Sequoia Coast sucks to be an optimist in this listless dissolution

he's somewhere in that empty traingular map space between dragoncrest cliffs, nova peak & the tangle.

the sky casts an overcast, drab coloration on the world; an affirmation that winter officially leeched it of its vibrancy. onryo casts his frostbound gaze around, at the strange placement of massive rocks upon the ground. in the distance, he can see trees and further yet a looming mountain peak. to his back is the coast; the salty sting of seabrine still lingering in his nose.

the chilling air reaches for him and he ducks in the shade and cover of the nearest rock, using it to block the worst of the biting wind as his fur dries from his ( brief ) swim in the sea.

he'd been attempting to fish and had been ...sort of successful leaving a few half eaten fish to be washed away by the greedy swell of the sea when he'd finished and realized that fish wasn't exactly to his taste. still, food was food and as fishing did not require hearing onryo did what he could with what he had to work with.

The ocean.

It was a thing of story. 

Some old or travelled dogs in the neighborhood - blind Pisspot, chiefly - spoke of it, and she believed none of them. Big puddle of salty water, stretching farther than the eye can see? Puppy tales. White lies. Something to laugh at as an adult.

And yet, here she was before it. It was sort of just like it was described, incomprehensively vast, with a smell that clung to the inside of the nostrils, wild and moving. Diesel stood on the beach a a while, expecting its motions to cease eventually, but the waves just kept on coming. Crashing. Rolling.

She kind of liked it.

Or maybe it was the infected wounds speaking.

What the white she-wolf did to her had yet to heal, but worse than that was the fact that the pink flesh now seemed to ooze. The stench was unbearable, making her empty gut twist. She felt hot, despite her frigid surroundings, and she moved without focus on anything. She didn't even know how she got to the fucking coast that morning!

But the ocean, it was so soothing.

She approached it, walked along it a bit, felt the waves roll over her paws. Eventually, almost on impulse, she jumped into it - and regretted it instantly.

She ran out onto the shore whining, for the salt stung the puncture wounds on her neck, and that small indent made by having a fold of wrinkled skin above her brow ripped. It hurt more than it did when she got them. 

The mastiff shook herself off, and that was when she spotted the fish.

Half-eaten, they littered the beach, and they told her something or someone had recently been here. Diesel, starving and already having gotten low enough to eat human trash and steal from her lesser, didn't think twice about finishing off what was left.

Big jaws crunched the fish whole, and despite the little bones embedding themselves into her mouth, she chewed with great haste, swallowing in big gulps. The taste didn't even register, only the sensation of eating.

This would not off-set the thinning of her malnourished body, but it would sure keep her living another day.

it was the smell that drew onyro's attention and brought with it the retracting of his steps. beyond the smell of fish left in his wake, rotting seaweed, and the salty tang of the undrinkable water was something wrong. infected, mingled heavily with an unfamiliar scent.

his sense of scent leads him, followed closely by the sweeping pierce of his haunting frostbound gaze. the foaming sea is cold as it laps and froths against his paws; his steps slowing to a halt as he finds the source of the strange scent mingled heavily as it was with infection.

at first, onyro is not sure what he was looking at. massive and fawn colored the wrinkled beast looked canine-like but uncertainty causes onyro's hackles to prickle all the same. for a moment, he considers turning back around and fleeing from her ...but the idea of turning his back to her does not sit well with him. he cannot hear to know if he was being pursuit and one wrong step might very well bring about his death.

unsure; onyro lets out a chuff to announce his presence though the sound is nothing more to him than a vibration within his vocal cords.

She was not so engrossed in her meal as to not hear the chuff, and it startled her. The bitch snapped her head around, bits of fish still poking out her mouth, their blood mixed with the saliva which gathered in her jowls and flew free of them as she abruptly turned to face the newcomer.

Wolf.

Godfuckingdammit, not again.

And this one, with its size, build and scarred face, reminded her too much of the cunt who beat her. Sure, it was fuel leak while Scarface was washed bedsheet, but it had the same rugged look about itself.

A warning growl rose up trough her throat as she stared down the beast, crunching the fish still in her mouth, not yet ready to bare teeth (chiefly because her mouth was already busy).

so sorry for the wait!!!

no need to apologize! <3

onyro, still unsure what exactly kind of almost canine creature he's looking, lingers on the precarious edge of rushing forth and fleeing. only to decide to do neither. instead, the demon watches as bits of flesh and thick ropes of slobber drip from the wrinkled beasts' jowls.

he sees the action of her chewing, though the menacing crunch of fishbones betwixt her jaws goes unheard by him.

again, the stench of infection hits him and he ghosts toward her: a small step; hesitant and weighted carefully.

he thinks of the words he wants to say, of how they give rise to the vibrations in his throat and give meaning even if his voice is guttural and toneless; a blunt edged sword. your wounds are infected. though he assumes she already knows as such. infection — from what he remembers — tended to throb and pierce where it lingered.

Instantly, she hated the look on its face - a reprisal of the looks she'd been getting ever since she came out here to wolf county. Motherfuckers never saw a dog before and made that her problem.

It was easy to get annoyed, as the fever kept her blood hot in exchange for taking away her ability to stand straight. Already she was swaying on her feet, but her gaze remained challenging.

The voice of the beast lacked inflection, sounding as if it came from the throat and not the mouth. It was wielded to form the dumbest fucking sentence she'd heard in months.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." Look, we got a medical professional over here! "Your dead grandma could smell it from the grave."

Then the swaying of her limbs got so severe she stumbled. Her head lowered and it truly felt as if the world itself was slipping away from her feet. A wave washed over her hind paw, only making her position in relation to the ground more confusing.

sneaky sneaks this in @ work

he sense aggression; though judges solely based on his interpretation of her body language. her quips ( though quite good ) go, sadly, unheard and the effort to read her lips fails. due to distance or the fact that onyro isn't feeling overly invested ...it was hard to say. the demon almost turns and goes on his way, assuring himself that her injuries were not any of his problem when he sees her sway.

go lay down, onyro commands, trying not to hate the vibration of the words travelling up his vocal chords. before you drown.

The world was swaying in and out of focus. It was severely fucking annoying, but the wolf's words, so throaty and blunt, were even more so. They felt mocking at best, pitying at worst. She snarled, although the sound turned weak and meek once it passed her uvula.

"Gho f'ck y'rself." The molossoid slurred, stumbling to the side, salt water going slish-slosh around her legs.

"I d'nt need y'r... y'r PITY." Thick drops of drool sprayed from her drooping lips. She tried to focus on the stranger, but it too was a dancing shape in her vision, like a mirage or a reflection in restless water.

Just then a wave of greater size crashed against her back, and the sting of salt in her wounds made her yelp, leap and run out onto the shore, whimpering.

Only once she was straining her neck to lick at the gashes upon her throat did she suddenly realize that she had an audience. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment - and she was already heated by fever - and that turned to a boiling anger. 

"What the FUCK are you lookin' at?!" This snarl was stronger, with more force, but still her head swayed in an uneven circle. Whatever meagre common sense the dog boasted before, fever had cauterized it.

do you wanna keep going or should be wrap this up :0