Who's King of the Junkyard?

[Closed to Buster]

October 22nd, early evening

Darkness was falling gently upon Africa. The grasslands, the neutral territory set between the two warring prides was bathed first in crimson, and then in shadow as the sun slid below the horizon.

If someone were to look hard enough, it would have been possible to make out a small patch of blonde fur, painted blood-red by the sunset, in amongst the grass. Closer inspection would reveal this fur to belong to a particularly battered-looking Pomeranian. This canine was covered in scars and, most striking of all, was missing her right eye; a simple empty socket remained where a pretty cerulean orb had once resided.

Angel had been lying there for a while, just watching as the sun made it's descent, alone save for her thoughts. Or, more acurately, her memories. The small dog wasn't sure why, but for some reason, instead of thinking about the war, Angel had found herself reflecting instead on her life before. Before she'd left for this war; back, even, before Scamp's family had taken her in.

Angel wouldn't say that she exactly missed the Junkyard - and she CERTAINLY didn't miss Buster - but still, she didn't seem to be able to stop herself from wondering how different things had been if she'd never left the Junkyard Dogs. A curious line of idle curiosity, to be sure; Amgel had loathed herself during the months she had spent as Not Buster's Girl, and it was only her time with Scamp's family that had helped her to build a sense of self-worth. The rational part of her mind knew that she shouldn't want to trade that for anything... bust still, Angel wondered.

Where would she even be now, if she hadn't met Scamp? Still in the Junkyard? Would she have given in to Buster and become his girl? The thought made her shudder with revulsion. Or would the war have drawn her into its clutches, regardless? And which side would she have chosen then if it had? Would she have followed Buster's lead and gone to Scar's army? Or still have gone to Simba's in order to escape the Rottweiler? And if she had gone Outlander, would she still have met Patch? Maybe they would still have got together at the time of his defection. And then what would have happened to them?

There was no point to dwelling on the 'what ifs', Angel knew. But still, she couldn't help but wonder.

He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't, didn't even wanna think about it. He'd known there had been nothing he could of done even though he wanted to. Had tried to. Still the outcome had been the same. He wasn't able to help her, hadn't been able to stop what he'd known would of come. What with her having been on Nuka's side. Still he wished there was had been something he could have done, would of done but there was none. The Doberman mix shook his head slightly. He wasn't in the Outlands anymore, but instead in the place that separated the Heroes from the Animal Villains. The Grasslands. He couldn't stand to be in the broken land right now, most likely won't for a little while. If staying here for a bit was the worse that could happen now he could take it. He just hoped no Heroes came by for their sake. He'd end up with more blood on his fangs in they did.

He had been here for a few days now, after Nuka's army had been punished he left. Unable to take the fact of what had happened. He still had to deal with it, but being away from the place it happened made it a little easier. There were times, like now, that Buster wondered if leaving his beloved Junkyard had been worth the while. Still he didn't mind being here, it let him do and be what both of the breeds in him were bred for. Fighting. Brown paws tread the ground lightly, he wasn't moving quickly didn't have anywhere he needed to be. He was free to take his time. The sun had began to set a while ago and now it left the sky orange. His eyes scanned the area around him for a moment, his eyes quickly catching onto an out of place color in the tall grass.

He trotted forward, wondering what or who would be out here, some random African animal was one thing, but this color didn't belong to a native animal. None that he'd come across anyway. When he was finally able to make out who it was he almost smirked, but instead narrowed his eyes and growled. "What're you doing here?" He asked his voice low and threatening.

(OOC: It's short, and I didn't intend for that first part to come out so rhymey. Aw well.)

...oh, perfect.

The pomeranian grimaced darkly. The last thing she wanted right now was to deal with Buster, but as surely as though her thoughts had summoned him, the big dobermann/rottweiler cross was right there. And what was more, he was clearly mad; never a pretty sight, even at the best of times. And the best of times, this certainly was not. In fact, since the last time they had met on the battlefield, he had broken one of her legs and damaged another, Angel thought she was unlikely to escape this encounter unscathed. Unless she could talk to him, appeal to whatever part of him had once been attracted to her... the thought made her sick with revulsion; but better that than more scars to add to her substantial collection.

Or... no. No, she couldn't return to that; she'd come too far from the scared girl who had put on a tough act but cowered submissively whenever Buster had shown the slightest sign of anger. She grit her teeth. No matter how badly it might end for her, she would stand up to him this time. She would. Because now, unlike ever before, she had her own self-worth to protect. And a physical beating would damage that much less than pandering to Buster again would.

"It's neutral ground," she answered boldly - a far cry from the submissive attitude she'd taken with him back in the Junkayard - turning to fix Buster with her empty socket. Hoping that the sight migh throw him off guard; if not, she was pretty much screwed, taking this tone with him. Still, she may as well dig her own grave deeper while she was at it. "I'm not a Junkyard Dog anymore, remember? I don't have to answer to you." Even as she spoke, Angel was rising to her paws, ready to dart away the instant Buster showed any hostile intent. She knew she couldn't outrun him if it came to that, but the pom did have a few tricks up her metaphorical sleeve.

(ooc: for the record, Buster hasn't seen Angel since before she lost her eye)

Buster lowered his head slightly as he continued to glare at her, she had been the last person he'd expected to see out here. He thought she'd be back with the heroes and her little house-doggie boyfriend, but that obviously wasn't the case, for she was right here in the Grassland and in front of him. He wondered briefly why she would be out here, alone for that matter. But he quickly pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. Her doings and what went of with her were no longer any of his concerns.

"It's neutral ground."

Fair enough, Buster knew that, after all this land was out of the Outlands and therefor under Simba's rule. Yet parties from both sides were free to hunt here as they pleased. Buster's glare faltered as she turned around to face him. She clearly carried a new battle scar, though this one was much worse then the others. She was missing her right eye completely. The sight made him raise his head and fold his ears back. He wondered what had happened to her, must of ended on of the wrong persons bad side is what he guessed. Her next words though made him forget about her eye for the time being.

"Yeah, it's a shame to." He said as he turned his head to the side, though his tone had bite behind it. "But I guess the life of a house-doggie is better then any ol' junkyard ain't it?" He snarled turning his head back to face her. "Anythings better then having to put up with Buster's troubles!" He was near yelling now. He knew he should of been well over it now, but his gang's betrayal was still a very sore spot for him.

(Thanks for the hint.)

"I thought Buster's trouble was Buster's trouble," Angel returned cooly and with a subtle bite of sarcasm, carefully retreating by a step or two even as she spoke. Not cowardice, simply common sense; it was wise not to be too close to Buster, especially not when he was so dangerously angry, and even less so when she was the one antagonising him further.

"And what's it to you if I did like the house-dog life while I had it?" she added, still slowly backing away. If she had no intention of becoming Buster's girl again, she had even less of becoming his chew-toy. Stepping into very dangerous territory here, she knew; but in spite of her injuries, Angel believed she was a big enough girl to handle herself now. And she wasn't about to let the opportunity to give Buster a piece of her mind now escape her. "Maybe if you'd shown a bit more concern for anyone else's skin except your own, some of us might have stuck around. But you were so bent on being a one-dog show after the Tramp walked out on you that you never gave a lick about anyone else, did you? Maybe you just got what was coming to you for that."

She was primed to run at a moment's notice, fully aware of how dangerous the waters she was treading now were. No-one had ever criticised the way Buster ran his gang before - and if they had, she doubted they'd lived to tell the tale - so the small pomeranian was braced for the worst.

Brown eyes narrowed and his ears folded back as the snarl deepened. He didn't miss her slow steps back, to which he matched by stepping forward. Despite his current anger at the pom, the doberman mix couldn't look her in the eye, her missing one was unnerving somewhat. "Buster's troubles are Buster's troubles. Except when it comes to my girl." He closed his eyes a deep frown on his face. "Oh wait. You aren't my girl, are you Angel-cakes?" It wasn't growled but still the tone was gruff.

It had to have been her betrayal that had hurt the most for him. He had never really cared for her, but for some reason it still hit him the hardest. His entire pack had turned their backs on him to become pampered house pets, and that had hurt. The worse of it however was the fact they had left him there to die under that debris. He had been lucky that Chinook had just happened to be passing by or else he probably would be dead right now.

A deep growl left his throat at her next words. He stepped forward so that he was standing over top of her, having to look directly down to see her completely. "I ran my gang like any leader would. I watched their backs while they watched mine, that was all there needed to be." He growled and then turned back to her as if an after thought. "And don't get me started on the Tramp. You know as well as I do what he did!" He then stepped back a few steps. Feeling the need to overpower her fade. "Besides, who needs old washed up house dog anyway?"

"That's right. I'm not," she was quick to agree. She wasn't Buster's girl, not now, not ever. There may have been a time when she had naively believed she wanted to be, when she had, in fact, been desperate to win the Junkyard king's affections, but that ship had sailed long ago, when she'd become wise to his true nature.

"Really." There wasn't the slightest hint of belief in Angel's tone. Again, she backed up a few paces, not caring for just how close to her Buster was standing. "The way I remember it, it was 'in the junkyard it's every dog for himself'. You never raised a paw when the dogcatcher almost had me. You wouldn't have for any of us. All of us knew you didn't care to protect anyone's skin but your own." Angel didn't think she would be exaggerating if she claimed that she thought many of Buster's gang would have deserted him long before if they hadn't been terrified of him. Maybe not her, since she had never had anywhere else to go, but some of them, she suspected. She would, however, keep that observation safely to herslf.

"He fell in love. Why's that such a crime to you?" Pomeranian idly wondered if Buster noticed how much bolder she was than she'd ever used to be in his presence. She supposed all she'd seen and suffered this war really had toughened her up in actuality, rather than it simply being an act the way it had used to be.

Buster should've known that she would have agreed, though it surprised him just how quick she was to agree. The Doberman mix still couldn't help but feel a slight pang even so. There had been a time when he really had cared for the smaller canine, but those feelings were long gone now.

Folded ears flattened themselves to his skull before he quickly shrugged her words off, there seemed to be no need for arguing with something that was true, despite how much he wanted to. "Ah, if they couldn't watch themselves around some dumb dog catcher then they didn't deserve to be in the Junkyard." He said before a smirked spread across his muzzle for a moment. "You on the other hand, were always too smart and clever to let yourself get caught, and even if you did end up in the net you always found a way out." He wasn't sure if his sudden mood change would bother Angel or not, then again he supposed that mood-swings had happened before in him. His reasoning for his words was to see if he could still charm her the way he used to.

However that moment was forgotten at her next words. "He deserted me! If it weren't for that powderpuff me and him would still be partners. Though I guess for him the life of some locked up kennel is better than your best friend! But then again I guess you'd know all about that wouldn't you Angel-cakes." Same old argument, same old story. The Doberman mix just couldn't let it go.

Angel was indeed used to Buster's mood changes enough that it didn't bother her, but she still scowled at his words. Or more accurately, at the faint pride she could feel stirring at said words. She loathed Buster, resented him with every fibre of her being... so why did his praise still cause her to swell inside? As though it was something to be sought after, not discarded with the trash. Yet there was no denying that she had, indeed, felt the spark of pride when Buster had called her smart and clever.

It disgusted her.

She wished she could bring herself to tell Buster as much. Yet even with her new-found guts, Angel still heard herself replying "well, I'm glad my talents were appreciated..." Even for her sarcasm, the comment sounded too simpering for her tastes. She could have kicked herself for uttering it.

"So what if I would?" she was quick to retort, her disgust at herself momentarily forgotten. "It doesn't matter any more. Anything between me and Scamp was over the moment I found out he was my brother."

Once again, Angel could have kicked herself. She knew how Buster despised Tramp's children; what would he do to her now that he knew she was one of them?

Though the hostility was still very clear the Doberman mix chuckled. His dark brown gaze staring straight into her one remaining blue orb, it still disturbed him, but he pushed those feelings aside. He refused to let her know that her current appearance bothered him much more then he would of liked. Much more then she needed to know it did. "Your talents," He almost purred the word, "were always appreciated." The dobbie just couldn't help himself, from the sound of her words he knew she could still fall for his charm. So he decided to push and see if he could go farther.

But even as the words passed through his lips something else came out her's that made a deep snarl rip passed his throat.

His ears pinned back and his eyes widened somewhat before narrowing into dangerous slits. "He was your what?" The words were growled, each word deeper then the last.

What could that be? How could she be Tramp's daughter? It was impossible, she had to be joking, it had to be some trick to throw him off. Yeah, that was it. Had to me. The Doberman raised his head and began to laugh harshly. "Nice one Angel, now spit out the truth." The last part held no trace of the laughter.

Angel hated the fact that she recoiled when Buster snapped at her. She wasn't that cowering little thing she had been, but somehow in Buster's presence, she seemed to forget that. He was like a virus that brought out the parts of herself that disgusted her, the ones she had been so sure she had proven better than; the cowering, simpering, pathetic pup she had been when she was in his gang.

"Fine, you want the truth?" There was nothing to be gained by hiding it. Whatever Buster might want to do to her for being the daughter of Tramp, she would take it like the soldier she had become. "Tramp had mated with someone else before he ever met Lady," not strictly true, but Angel wasn't to know that the mutt and the housedog had encountered each other once, months before they had got together. "And that was where I came from." She stared at the ground, feeling bitter, though she wasn't sure towards what. Herself, maybe, for being the catalyst that drove Tramp's family apart. The world in general, for playing such a cruel trick on her when she thought she'd finally been accepted.

Her whole life, for that matter, was little more than a cruel joke when she stopped to think about it like this. Why did she still try to be happy, to be someone worth being anymore? The world would only strip everything she had gained from her, just as it always had. She had never really thought to dwell on her bitterness, not for months, but suddenly now it was all spilling out, feeling as though it were enveloping her. Why did she even try with Patch, or with anything? Sooner or later, the world would take it all from her again. That was the inevitable truth of her life.

And somehow, Angel drew strength from that here, in this moment. The knowledge that there was nothing that Buster could do to her that would be anything compared to the sadistic game the world was playing with her life. She had no need to cower before him, and in that knowledge, the Pomeranian managed to stand a little straighter.

His expression never faltered as she confirmed she hadn't been telling a joke. Tramp had mated with many a female during his time as a street dog, that wasn't anything unheard of. It was where the dog practically got his name. However, even in those Buster didn't any pups ever game out of it, until now anyway. He felt a deep snarl rumble in his chest yet at the same time he didn't seem to be the one who'd let it out.

He raised his head and pinned his ears back flatter against his skull, how could this happen? It seemed ironic to him really, but still. Why him? Though it always seemed to be him when it came to these things. Why did she have to be blood with the family he despised most in this world? Why her? It seemed ironic, yet perfect at the same time. Fate had dealt him both a winning and a losing hand with this one it seemed. And he could make it work to his advantage.

Now that he looked at her she did look like the Tramp, it some ways anyway. "You really are related, aren't ya?" The tone seemed unexpected even to him, it carried a bite but it wasn't as harsh as it should've been. He stared at her with hard eyes for a moment then let out a laugh. "Hahaha, beautiful." His trademark phrase passing off his tongue as easy as it always had. "Ya always had spunk Angel-cakes, and now I know where ya get it from." His voice was mostly back to normal, it still carried a slight edge but it hardly seemed noticeable.

Frown crossed her cream-furred maw. Frankly, Angel wasn't altogether sure she wanted to know what he found so 'beautiful' about this revelation; usually when the larger mix used that term, it wasn't good news for someone else present. In this case, undoubtedly her. The pomeranian had half a mind just to run for it now, frankly, save that she knew that would do her no good. Buster was larger, faster and meaner than her, and any attempt at escape would be just as futile as her flight from ex-Queen Nala ought to have been.

So instead, she held her position, her single reassurance being the knowledge that the world had already hurt her more than anything Buster might do possibly could.

It wasn't a vast comfort.

"Well, that's one mystery solved," she returned very dryly. All the while, still looking for a way out of this situation. After all, the fact that she had suffered worse before didn't mean she wanted to endure whatever Buster had in mind right now. Maybe if she played along just enough to convince him to let her go? But no more than that, she promised herself. She wouldn't fully go back to the way she had used to act around him; she refused to.

First, though... "Dare I ask what you're planning?" she asked suspiciously. Her best bet for getting out of here before she did anything else she would regret was to figure out what Buster was thinking and use that to her advantage; and if he wanted to tell her straight out, then so much the better.

The Doberman mix's lips parted slightly as a smirk slid across them. He knew just how he'd get back at the Tramp for all that had happened in the past. It did seem an odd way to do it, but Buster knew this would hurt all of Tramp's little family and that is what made it all the better to go through with. He stalked up to the small dog and sat down drawing her closer with a paw on her back. "I ain't planning anything Angel-cakes," he then lowered his head to her ear, "nothing you wouldn't like anyway." He purred into her ear with a light chuckle.

He'd have fun with this. He'd always known he could get to her this way, he'd never tried to go this far before but then again she'd been much younger then. Now though she was reaching adulthood and had grown quite beautifully. Well despite her eye, but that couldn't have been her fault, even then the Dobbie could look past it. Back in the Junkyard this had been one of the few things he'd hoped and looked forward to. But then again like all things it seemed she was taken from him as well.

Pulling back slightly Buster looked down at her, his smirk clear as ever. "Ya know Angel-cakes. I didn't take you in just cause you were a little lost puppy. I let you join the gang cause I saw somethin' in ya. A spark that most dogs don't have. It's why you made such a good street dog after all." He offered her a rare true smile. Well it wasn't completely genuine but the closest the mixed breed could pull off. He hoped it was true enough the fool her anyway.

Her heart rate picked up as Buster drew her closer; her breathing bacame short and sharp; and she felt chills of anticipation caressing her spine. It had been more than a year... she'd forgotten how... intoxicating he was up close. The musky scent of his fur was like a drug, clouding her thinking. Vaguely, the pomeranian knew that whatever Buster had in mind, she didn't want it - shouldn't want it - but she could only muster the feeblest of struggles against him. Some part of her brain - the more animal part, governed by her physical desires rather than any rational thinking - was telling her that she did indeed want this. More badly than she'd ever realised.

No... no! She couldn't give in, she mustn't give in... Angel swallowed hard, trying to wet her very dry throat. She felt sure she knew what Buster wanted from her and knew that to do as such would be a disgusting betrayal of Patch; but she was finding it increasingly hard to get any rational thoughts of this nature to stick. Her animal instincts were threatening to overwhelm her resistance...

Though she well knew she shouldn't, Angel found herself drinking in Buster's praise. She hated him, absolutely loathed him, yet at the same time found him as addicting as any drug to a human. He could draw her in like no-one else could, and though it shamed her, she swelled pridefully at his words. She felt like she could hardly breathe, and she certainly no longer possessed the willpower to step away.

"I... I know what you want," she whispered breathlessly, regarding Buster out of half-lidded eye. She couldn't... No... She had to think of Patch. If she gave into Buster now, she would be cheating on him... it would break his heart, and hers too, for he would despise her... The pomeranian wavered where she was, feeling as unwilling to step forwards as she was unable to step back, torn between her rational wishes and animalistic desires.