eat you alive.

[MAULLER.]

FOREWORD

REPLYiNG !

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CAST LiST

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- Dante [male ; Canis familiaris]

iNACTiVE
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[MAULLER.]

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[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/b4jhuv.png] NAME. Dante AGE. 2 years [spring] GENDER. male SPECiES. Dutch Shepherd HEiGHT. 24 inches WEiGHT. 66 pounds BiOGRAPHY. Dante is a monster of a dog. He is ruthless, unpredictable, and generally a danger to one’s health. It is best to simply avoid him, if at all possible. For the most part, he appears all the monster he is. Far from handsome; his body bears numerous scars, pelt parted here and there from the wounds. His muzzle is somewhat disheveled, a piece of his right upper lip missing. His ears are almost torn to shreds, holes abundant and chunks taken out. The demon’s eyes are burnt umber in color, and have a 'glowing’ effect in the right light. Around his neck is fastened a wide-leather spiked collar with sharpened points (courtesy of his ingenious mind, but we’ll touch on that later) that can’t quite hide the nasty scar across his throat. His front legs, what is left of them, anyway, are nothing but scar tissue. His right leg bears his most recent of scars, showing a particularly gruesome wound that healed in an aberrant fashion. Across his stomach is the remainder of a wound that nearly spilled his guts. And yet, despite all of this, Dante has never used his appearance to intimidate or ‘persuade’ others. He hardly seems to be aware of just how ugly he truly is. As far as personality goes, Dante is as unpredictable as the wind. He isn’t afraid to tell you off, and speaking his mind is second nature. His favorite game to play is one of words. Being an unnaturally smart creature, he can run mental circles around most other canines. He simply loves to sit and poke, prod, and needle another until they can no longer stand the subtle insults, the discreet disrespect, or the disconnected thoughts and irrational speech, and fling themselves at him in a rage. For countless dogs already, this act of mindless rage was their last. Dante is a strategist. From the moment he meets another dog, he is scrutinizing them. He is probing their mind and watching their movements, noting their strengths and writing off their weaknesses. By the time they attack, he has already figured out how to defeat them. However, he isn’t a mindless murderer. He won’t kill unless he sees blood. At least not while he is in his rational (if you could call it that) state of mind. Ah, so that brings us to the greatest, and worst, part about Dante. For some unknown reason (though recent speculation has begun looking to his worse than traumatic past as a possible catalyst) the sight of blood sends the dog into an uncontrollable ‘rage’, if you will. On his end, he simply blacks out. But for his victim... the experience is far more terrifying. Once he has entered this blood lust, he loses all rational thinking ability and simply charges his victim, teeth flashing. He cares not for what damage he receives, and only about ingesting blood until his thirst is sated. This has led to his ragged and mangled appearance, and almost to his death several times. Yet, once he has drank of his victim’s blood, his conscious mind returns and leaves him in confusion, often with blood of an innocent on his paws. He has killed many an innocent dog for nothing more than an accidental scrape. Impervious as he may seem to emotional issues, his ‘monster’, as he calls it, leaves him deeply troubled. Love. What is love? Dante has no idea. Though he is two years old, and has experienced more than his fair share of the world, he has never felt the touch of love. Odd as it sounds, he doesn’t even know that such a thing as sex even exists. What with his emotional scars and ‘monster’, his poor mind has had no time to allow him such leisurely thoughts. He simply assumes that pups are handicapped creatures, or a different species altogether (he hasn’t decided which). Dante has never even had a friend due to the fact that those around him are in constant mortal danger. He doesn’t consciously push them away (he’s actually rather sociable), but it is never long before they hurt themselves and blood flows. And so, prone to random acts of violence and lacking a fear of death (he even toys with corpses), Dante is the last dog you want knocking on your door. If you piss him off, you might as well kiss your ass goodbye. PACK. Inferno RANK. Alpha iNVENTORY.

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SOCiAL.

neutral/unknown !
somewhat friendly !
friendly !
somewhat hostile !
hostile !
love interest/crush !
love/mate !
blood lust !
pack mate !
respect !
play toy !

! NAME. thoughts/comment.

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FAMiLY LiNE.

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OFFSPRiNG. [/ul]

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FiGHT HiSTORY.

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DRAW.
LOST.

KiLLS.

MATCHES.

[/b][/color] winner ; draw vs. draw ; kill
- Dante vs. Salty
- Dante vs. Hayley [/ul] [/ul]

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iNJURiES/SCARS.

[/s] healed. large scar. [/ul]
- mangled front right leg

[/s] healed. aberrant scar. [/ul] [/ul]

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THREAD HiSTORY.

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- a little chill [x]

- wrong in all the right ways [x]

- follow me down [x]

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[MAULLER.]

MEMORABLE POSTS: DANTE

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[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/b4jhuv.png] MONSTER. For a moment he thought that she might actually break through the boards and come down to his level. When she gave he chuckled silently. Who would want to descend into Hell? He ignored her taunts, moving back toward the hole he had entered from. There was the sound of nails on wood, and his head poked around the corner of the curtain. He was still too much in shadow to be seen clearly, but his burnt umber eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting. With a grin he stepped out to reveal his horrific form, and the shadows let out a silent gasp. His brindle pelt was mangled, covered in scars. His front legs were nothing but scar tissue, a few open wounds still oozing black blood. On his stomach was a good sized gash that was almost healed, but still obviously painful. His face was disfigured, scars crisscrossing his muzzle and a piece of his lip missing, his ears torn and tattered. The spiked collar he wore partially covered a particularly nasty scar on his throat, the sharp metal pieces almost daring someone to take a bite. What a horrendous thing was he. And the fact that his muzzle split into a smirk made it no better. MONSTER. Dante could have easily been the monster from the darkest nightmares, and yet he never seemed to notice how he looked, and he certainly didn't flaunt it or try to use it to his advantage. Rather, he preferred to use action and let the victim decide if he was the stuff of nightmares or simply a mad dog. More often than not he received the latter and, honestly, he couldn't argue. Even Salty, the infected scrap of fur, had called him insane. Coming from someone who had lost most of her fur and had all but white eyes, it meant a lot. Or at least, it should have. He had simply accounted her as the crazy one for the fact that he didn't remember mangling her. Ah, the worst kind of addict was the one who didn't know they had a problem. MONSTER. "Well hello there, doll. What are you..." His voice trailed off as his gaze dropped to the planks before him, locking onto the thin trail of blood she had left. Suddenly his body went rigid, hackles raised and muscles stiffened. His eyes voided all emotion, filling with an empty hunger. He lowered himself to the floor, shutting his eyes and running his tongue out over the dried blood. His body quaked in delight. His orbs snapped open, locking onto the female with a ravenous appetite. Ripping forth a snarl, the dog rose to his paws, taking a step toward her. The muscles in his throat worked as though he was trying to speak, but all that came out was a deeper snarl. His limbs began to shiver as he strained to hold himself back. He had been injured in the fight with Salty--the fight that he couldn't remember a single detail of--and his subconscious mind was trying to tell him to chill out before he exacerbated it beyond repair. But the bloodlust in his eyes told a different story.

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[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/b4jhuv.png] MONSTER. "Leader? I'm not quite sure I like that term." The deep voice rasped out from the shadows beneath the small wall that surrounded the roof. Though there was still light to the day, this wall was set on the western side of the structure, and the blazing oranges, pinks, and reds of the dying sun glared into one's eyes, obscuring any view of the creature lurking in the darkness. "No, I would rather settle for... Loup. It means wolf, well enough, but does not carry such an implication of power and therefore slavery upon those following said wolf." As the sun's light began to die down, the shadows stretched longer, the voice seeming to emanate from the very darkness itself. "For that is, after all, all that I am doing. I am following Loup by choice and, as such, reserve the right to leave should I find myself in a situation I am not partial to." There was an almost arrogant tone in the male's voice, but it was cleverly entwined within the words, and reasonably difficult to decipher. MONSTER. "No, I suppose I am being rather rude. There is no need for threats." There was a slight rustle of fur and click of nail on stone as the dog rose to his feet. He lifted himself to his full height, everything above his shoulders silhouetted by the setting sun. For a moment, he seemed nothing more than a black mass, lacking recognizable ears, or any other features that might distinguish it as part of the canid family. As the last few rays of the sun put themselves at such an angle as to be blocked by the wall, his figure came into view. And what a sight it was. His coat was brindle, what was left of it, anyway. He had a strong build, with a sturdy, muscular frame, but his pelt was almost completely covered with scars. His forelegs were nothing but scar tissue, his right one still bearing a large and recent wound that oozed blood. Across his stomach was a large scar that told of a grievous wound, and the spiked collar he wore glinted in the failing light, the sharp metal protrusions daring one to take a bite. Though the leather of the collar hid most of his neck, it could not hide the particularly nasty scar across his jugular. His ears were mangled and torn, barely able to support themselves, and his muzzle was crisscrossed with scars. The dog let out a chuckle, knowing that his appearance was less than horrific. MONSTER. Dante's burnt umber eyes flashed in the light as he took in the form of the wolf before him, scanning her body for strengths. She was larger than he by about five inches, but carried about the same amount of muscle. However, because she was female (no sexist remark intended, it's fact that the genders are built differently) she was a tad bit slimmer. More sleek. "Please, don't let my appearance put you off: I'm far meaner than I'm look." Dante's muzzle split into an almost intimidating grin full of teeth. He turned his skull to one side slightly, looking at her more closely with one eye. "Don't bother telling me your name, I have already named you for myself. I, however, am not without a sense of equality; you may choose to call me what you wish." There was the low rumble of a growl behind his words, a threat, daring her to try to call him something demeaning so he could prove to her that he meant business. But it was all covered up with another smirk. MONSTER. "So, are we to stand here all night, awaiting the arrival of more? Or is there something you and I can do to pass the time?" Oddly, his words were not sexually suggestive. Dante, though he was 2 years old, had never had a sexual thought in his life. Having had to grow up by his own means, and with his... defect, his mind had no time to think of such trivial things. As a result, he hadn't the foggiest idea that such a thing existed, and simply assumed that pups were simply 'handicapped' creatures, or another species altogether (he hadn't decided yet). The dog took a seat, favoring his right leg slightly, the paw tipped up on the nails and leg bent at the ankle and elbow. His intense gaze staid locked onto the wolf's eyes, seeming to peer farther than they should have.