Redhawk Caldera Certified beautician.

It had gotten too hard to find anything, so Dingo did what he did best, and quit. He left the waterfront and wandered back towards the mountainous landscape where he'd been given a home - sort of - and slipped back across the border with a deep sigh. How could he be seen as worthwhile if he couldn't even find a single god damn fish? The world had gone made in the wake of the locust disaster, and all Dingo could think about was his own stomach and survival. If he didn't repay what he'd taken then surely they'd kick him out. He was an extra mouth and a loud one at that.

Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Wolves didn't need just meat for their survival. They needed herbs sometimes, holes dug, dens curated, all kinds of odds'n'ends which he could do to prove himself. So what if he didn't have anything new to deposit in a cache — he was able bodied still! Hungry, but willing to work (well, to a point). His mood was still quite sour and his belly was still very empty, but Dingo wasn't about to be beaten by fate. He headed off along a nearby rigdge and climbed towards the caldera's heartland, eager to discover what secrets the territory held, and hopeful he'd find something valuable for the lot of them.

It had been yet another sleep all day day, when Peter felt too tired to go out and play with his siblings and the only comfort he found was lying next to his mother, burrying his nose in her fur and pressing his body as close against hers as he could. It was often these days, when he felt cold and began shivering, even, when the sun was out and the temperatures weren't that low. The mild feeling of hunger had become his best friend lately, faithful to the point that it made one sick and never leaving and his already small frame had become more angular, because as the days went on, he began to lose his puppy fat. 

It was one late afternoon, when the little boy found himself alone in the den. He blinked his sleepy eyes, searching for any familiar face and much to his disappointment finding none. He let out a low whine, got to his feet and walked slowly towards the den mouth to see, if anyone was outside. No such luck. "Owww..." he whined again, appeared to think for a bit and then lifted his muzzle and howled mournfully for his family to return. And if not them, then anyone at least.

He should have known better than to venture so far in to the territory, even if he was welcomed in by the population. Dingo thought he could find something valuable, sure; but he found a wailing child instead. The sound of the boy's cries were muted at first by the den walls, but as the boy waddled out in to the open, Dingo heard the sounds and slunk closer, thinking at first it was a fox or some sort of small thing with which he could redeem himself. Upon sighting the gray child he stopped, almost stumbled, and his limbs stiffened. Oi, you're not edible, the youngster remarked. As he began his advance once more, he was slow and a bit flighty with his steps - his ears facing forward but the rest of him on high alert for adults. He lifted his head a few times and peered around, wondering if this kid was all alone or if, maybe, there were guards ready to intervene should he get too close. When he was closer, he lowered his head and sniffed towards the boy - You ok little dude?

Oblivious to the fact that by making noise the cub could be considered an easy prey for another person, Peter continued to howl and stopped only, when someone came in the view. He observed the person that was sneaking towards him with wide eyes and mouth agape, not recognizing him at all.

But this moment of caution didn't last for very long, because his need for having someone to feed and cuddle him was way stronger than the self-preservation instinct. Therefore with a happy yip he ran towards the russet wolf and as he lowered his muzzle to talk to him, Peter happily wrapped his paws around it and with his tail wagging excitedly, he began to lick the stranger's face.

omg so cute !!

Dingo should've expected that. The boy tumbled towards him and was latching upon his nearby face within moments, covering his snout with drool and licks aplenty. He almost squeezed his eyes shut in time to avoid some direct tongue-to-eye contact, but let out a distorted little squeal of his own when the poking tongue caught upon his oh-so-delicate eyeballs. Hemm! he murmured as he tried to withdraw his face, stepping back a half-motion, but finding that the child had a very good grip on his dashing face indeed. H'llo -- you can git off ennytime, bub, Dingo sputtered between getting his face washed and avoiding having any part of the child get in to his mouth (which was tricky). He didn't dare shake his head too hard as he did not want to damage the little bean, but Dingo wasn't very fond of kids - he still was a kid - and he didn't know what to do, leaving him play-bowed in front of the little nuisance and tethered in place by the weight on his glorious nose.

Peter was used to people trying to get away from his bouts of affection, therefore, when Dingo tried to get free and moved backwards, he simply balanced on his hind-legs and just grabbed the snout firmer between this forepaws. And - of course - never stopping to give copious amounts of licks to the stranger's face.

When it felt that he had been adequately slobber-hug-greeted, Peter fell back to his haunches and leaned back to eye the wolf quizzically. He smiled at him then and said the two standard words he had learned and perfected by now: "Mater-facking sheet!"

Once he was released, Dingo tried to rub some of the gunk off of his face with a foreleg, but stopped and stood alertly before the child when they shouted. His ears twitched as they cupped forward, and Dingo recognized the phrase instantly as something a baby shouldn't know how to say. After a split second he raised his head and looked around (still a bit shiny with slobber), wondering if anyone heard that; would they blame him for it? He didn't do anything!

Hey! Hey now, no, that's - not - he hastily spoke, not knowing if the kid would understand him or not, and was looking around furtively for the child's parents, hoping they weren't around after all, just to keep his own hide intact. He bent down and nosed at the baby then: Shh, that's uh, that's adult talk, kiddo. He loosed a small sigh through his teeth as he raised his head, and then absent-mindedly muttered to himself, I better not get my ass handed to me for this.

When the stranger tickled him (that was not his intention, of course, but the little guy here is very ticklish), Peter giggled and fell to his side, with his short legs flailing in the air. He then looked the older one in the eye over his shoulder and beamed at him, not understanding a single word he had said, nor sensing the worry in his voice. 

"Matherf-a-a-a-acking shit!" he repeated, eying the russet wolf innocently and wondering, why he like so many others before him didn't find much joy in hearing this. People were usually happy, when they were talked to, didn't they?

He let out a snort when the boy toppled over, and then another when he repeated that inappropriate saying of his. Holy balls, you sure have a fabulous catch-phrase. At least it was something firmly established, and probably known to the parents. Dingo felt a little less awkward about it the more the kid said it, and in the end he thought, maybe I can teach him something better!

Can you say: Bull-shit? He murmured next, flattening his torso down so as not to strain his neck; he was laying on his chest and belly before the boy, sniffing and poking lightly at his wiggling peets. Say it with me now! Bull! Shit! May as well extend the kid's fabulous repetoire.

ooc: Dingo is fabulous! :D

When Dingo lied down and was at the same level as Peter, the little boy rolled on his belly and with his hind-legs splayed behind him listened carefully, what the other one had just said. Up until now very few people had realized the simple truth - his mind couldn't process more than two - three words at a time - and since everyone else (his parents included) were in a habit of talking a lot and fast, he had learned to simply ignore this. 

But now - since having nothing better to do and not wanting to play - he perked his ears up and watched, how the russet wolf's lips moved, forming a new word out of one Peter recognized already. Sheet! With a... "Boo-sheeeeeeet!" the boy chimed and looked up at his mentor expectantly.

Glad you like him!

When the phrase was parroted back at him, Dingo realized just how dangerous his newfound superpower could be. A nefarious little expression passed over his face as he heard the child's voice, listening to him yowl as if it were the most beautiful music in the world. Yeah! Yeah that's right! You did it! As he commended the boy, Dingo nudged and nuzzled at him affectionately, hoping that it would egg the child on to do more stunts. Hmm, what about... Say, poo-head! It wasn't as bad as his previous lesson, but just as funny (to the immature Dingo anyhow). Pooooo, he drawled, head! Can you do it?

Peter's tail wiggled, when Dingo praised him and he puffed out his chest, looking very proud and smug of himself. But - wait - their lesson was not over. There was more to learn and in this particular moment the little boy was more keen to do so than ever. He leaned slightly towards the guy and listened to his next instructions, which weren't that difficult. "OOOOOh - hshit!" he repeated looking at his mentor for approval.

He almost did it. Dingo felt a swell of pride for his own great teaching abilities, and grinned down at the boy. That's right! Way to go, bub! His tail wagged behind him hastily, whipping at the dirt. Dingo craned his head down again and gave the boy a boop as if it were a gold star and Peter had earned it. Pooooo! the older boy imitated, his voice transitioning from a word to a tiny howl, drawing it out for as long as he had air in his lungs, and then he did it again but a little louder: PooooOOOoop!

When he was out of breath, Dingo stopped and panted for a moment. He listened for the little boy's voice, wondering if he would sing with him, and then let out a small chuckle at the thought. Hey, I think we just composed a song together! Dude! I call dibs on all the hot chicks, mmkay? You be my wing-man, he booped the boy again, this time with a reach of his nearest paw. We can tour around, play some shows, get all the hoo-haw. Well, I get the hoo-haw, you... You can, ah, Dingo couldn't finish the sentence because of a big yawn that caught in his throat, prompting him to open his loud mouth nice and big before Peter's head.

Peter listened to Dingo howl with an expression of pure awe and admiration. He opened his own mouth, moving his lips soundlessly, trying to mimic the letters his mentor had formed and eventually he joined in with his own version that, when put in a written form, sounded like this: "BOOOOOh... ewheew... POOOOOOOOOH... eh... OOOOOOH...hrhrmph." He did not get to finish the song, because a bug flew in his throat and he spent the next minutes coughing and pawing at his muzzle. 

Then his friend, who Peter had deemed as a sensible adult earlier, gave into that bad habit of talking a lot and fast. He frowned at the guy all the while he was talking. But things changed for the better, when Dingo yawned and in hopes for food, Peter wasted no time and stuck his muzzle and head in the other's mouth.

GACK! the boy gurgled through a mouthful of head. Glossing over the innuendo of that sentence - Dingo sputtered and choked when he felt the boy's tiny nose hit a pressure point, and almost instantly his stomach was revolting against him. A sensation rolled up from the pit of his stomach and hit the back of his throat, prompting his tongue to lift and something to come bubbling up from inside of him. Most of it was bile, but there was a chunk of bone too - maybe a fish head - which was deposited messily across the ground before Dingo, splattering a little on the child. When the event was over, Dingo was left panting hard and crinkling his nose to the taste of bile. Well shit, you sure know how to party hard.

Peter had half-predicted, what would happen - he recognized the retching sound that made it clear that food was coming his way. What he did not manage to do, was to step away in time and as the contents of Dingo's stomach hit him directly in the face, he let out a loud, shrill yelp and shaking his head, scurried away from his supposed friend. He rubbed his face with his paws to get rid of the residue bile and gastric juices and, when he finally was able to face the young wolf, his eyes were read and watering. There was a clear accusation in that gaze - WHY? But he did not wait for an answer, because the fish's head, which was lying next to him, caught his attention. He snatched it imediately and put more distance between him and the adult wolf, holding his very first "kill" firmly in his jaws and growling.

Dingo coughed, tasting the bile and the gastric juices upon his tongue, and spat. A loogie the size of a wolf's eyeball landed squarely in the dirt. The boy had never felt so strangely violated in his life! Nobody had ever made him puke before! He didn't know how to feel about it, and for a few minutes he forgot about the little kid and sat there, reflective. He decided that it was kinda gross, but that also made it really cool, and as strange as he felt, Dingo realized he was also trying hard not to laugh. It was such a bizarre experience - and then as he turned his head, he saw the little boy sauntering off with the fish head in his mouth.

That's even more disgusting, he thought. Dude, you are totally gross, but I think you're my favorite so far. Out of the guards at the border, the angry alpha lady, and this malleable little boy, obviously the boy was the best. Little Peter had earned a friend for life. You just -- yeah, you keep that -- Dingo slurred between the waves of fishy taste that came burping out of him, and as he gurgled through another acidic layer in his throat, he licked his lips and turned away. The kid would be entertained by that fish head, so may as well make his escape. He needed to find something to replace all the junk he'd puked up!

Peter finished his "kill" quickly, all the while growling and sending warning glances to the adult, who was towering above him, in case he decided to reclaim the fish-head. It was not the tastiest thing he had eaten, yet it was better than nothing. When he was done, he licked his jowls, looked up at the older wolf and wagged his tail, as if expecting him to magically procure another fish-head. 

"A-a-arufff!" he told him, making few steps in his direction, ready to tickle the other's jaw and curious to see, if his theory would work. However, this did not happen, because the other wolf made a hasty exit and left Peter alone. Confused a little by his sudden disappearance, Peter then got up and left for the sleeping spot. It was a high time for a good nap.