animus vox

I know Dogmeat is going to post a thread backdating to the accident itself, but I figured I'd toss one up now. Set a few hours later. Leaving things vague. :)

It had been one hell of a night.

Jostled around, place to place; so many voices, so much noise. He'd nearly launched into a full grown panic by the time they'd been placed in the van, but the scents of those invisible faces crowded around him had given him some measure of comfort. He'd even seen Dogmeat's scarred face peering out from behind the transport kennel bars as they loaded him in. The humans seemed eager, and spoke in soft, kind voices. He hadn't heard that since His Man's mate...

Then the accident happened and they were, once again, thrown into chaos. He'd crawled from his cage battered and bruised but alive. There were some that didn't fare so well, but a good collective of them managed to escape the ruin of the van and make off into the night.

Spectre now stood, eyes out to the horizon as the sun slowly rose up behind the thick cloud cover, drinking in the sight of the world again after so long stuck behind bars. His injured hind leg held up from the ground. He knew it wasn't serious; he could use it, at least, but it would make catching food difficult. His drive to find it, however, was peaking. He hadn't had a good meal in over twelve hours.

But he would wait until the group made a decision. Going it alone would benefit no one.

I'm assuming, since they're both part of Dogmeat's crew, that they'll at least know of each other. Lemme know if you want me to change anything! Also sorry if this is a tad awkward, trying to figure her out still <3

What, exactly, had happened was still a mystery to Junkyard Dog. She did not know why they were moved, which she did not like. She liked it less when they were placed into a car, which she remembered was unpleasant and only meant bad news. Bad dog. She had whined the entire time, until everything was flung into chaos and pain.

Junkyard Dog survived, and that was enough for her.

Outside and unprotected, the wind bit at her exposed patches of skin. Where she had had poor reactions to the products tested on her, the cold was painful. Elsewhere, it was uncomfortable, or itchy. Junkyard Dog did not like this, nor did she like the hunger nesting in he pit of her stomach. If she was out here, with no Man in sight, who would bring her food? There were no alleys here filled with the unwanted food of Men. Junkyard Dog was uncertain, and she didn't like it. Her only comfort was that good dogs like Dogmeat were there, and they might know what to do.

The sky began to change with the passing of the evening into day. One of them was watching the sun rise above the horizon, which she decided seemed like a good idea. She made her way to his side, muscles sore and body bruised. It was worth her while, it seemed, because at this vantage point, she could see the sun inching its way into the sky for the first time in a very, very long time.

"Dog," she croaked at him, tone demanding, "name."

The night was thick with terror and blood. Underfoot the corpses of many, some twisted like bizarre phantoms, others meekly succumbed to darkness. Dogmeat piled them aside, the weak and broken -- these Inu would not see daybreak again.

They had quit the van's proximity when more Otoko came, their ululating voices strange to the Inu ears. Dogmeat shied quickly from their coruscating beams of light. In the cover of shuddering night he fled, ushering others behind him.

It was not his place to fathom Their thinking -- but he did not believe this a test. They were open to the fierce cold and exposed, and Dogmeat shuddered to think of the monsuta that haunted the timber. He cast a quizzical gaze behind him towards the distance where woeful cries of those left behind still assuaged the abandoned forest. This was not the manicured, ivory halls of their prison -- it was the untamed and harsh grove of the wild. Ahead he bespied two familiar figures, whose sight flushed warm relief through his tight bosom. "Where are the others?"

Outlaw had survived the rest of the night, but most of the time his face was wet with tears. He had no best friend anymore. It had struck him at some point that Railroad was really gone, really dead. His life was over. He wasn't coming back. Outlaw limped awkwardly along, following a little ways behind Dogmeat. He respected the old man for staying so seemingly confident through the night. While others whined or screamed or cried or ran off crazily, Dogmeat had searched through the rubbish for survivors. Outlaw's respect had been easy to earn for the dog. He walked up behind the group, his eyes on the horizon. "I'm here," Outlaw contributed with a glance towards Dogmeat. He stayed back a few feet, untrusting of them yet. Even though he respected him, they still had not earned Outlaw's trust.

Chaos was really the only word Reaper had to describe the night. They had been uprooted from familiarity — their home, as horrible and vile as it had been — and dumped into the middle of nowhere. Quite literally, too, and most had the cuts and bruises to prove it. Blood trickled from Reaper's own slash above his eye — yet another scar to add to the collection. At least he was used to the pain; there had been plenty of it during his time as a fighter and in the testing facility, after all.

As lights flooded the scene — the other humans having turned back to no doubt rescue their friend — the dogs who were lucky enough to escape the worst injuries had taken off into the night. Reaper followed after the burly dog who had helped him escape from the muzzle restraint. Others trailed after, too, most having nowhere else to turn and so escaped with their comrades.

Eventually, his fleeing sprint turned into a haggard lope, before his aching muscles and pounding head forced him to groggily limp after the others as they headed onwards towards the horizon. Finally, they seemed to halt and, up ahead, two dark forms stood and watched as the sun slowly rose to greet the day. Two others approached them, one Reaper recognised as the burly male and the other, scruffier one, he could only figure was a lab-mate. The four figures suddenly turned into eight as his head spun and the mutt lurched forwards as he made his way towards them, falling to his haunches to avoid toppling over altogether. Half-lidded, mahogany eyes regarded the other dogs passively, before Reaper looked up to the shifting colours in the sky, fighting a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to sleep.

Silently the sighthound slunk after her chosen group, the one led by the Shiba. Her instincts said to stay with the group and the presence of both Reaper and Junkyard Dog sealed the deal. She was not positive how this group would play out, but she would at least remain until she knew what sort of place they were dealing with. She hadn't been one to stick to a group in the city, for loyalty was not a concept she was familiar with. She changed priorities as easily as situations and these other dogs could turn on her also.

Dogmeat turned to call role, it seemed, and she stepped closer to the group from where she was rooting about in the trees. She was starving, and there were no convenient bowls or overflowing trash bins here. Instinct told the hound to hunt, and hunt she would. Soon, or this freedom would be short-lived.

Dogmeat's gaze fell on each with gravity, his sunken gaze sorrowful as he recalled how many lives had been left behind. The paltry few before him were but a shade of their original numbers -- but they would do.

Outlaw, the most familiar to him besides Spectre, was first to come forwards -- the large dog touched noses with this familiar spirit before turning to Reaper. Dogmeat was not entirely sure he had ever learned of the formidable hound's name, yet it was the sighthound that approached last in which drew the most of his attention.

Like most of her kin, she was lean and built with a predatory elegance -- the bid of her blood svelte and lethal. "Can you hunt?" He inquired to her, his droopy jowls lifted as he licked his lips. "Spectre cannot do all of the hunting alone - we need to eat."

It seems we're not doing a post order? Smack me if I'm wrong,,,

Safety in numbers was a lesson Junkyard Dog learned early in life. In her first life, so long ago, she had moved as one with her brothers and sisters, and thus able to chase away those who encroached on their territory. The heap of steaming garbage was their charge to protect, and together, they did just that. Later in life, as she roamed the streets, she found similar comfort in the company of others, and together they all flourished.

Once again, faced by adversity, she made sure to surround herself with others. They gathered, and she cast her glance at them, sizing them up as much as she could without lingering too long on any one.

Dogmeat mentioned food and hunting to the sighthound. Food. She hadn't thought of that, just of her survival and escape. But food would be important in the long term. Uncertainty struck her, but she held her tongue waited, watched. They would come up with a plan.

Nah, no post order.

Others came to join him and he did not offer them anything more than a look of distant approval. He did reply to Junkyard Dog, "Spectre." It was said in a tired monotone. This unit was far from cohesive, but it would serve for now. Outlaw he recognized, along with Dogmeat, but the others were familiar by scent alone. Reaper, however, earned just a little bit of more; a wag of his feathery tail. It was clear the mixed breed was having some difficulty.

Dogmeat immediately took charge, and leveled a question at the sighthound he remembered from last night. He looked away and lifted his nose to the wind. "Truth be told... we all smell like shit." He cuts in. "Like the lab." He clarifies. "It'll be hard to get close to any game."

(Welp, I guess It's now or never to throw Yellow in. Tell me if you don't want this)

Yellow jacket woke up, shaking his head, he saw a group of dogs out in the distance, and smelled them as his kind. He salvitated. 'Smells are oddly charming..' Yellow Jacket thought, as he wondered toward the smell. Yellow shook his head. he smelled..Dog shit.
'Use your eyes!-er-eye.' Yellow almost laughed. Almost.

Yellow counted the heads, about..Five or Six? He walked over, not making eye contact, to show politeness.
"Hey you." Yellow called nicely. As nice as he could be, anyway. He scanned, taking by the posture of him, the smaller dog was the leader. "Where's the fire, huh?" He asked the dog, making an awkward attempt at being casual. Which was hard, as his eye was still bleeding slowly. "Look. I need yer' help. Can I ang' with you for a bit? I know this is screwy, but this is the way it is. I'm one of you, alright?"

She was addressed directly, taking her by surprise. Her eyes narrowed at the thought of hunting for others, but quickly turned thoughtful. Perhaps hunting as a group would not be so bad, for strategy would be needed. The Saluki mix had no experience with the prey of the woods, the city offering mostly rats. She had managed a rabbit once, but such were few to be found amongst the urban concrete.

"I can try, but as he says, scent may be against us." Luckily she had not been injured in the crash, but her speed was not up to par. The lab had not fed her particularly well not allowed her the exercise necessary. It would take time to rebuild stamina lost. "If there is a chase, perhaps." With them to help it may be possible to bring down something. What sort of something? She had no clue.

"Does anyone know anything about the food in this sort of place?" She asked, looking around hopefully, ignoring the newcomer in favor of her current priority.

The thickset male withdrew slightly as a Schnauzer appeared, notably without an eye. His expression hardened as he surveyed the damage the crash had delivered -- it appeared the black dog's sense had also been destroyed by the collision.

"We can change that." His reply was sensible -- they certain reeked of all malodorous things, yet one night alone in the damp forest would help alter that. "I don't know what there is, but there has to be food somewhere." He was one of the few alongside the saluki-mix who had not been too damaged by the van's loss of control -- and he would go with the birdhound and sighthound, should they need his protection.

More came. Dogmeat acknowledged Outlaw directly, a good sign. Talk of hunt was what came up first. Outlaw was not a hunting dog, but a herding dog, although he wanted to try the best for the disorganized pack. Like blood, he thought at Spectre's comment. "We could steal. If there are other dogs around or some carnivore, we could just take their catch and get away. I know it seems lazy or helpless, but a lot of us are injured, or haven't really hunted before." He put in. Really the idea of stealing came not because he was trying to find a way to get food- he was trying to have fun, play around with the creatures around here. Causing trouble was fun.

Yellow picked up on the hint of sarcasm in the Sheepdog's voice. The little runt was a tad annoying, but, He knew that chewing him out for it wouldn't be the right thing to do now.

Yellow was surprised he could tell what the Damn thing was at all. He would have to pick up on all the different voices. That moment, he remembered what the other dog had said earlier.
"Well, we could walk away a bit, find some mud, cover out scent, than track some game 'arseways. It would be a ad' dangerous to wander away though." Yellow knew that no predators would come toward the loud noise. But, neither would game.

This was crossways, a fork in the road, and Yellow hoped the others took the right path.

Junkyard Dog listened passively. She was not skilled with hunting, nor any sort of practical skills beside fighting and fleeing (though she was far more inclined to do the latter.) The newest arrival, a grisly sight without his eye, seemed keen on hunting, as did many of the others. She would be of little use, it seemed, in the conversation. And perhaps she would be dead weight for the rest of her life among these dogs.

That was, at least, until Outlaw brought up stealing. Junkyard Dog hummed in approval, nodding. "Live prey runs, and so must we. Stealing is easy," she said, nervous as she was to speak up.

wrapping up

Despite the initial disorder in their group, they seemed to be falling into place -- a helpful suggestion there, a volunteered effort here -- Dogmeat felt his bosom rise with a sense of pride. They would make it. They had to.

He canted a ear in Junkyard Dog's direction as she spoke, and he watched the schnauzer it spoke with Outlaw. He would hang back for now and let the others formulate a plan. He trusted them -- like himself, they were hungry. And so little in the world matched the precocious capabilities of a hungry dog.

Once camp had broken and each had been assigned a task Dogmeat slipped into a curled ball, licking his wounds until sleep overcame him.