his riding clothes, leather jacket over tight jeans over a tighter muscle tee, the rumble of the mechanical beast beneath him, and the hot sun beating down on his back for a while longer before he figured he was far enough away from any known civilization to qualify as ‘lost’. He slowed his bike to a stop, checking the GPS function on his watch to confirm that he wasn’t too far from where his drone had been taken down a few days ago. This was where it’d get tricky.

No one knew how the beast operated. The only thing that everyone agreed on (and that his own numerous first hand accounts confirmed) was that it was some sort of giant canine, resembling a hellhound, who took an issue with anyone committing crime at night. From other first hand accounts and way too many rumors, he’d strung together that it kept mostly to the desert and was sometimes even seen during the day, helping lost travelers return home. Which was why Matt was currently sliding off his bike and carefully dismantling some key bits of machinery, storing them in secret, out-of-the-way places on the bike itself.

Once he was satisfied with his work, Matt slapped his hands against his thighs and attempted to rev his engines. The bike, on cue, sputtered and started smoking something awful. He held back the grin threatening to spread over his face and pulled over his helmet with a put-upon sigh.

Today, he was a dark brunette, hair falling straight down past his chin. His eyes had shifted to a startling blue, nearly clear in color, and his skin was so pale he could practically feel the sunburn setting in already. If this beast took too long to show up, he was going to be quite the pathetic sight to behold. His body was subtly changed from lean muscle to just straight up lean, rearranged in such a way to be more androgynous just in case the beast had certain preferences. He’d tried to get himself a bit shorter, too, but that was as far as his transformation was willing to go before he had to settle into the unfamiliar skin.

Matt stripped off his jacket with short, angry moments before collapsing next to his bike with a grunt. Jacket, gloves, and helmet were all tossed a short distance away in apparent disgust before he settled in for the long wait. He ignored the gun that was carefully hidden against the machinery of the bike, blending in perfectly unless you knew what to look for. If Mr. Mystery Dog could show up before he needed to consider shifting to avoid sunstroke, that’d be great.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - SolitareLee - 03-26-2017

It took about half an hour.

Klyk didn't rescue everyone who got lost in the desert, after all. He mostly operated at night, for one, where shadows obfuscated some of his more ridiculous features and the mystery of a desert at night could be called upon to make the whole thing seem more crytic and supernatural than it really was.

I mean it was kind of cryptic and supernatural anyway, but he felt he lost a lot of his mysterious allure in the full blinding sun of a midday desert. Plus, his fur was black, and he while he was--as far as he could tell--impervious to getting heatstroke, he was fully capable of getting uncomfortable and really stinky. He normally spent his days asleep in his little shack in the middle of nowhere, waiting out the hellish summer heat.

It was coyote yapping that rowsed him from where he slept, flopped haphazardly and mostly nude in a pile of canines. It was less suspect than it looked. They just kept figuring out the doorknobs.

He scratched the base of his horns idly, yawning. Even indoors, he could feel the oppressive, dry heat. His floor was mercifully cold in comparison, dug a foot into the sand to help cope with the heat, made of dark grey clay. No wonder the coyotes preferred sleeping indoors. It was too early for any of them to be up, so if there was yapping--and there was--something had to be up.

He sort of lazily threw on a robe before opening the door, more out of a sense of modesty than anything. His coal black skin was, as far as he could tell, pretty impervious to sunburn, although that probably had nothing to do with the color, which was more a matter of melanism then melanin. He squinted painfully in the sunlight. Smoke on the horizon...

Someone else would probably deal with it.

...It was pretty far from any roads.

...Sigh.

He should probably at least check it out. It was well over 110, and someone unprepared could get a heatstroke very easily. Probably some dumbass tourist--although in a technical sense he might still qualify as a dumbass tourist himself.

With another put-upon sigh, he pulled his robe off and tossed it back indoors. The coyotes would hardly judge his nudity, and God had more important things to judge him for at any given time. He closed the door politely behind him, and then gave himself the full body shake that signified a transformation between two legs and four.

He was running as soon as all four legs were on the ground; he had long since stopped needing time to adjust. A black dog the size of a horse, against the burning sands, stood out quite a lot. He compensated by moving very quickly and staying away from any populated areas, paths, or roads. Not a lot of people in the desert at noon in July, because most people weren't that fucking stupid. But there were a lot of dumb teenagers in Las Ballenas. This sort of thing happened.

He slowed as he approached the source of the smoke. He was a terrifying thing to behold, all black and huge with demonic horns and smouldering orange eyes. He scared people. No one wanted to see this face when they were stranded in the desert. Or anywhere else, at any other time, for any other reason.

It was a young man... probably. Klyk couldn't get a proper whiff, the air was too full of smoke and acrid, burning oil. He was quite pale, though, and looking pretty burnt already.

It would be nice if he passed out from heatstroke, because then carrying him into town would be a lot easier. Less fussing. But Klyk would prefer to avoid anything potentially fatal. That kind of ruined the point.

So he made himself evident some distance away, approaching slowly. Trying to look nonthreatening, which was of course a useless endeavor when one was five feet at the shoulder and about 250 pounds of solid furry terror with horns. But if the young man could get the hysteria out of the way early, they could then focus on problem solving and getting him out of the sunlight. There was an oasis about twenty miles west. That would be a start.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - skiesofpurple - 03-26-2017

Ugh. UGH. Ugh. This was so BORING. Matt banged his head against his busted bike, grunting in frustration. Stakeouts? He could handle. They were boring, but at least he needed to be keeping watch the whole time. Lying low while some misguided hero or the rare uniform did a sweep and moved on? Easy as fuck and never lasted this fucking long.

Point was, Matt was patient, but waiting in the middle of a desert in jeans leaning against a black bike in 110 degree weather quickly fucking wore on his nerves.

He closed his eyes, bringing one of the many water bottles he’d packed up to his lips. Luckily he wasn’t a complete dumbass and packed plenty of water, which he drank sparingly just in case. He was seriously regretting not bringing sunscreen, however, especially since he could fucking feel his skin burning in this heat. With one of his trademark dramatic sighs, Matt opened his eyes and, uh, froze.

There it was.

His right hand twitched, itching for his gun, but the beast was too far away at this point. If he was gonna do this, he needed to get a clean shot the first time. There was no way that he’d survive if he missed and it got pissed off. Instead of doing something stupid like that, Matt widened his eyes and opened his mouth just so, adopting a look of suitable pants-wetting terror. He scrambled back a little bit, knocking over his bike, just for effect, crawling over the sweltering and still smoking metal to crouch behind it, as if that would do him any good if the beast decided to actually attack.

“D-don’t get any closer!” He shouted, letting a hysterical note pitch his voice up an octave. His hands shook against the smooth black metal, seemingly resting over the side of his bike as if he could lift it up and throw it if the beast got too close. In reality, his hands were just resting over his gun. Waiting.

As the beast approached, Matt could see that it was trying to move slowly, as if it wouldn’t attack at the slightest provocation. He narrowed his eyes, his suspicion real, as he tracked its movements closer and closer. Logically, he knew that it was probably here to save him, if the rumors were true. His posture and slow approach seemed to suggest that. But if this was a creature who’d been lurking around the edges of the city for as long as it had there was no way that it was content to just save random strangers and stop the odd robbery without snacking on tourists now and again on the side.

“What do you want?” Matt whispered, his eyes wide but hands shaking less now, letting some wonder lace into the fear present coming from his cracked lips. As if he were warming up to the idea of some cryptid surrounded in myth and rumor come up to him lost in the desert to either save him or eat him. “Saving” him seemed more and more likely the longer it took for it to attack, but he still wasn’t buying it.

Once the mutt was close enough that Matt was pretty sure he felt the air around him kick up by another ten degrees (although that could have been adrenaline or the sunburn talking), he grabbed his gun in a practiced movement and shot. His gun was a custom-made rifle, powerful enough to take down a giant mutant bear, loaded with blessed silver bullets that’d been forged with holy water because he wasn’t taking any fucking chances that this thing was impervious to good old fashion bullets. It left its hiding place on the side of his bike with a quiet snick that was drowned out by the loud bang less than a second later. He was a pretty good shot, but he wasn’t aiming to kill unless the thing lunged. He’d been aiming for incapacitating it first.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - SolitareLee - 03-26-2017

Klyk did the best he could to look unintimidating, which was of course entirely impossible. But he tracked around the bike at a distance, letting the frightened man see the full size of him before approaching. He couldn't answer the questions, of course. It was one of the main inconveniences of having a mouth designed to snap bones rather than, say, speak English. Although to be fair, his human-ish mouth was still working on English.

A demon dog with a Russian accent would be a hell of a funny thing, though, he was willing to bet.

How best to handle this? The bike looked pretty fucked. He didn't really want to drag it back to town with a terrified human. If he just got the human back intact, they could send like... cops for it, or something. He approached decently close and then went to sit, deciding it would be best to let the human adjust at his own time before trying to lift him. Panic was unfortunate and should be avoided as much as possible, after all, and he wasn't the one who was going to get heatstroke.

Wait.

Did he smell a hint of fo--FUCK.

Just as soon as he was lowering his ass to sit and be non-threatening, the man whipped out a fucking rifle along the side of his bike and shot.

Klyk scrambled backwards, too slow. He felt an explosion of pain in his back right leg as he turned and kicked off, and stumbled, losing his balance. Fucking hell what the fuck man that was not a reasonable reaction to this! Okay maybe it was! People had shot at him before, but normally with handguns and hunting rifles, not whatever the hell that was. Elephant rifle maybe. It hurt like a sonofabitch, that was for sure.

He scrambled up with three feet and took off in a burst of sand. With four legs on the ground, he knew damn well he could break 80 mph without too much difficulty. With three, he was not nearly so fast, but he was still pretty fast.

Lord have mercy, if people were starting to go cryptid hunting now, he was going to have to be a lot more selective in his rescues.

He limp-ran back towards his shelter, trailing oily black blood across the desert sands. This was going to suck. He hoped it had gone the whole way through. This was going to suck so bad. Oh ow, ow, fucking, ow.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - skiesofpurple - 03-26-2017

HAH! Matt pumped his arms up above his head in victory as a well-placed shot that sent that fucking running! This was- … totally not that he’d wanted to happen. He slowly lowered his arms back down to his sides, frowning slightly, as he realized that the giant murder dog was suddenly booking it away and not slowing down anytime soon. He’d wanted to incapacitate the thing so he could, like, get close to study it and shit! But now he found himself, once again, alone in the desert with a smouldering motorcycle.

Fuck his motorcycle.

Hissing a steady stream of curses through his teeth, Matt slapped his rifle back into place and hastily started pulling out the parts he needed to get his bike back up and running. He wasn’t letting that stupid fucking murder dog get away that easily, not over his goddamn dead body.

As he worked, his body slowly morphed back into something resembling his normal. Straight black hair gave way to a messy blonde that he swiped back from his eyes. Said eyes slowly darkened to an amber color, his skin shifting from pale-pink-sunburnt to something decidedly tanner. When he finally hefted his bike up with minimal effort and swung a leg over, he was back to his typical form, a predatory grin splitting his face as he revved up his engine and took off after the wonderful trail of blood the hellhound had left for him to follow.

The mutt had about a ten minute head start, but Matt wasn’t too worried. Nothing could run forever with a busted leg. It wasn’t all that long as all before he was slowing down as the sight of a tiny shack grew closer. This was obviously where the trail was leading, even if it didn’t make a shit ton of sense. For one thing, he could see that the door was closed. And last he’d looked that giant dog clearly didn’t have thumbs.

Matt frowned and leaned down to grab his rifle as he drew closer to the shack. It was a good thing, too, ‘cause pretty soon the entire area was swarming with fucking coyotes. This time when he bared his teeth, it wasn’t anything resembling a grin. The fucking carrion currs were everywhere and the closer he got, the meaner they started to look. He eventually pulled to a stop, releasing the kickstand so he could aim at the mangy things with both feet planted on the ground on either side of his bike. If the giant murder beast had taken to making friends with fucking coyotes he was feeling a whole lot less bad about shooting it in the first place.

“Fuck off!” He shouted above the growls, yips, howls, whines, and all other range of stupid fucking noise they were making. A warning shot scattered a few of them, but then they just closed ranks in front of the shack like they’d been fucking trained. Matt bared his teeth and growled back, figuring that once he started picking them off in earnest the fucking cowards would slink off for good. It was as good a plan as any he had right now. The giant murder dog was still MIA.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - SolitareLee - 03-26-2017

Klyk was limping in earnest by the time he got back to his shack. He was swarmed by coyotes immediately; he shifted back to his bipedal form and they rushed to support his weight, half carrying him towards the door.

"Благодаря," he said through gritted fangs. He stumbled through his front door and collapsed onto the cold clay, bleeding black onto the sand and dirt. Guh. Bandages. He managed to crawl through the crowd of concerned dogs, one of whom was attempting to fetch a robe and mostly just tearing it, to get to his cupboard and pull out an extremely extensive first aid kid. He had to perform all his own medical procedures, after all... he couldn't exactly go to a hospital.

He mostly depended on Amazon to get these things.

He had a P.O. Box.

He'd been tending to himself for about fifteen minutes when he heard a shot outside.

FUCK.

The lunatic had tracked his blood across the sand, and was shooting at the coyotes now!

He scrambled onto his legs and limp-jumped to the door, barely managing to throw on a shredded robe to at least making a passing attempt at covering his shame, so to speak. It covered the important bits, but not much else, thanks to the ragged tears.

"Wait!" he shouted, throwing open the door. "Do not shoot!" His Russian accent was still thick after years in America, because he didn't really talk to a lot of people. "Возвращаться!" he snapped at the coyotes, who growled. "Возвращаться, Теперь!" They slunk back away from the man and his very dangerous gun, looking generally very angry about it.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - skiesofpurple - 03-26-2017

Okay, so a mostly-naked man shouting in what sounded like Russian was not how Matt had expected this to go. Somehow he managed to keep his gun trained on the closest coyote despite his obvious surprise, but he slowly lowered it when the mongrels retreated. Eyes narrowed, he studied the scene in front of him.

First thing he noticed? Guy was hot. Dark skin for miles, his shredded clothing leaving more than enough on display to show how ripped he was. The horns weren’t nearly so terrifying when they were on a more human shape and the collar- wait. Wait. Horns. Collar. Dark skin. Bullet wound.

It was the fucking giant murderdog hellbeast. He’d shot an actual person who just happened to shift into something vaguely resembling a nightmarish hellhound. Well, shit.

“Fuck.” Matt said, decisively. He swung off his bike, still holding his gun in a ready position, but keeping it trained towards the ground, for now. “Why the fuck do you have attack coyotes? Coyotes are literally the worst.” He shouted at the naked, injured man, because clearly that was the important part to yell about in a situation like this. He took a few steps forward, eyeing the coyotes warily to see what they’d do.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - SolitareLee - 03-26-2017

"I do not have attack coyotes," Klyk explained through his thick accent. "They live here. They are upset because you have a gun and also probably intent to do harm. They are very good about picking up on intent to do harm."

The coyotes, for their part, gave the man something of a berth, but were clearly angry about the situation, yapping and growling and bristling and generally being loud.

"Also, they are not the worst," he said, sounding offended. "I do not think you are in a position to call anything the worst. You shot a perfectly friendly giant dog who was just trying to help."

He could smell, now, undercurrents of fox.

Sigh.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - skiesofpurple - 03-26-2017

“Yeah, well, tell it to all the small dogs that get snatched out of their own backyards and eaten because of your precious messengers of satan.” Matt snapped back, still eyeing the coyotes distrustfully. They were staying back, for now, but he didn’t particularly feel like dropping his gun with them still yammering on like that.

Able to pick up on intent to do harm? He’d fucking believe it, especially since THEY were the ones doing most of the harm to begin with. Coyotes were loud, vicious, bullies who’d only pretend to be your friend so they could lure you into the desert into a trap so they could eat you.

Surprisingly enough, Matt loosened his grip on his gun, letting it dangle from one hand at the mention of the whole shooting thing. His free hand reached up, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

With an appropriately dramatic sigh (and one last glare at the coyotes), Matt spun around to slip his gun back into place on his bike. That accomplished, he began his march towards the bleeding, half naked no-longer-a-hellhound standing in the doorway of his shake. He put plenty of bravado in his step, clearly trusting this guy not to sic the coyotes on him now that he was unarmed. “To be fair, that dog was kinda terrifying.” He said with a disarming grin, stopping a good twenty feet from the front of the shack, hands slipping into his back pockets as he rocked back on his heels. Nodding to the blood running down the guy’s leg, Matt asked in a way too conversational manner, “Can't help but notice you're bleeding. Y'wanna hand with that, buddy?"


RE: The Fox and the Hound - SolitareLee - 03-26-2017

Klyk winced, though probably not for any of the reasons the man thought. "That is unkind," he chided gently. "They are not messengers of Satan. I believe I am in a position to know." Hahaha. Little bit of hellhound humor, that. "Perhaps people with small dogs should not leave them abandoned in their backyards at night. They are the ones with an entire, very safe house they could have protected the small dog with, if they did not wish it to be eaten by other, larger dogs."

The fellow looked a bit sheepish about the whole shooting thing. Likely because he hadn't realized that Klyk was vaguely humanoid, although frankly, given his appearance, he hadn't really expected the general opinion of 'kinda terrifying' to change. If anything, people found a demonic HUMAN even more off-putting than a demonic DOG.

"I am, yes," he agreed, glancing down at his leg, which was already bleeding through the haphazard bandages. "I am uncertain as to why this has suddenly become a concern for you. Is it because this tongue is capable of English?" Barely. "That is a poor place to draw the line for which things are appropriate to be shot."


RE: The Fox and the Hound - skiesofpurple - 03-26-2017

Matt graciously decided not to continuing arguing about the coyotes. They’d just have to agree to disagree. Clearly this guy had been brainwashed by the fleabags due to not ever having any other, far superior company. Maybe the coyotes were cozying up to him because he was a giant fucking hellhound sometimes and could offer him protection. Maybe they saw him as the leader of their rag-tag band some some shit so they kept on their best behavior around here. Whatever. HE knew better.

“They’re still dicks.”

Okay maybe he wasn’t done arguing. He said it with a grin, however, appreciating the wounded man’s sense of human despite, yanno, being shot and all. His expression quickly shifted as he rolled his eyes, placing his hands on his hips and leveling the ex-hellhound with a fairly impressive pout. Somehow, his eyes still seemed to be smiling.

“Even if you turned out to be just a giant dog I wouldn’t have left you bleeding in the desert, christ, what do you take me for?” Matt waved off the whole chidding exchange dismissively, “Besides, it’s not like I aimed for anything vital. Come on, let’s patch you up.” He said cheerfully, taking a few more steps forward. His bravado was entirely false, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him that most of his attention was trained on the coyotes, anticipating an attack as he approached their injured leader.

When none came, he just grinned through his relief and placed a friendly hand on not-a-demon’s bicep. Which, shit, was just as firm as he’d- oops, no getting distracted here. There was still a pretty good chance he’d get mauled at some point here. Ignoring that thought, Matt attempted to steer the guy back into his shack to get him off that leg.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - SolitareLee - 03-26-2017

"I take you for the kind of person who shoots perfectly innocent dogs with an elephant rifle," Klyk said, somewhat grumpily. He wasn't really over being shot. It happened very rarely and he hadn't been shot with anything so large before. He didn't really appreciate it.

Still, it wasn't like he could really make the guy leave. And this was the fox fellow, who Klyk was very confident was capable of much better behavior than he generally got up to. This was mostly out of his general sense of faith in humanity. It was a good sign that he wanted to make amends for shooting, possibly.

Also, Klyk had nothing worth stealing and if the man finished incapacitating him, the coyotes would tear him apart. There were just too many of them, and he was now quite in the middle of them. So Klyk stepped into his house, leaving the door open.

"Mind the step," he said as he hopped down on one leg. "Also it is slippery right now because of all the blood."

The house was actually more of a dirt shack. It was somewhat scarcely decorated; it had a fireplace with a large pot on a stand, and a table with a single chair. A few tablestands with drawers. There was a bed that had clearly never been used. It didn't even have a mattress on it. In one corner, there was a whole host of fur rugs and blankets. There were about four coyotes on it, glaring daggers.

Klyk limped over to the single chair and sat down. "Normally I would be a good host and offer you the chair," he apologized. "But I am bleeding, so I am making an exception."


RE: The Fox and the Hound - skiesofpurple - 03-29-2017

“Hah! Good guess.” Matt said with a laugh. He was acting rather cheerful for someone who’d just shot his host. As he passed through the door, he looked around the shack with open curiosity, somewhat disappointed at the sparse furniture and lack of any occult paraphernalia. Clearly this guy’s resemblance to a demon dog was only skin deep. Heh. “Dogs are guilty unless proven innocent. Especially when they’re the size of the horse. Dude, seriously, how do you feed yourself out here if you aren’t eating all the lost dumbasses?”

He managed to avoid getting too much demon blood on his shoes and made a beeline towards the first aid kit that tall-dark-and-bleeding hadn’t put away yet. The coyotes in the corner were completely ignored in favor of making a few pleased and one long disappointed noise while he rummaged through the contents.

“That’s alright.” Matt chirped, spinning to face his somewhat unwilling patient, “I work well on my knees.” As if to emphasize the point, he walked over next to the other man with the first aid kit in hand and gracefully fell to his knees right next to his injured leg. He eased the robes away from the bloody bandages, wrinkling his nose at the sight of all that black blood still oozing through a pretty haphazard patch job.

“Am I gonna have to dig the bullet out?” He didn’t sound particularly pleased at the prospect.


RE: The Fox and the Hound - SolitareLee - 03-29-2017

"Before I answer your question, I must ask if you are certain you want to hear the answer," Klyk said. It probably sounded very ominous. "It has been known to upset women, those with squeamish stomachs, and vegans."

It wasn't anything that bad, he didn't think.

If anything, he was doing everyone a service. But boy, you'd never know that to see people's faces.

If Klyk picked up on the obvious double-entendre, he wasn't reacting to it. He did, however, put one elbow on the table and lean against his hand, looking down at Matt. "That depends entirely on how good you are with a scapel," Klyk said with a frown. "I do not want an amateur digging around. I can do it myself if need be. Although in either case I would appreciate both the piece of leather and the flask in that kit."

He did not point out that if the man didn't want to dig bullets out of flesh, he should avoid putting them there to begin with.

"Your gun is ridiculous," he added sourly. "Very unnecessary. Most people use simple rifle, or handgun. That gun was likely designed for use on elephants."

He did not point out that even with all that power, it had only managed to go about halfway through his leg.