Come to me. (Any and All)

[Tyrant]

There was a subtle pause in the air, as if the world had stopped for just a second. Tyrant looked up at this time, peering into the deepness of an endless alley. He watched nothing, and yet something was holding his interest. A twitch to his pelt broke such a piercing focus, pulling his attention to a flea that plagued him.

The night was calm in his spot near the streets. One little lick of a breeze dared to move the trash near his paws. He idly raised his snout, dribbling a string of drool from the spot he’d just chewed at. His haunches lifted from the debris, shoving skin forward to form wrinkles near the base of his neck. The line of clear saliva broke and hung from his lower lip whilst he peered down the street.

Such calm. He didn’t like it. Lately, only the sounds of brawling bodies could stifle his restlessness. Lately...there hadn’t been much of that.

He snapped at the air, clacking blunt fangs with a slight force. Agitation would NOT get the best of him. Thus he stood like a soldier at attention, tensing everything to rid the awful restlessness. Moments passed, eternities that boiled through his veins like lava. Yellow eyes closed, leathery nostrils puffed twice, paws flexed their toes.

It was done. It was gone. He could sit again and open his eyes without damning all creation. This was a time to be collected, to not waste energy on a dwindling fantasy. Be ready, be fit, be composed. There was always more to him. More then fang, more then brute force. He was smart. He had to be or the world would kill him.

Through the dying breeze his familiar pungent smell drifted along. Like a ghost it foretold his presence near or far. Idle licks to the sides of his muzzle and he looked away from the darkness. It was soon time to return to the market street. To the ring. A waste this was. Just sitting and waiting for fools.

[Doctor Director]

Large paws would crash upon the top of a rather large crate, weight balanced properly so that the beast that had suddenly appeared at the end of the ally upon the wooden structure wouldn't suddenly topple over in a whirl of limbs and embarrassment. That lithe tail was extended and ears were pinned back against the skull. No fang was shown, but her one working eye did narrow in suspicion and wariness. The large dog at the end of the alleyway, whose muscled back she was facing, she knew his scent engulfed the land she now roamed, but she wasn't sure of who exactly the beast was.

The ruler of this world she had been thrust within? It was possible, though Tyrant had displayed no proof of rule to Director, and thusly she wasn't so quick and foolish, so idiotic as to throw her trust and loyalty to a beast she had yet to lie under in submission.

Clawed digits would flex as the dogo moved to the edge of the crate, her claws clicking and clacking before she leapt off the object and onto the gravel pavement beneath her. With nothing more then a snort of disbelief the blank faced ancient breed would begin to push forward, approaching Tyrant's backside, though it was possible that by now this muscled legend had turned to face her.

Only the sound of her bullet and chain thumping and shifting across her own body would break the silence between them, for the white dog would say nothing.

[Tyrant]

Paws on wood echoed in the silence, shattering something within Tyrant. Yellow eyes parted the air like knives through butter, turning in place as if to swivel all the way around. His leathery nose pulsated once, catching a whiff. This dog smelt of the market. Perhaps Val had recruited her, or she was one of many whom just roamed these dangerous places.

Tyrant’s lower jaw dropped partially, allowing for him to pant in the smothering humidity of the city. A gesture that was natural to any dog, but held an air of challenge. Oh he could already sense a probing suspicion within this approaching fiend. His eyes actually didn’t meet her till she was a few feet from him. Then, like festering stars they set upon her with a knowing only matched by his scent.

Both dogs would be facing each other now. Tyrant’s head held poised in place. In the heat, his panting stopped. A bad sign.

The dog didn’t speak. Neither did he. His fore legs stayed wide from one another, a bracing stance that was common for his breed. Built much like a bull, he stood stoic with little give towards this female’s one-eyed stare. Like of line of electricity cast between them, he was hooked in place, unmoved by even the sudden loud bang of a car door being slammed nearby.

A test.

A dangerous game.

She would have to choose what to do. That would define his actions towards her. It wasn’t something he played often with others. But others tended to come charging in, blabbing out their worth with words. Words are nothing in the ring. You can tell a lie just as easily as a truth. The ring weeds out the lies from the truths.

Her silence prompted no norm of response. Thus he stood in place, looking her right in the eye, a clear message to any dog whilst every inch of muscle stilled to a half-way point. This point was on a hair-trigger, able to react or relax.