Don't Call Me "Babes"

(lolgotham Open to Buster, February 10th.)

Dangling from Fish's mouth was a mouse, struggling to get free. The thing matched her fur, a solemn blue-grey hue against the red-brown of the dirt of the outlands. It made the little buggers so easy to spot. She crunched its spine in two and chomped it down, barely leaving a bloodstain on her fur or on the floor. She shook herself. Still getting settled in the outlands, the female was trying out the terrain.

And acquainting herself with every dog there.

There seemed to be an abundance. Hounds, dalmatians, all sorts of mutts littered the outlands' ground. And she would own them all. She grinned viciously, chuckling to herself. Buster wouldn't know what hit him. 

A thick cloud of dust blew into the air as the large Doberman mix shook himself. The muscles in his shoulders rippling under thin coarse fur. At times Buster was thankful he had such a thin coat, the heat in the Outlands hadn’t let up in the least even though the darkness had blocked out the sun’s rays. In fact, if he had to think about it, he’d almost say it had gotten hotter. It was almost like they were in an oven with how the heat had been lately. He honestly couldn’t wait until the wet season hit, then maybe they wouldn’t have to deal with such ridiculous heat.

Letting out a loud short, the large canine glanced toward his sleeping companion. Since his return to the Outlands three weeks ago, Two-Tone had taken to sleeping with him in the small cleft in a large rock he’d come to claim as his den. It actually felt kinda nice having another living, breathing body next to his own at night. Especially now since he’d come to realize that the Outlands tended to act like a desert, extremely hot by day and near freezing by night.

Smirking slightly as he slowly stepped around the sleeping Dal, Buster paid the spotted female one last glance before slipping from the rock. Large paws kicked up small puffs of dirt as the Doberman mix made his way toward the river. He wasn’t sure what time it was, with the darkness hanging around it was nearly impossible to tell. Still, if Buster had to guess he’d say it was around noon, but he couldn’t be sure.

Just as he made to turn a corner around a particularly large termite mound, a strangely familiar scent entered his nose. Lifting his muzzle, Buster took a few good whiffs of the air before turning to spot the blue-gray pelt of a dog he’d known he’d seen before but couldn’t put a name too.

Trotting over to her, the Doberman mix smirked as he neared her. “Well, well, what’ve we here?” he asked as he purposefully placed himself directly next to her. “You new around here, sweetcheeks? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ve seen ya around here before.”

“You new around here, sweetcheeks? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ve seen ya around here before.”

"EXCUSE me?"

She was about to rip at the ankles of the beast who'd DARED to call her 'sweetcheeks.' She lifted her lip in a snarl, disgusted at who actually was speaking to her. There he was. The self proclaimed king of the junkyard stood at her side. BUSTER. Her large ears flicked back as her snarl devolved into a frown. She lifted a slender paw and moved herself to the side.

"DON'T call me Sweetcheeks," she offered, her voice laced with sugar and poison, "And it's FISH. What? You don't recognize a fellow Marceline runner when you see one, boo?"

“Haha, I knew I’d see ya from somewhere before, Doll, I just couldn’t remember where.” His smirk had deepened the slightest bit, taking on a slightly more aggressive note as he stared down at the much smaller female. “So, you’re that little pup I was hearin’ about back home before the war started, huh?” he stood then and made a point of staring down his muzzle at her. Dark eyes shining with something that wasn’t quite aggression but wasn’t exactly friendly either.

“So, when’d you get in town, girly? Decide ta see if ya could handle yourself out in the big ol’ world?” his ears gave a twitch as he laughed. He turned away from her for a moment to glance toward the river before turning back to her, licking his chops as he began to talk once more.

“How long ya been part of the war, Sweetcheeks? Couldn'ta been long, or I doubt ya’d still be here to tell about it.” His smirk widened as he stared down at her, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.

Her fur prickled as she stared up at the doberman mix. Her eyes narrowed as an unimpressed look graced her soft features. "Call me Pup again, playa'," she sneered, "Or Sweetcheeks, or GIRLY and I'll make sure you come back from this war missing a few vital appendages." Her larges ears folded back as she tried to keep her cool. How she hated this dog before her. This monster of a mutt who ruled the streets of her little new england town with the same amount of grace as a hippo bullying through the savannah.
I swear Butch, I'm going to rip that dog apart with my nails and teeth.

"You keep that tongue in your mouth," she snapped, "And I just got here. Decided to see if these dogs knew what a real New England dog was. Then I found your sorry ass out here, so I guess they don't."

Sure, she was small. But she had a mouth on her. "And I handled myself on your poorly run streets, who says I can't handle myself out here?"

“Awe, a little thing like you? I’d like to see ya try,” the Doberman mix chuckled as he rose a brow at the female. She had spunk, he’d give her that. From what he’d seen of her so far, he could understand how she’d managed to climb up the ranks of the street dog the way she had. It was pretty clear that size mattered little to the female mutt, and that was something that had him interested.

“Woah now, this is the king of the Junkyard dogs you’re talkin’ to. I ruled those streets like no other, and what were you? Just some lowly pup waitin’ to be thrown in the pound.” He wrinkled his nose in a snarl though there was no real bite to his words. He hoped she knew that her bad mouthing would land her in far worse shape than her little muzzle could ever inflict on him.

“Baby, there are things out here that could eat you in one bite if they wanted to. My ‘poorly run streets’ were a picnic compared to this place.” He lowered himself into a sit then, head lowering so that his shoulders looked slightly hunched as he looked the female in the eye. “Trust me, pup, one week out here and you’ll be begging to go back home.”