Redhawk Caldera Gave the Salvation Army girl a squeeze

The guard let his face go and then turned to address someone else, someone that Dingo hadn't noticed. His face smarted from where the teeth had landed, and he was absently wanting someone to come on by and tend to him, comfort him and -- wait. The red woman was closer and she started talking, and her tone made Dingo snap to attention. It was the same woman who had chased after him before! Crap, that meant -- Fox? He peeped, the word garbled by his frayed nerves as well as a slight inflammation already setting in to his face. She kept talking though, so he must've been too quiet.

Her threat was very real, and he wanted to combat it in some manner, but one look at the guard (Shrike, he'd just learned) and he knew. He'd have to run, there was no time to talk. Dingo's ears fell back upon his head and his tail, usually curved and high because of his endlessly expansive ego, swayed at his hocks and then curled across his belly. He shrank down, his limbs tensing and ready to spring away if Shrike were to turn on him — and yet he still tried to explain himself, to plead, with a hasty slurring of words: But I've been working to redeem myself for you and for Panther; I'm your brother; Panther's my brother too -- Please, he would've grovelled if he had time, but the longer he lingered the more nervous he became of the snap-happy guard.