Post by Dodger on Apr 15, 2020 21:01:34 GMT
(February 12th, set only minutes after the events of 'Best of Sport and Game,' just before the aftermath thread with Esther. Open to ONE, for Dodger to be caught with red on his paws and not necessarily all of his wits back after the death of Tod. However that plays out is up to RP ^^)
Sighing was out of character for Dodger.
A gust of winds didn't go with the beat of his personal drum. Sadness, hopelessness, or even weariness were not part of the image. A class-act, streetwise mover and shaker didn't sigh. Sighing meant throwing in the towel, slowing down long enough to regret, admitting you were beat. And he'd made it in New York City. He'd come to this war believing he could make it anywhere.
He could. But not everyone he ran into could. Apparently.
Dodger's dark eyes took in the reflection of a dog so down-and-out looking, he almost didn't recognize himself. Maybe the streams in this backwoods were broken. ...Nah, the soggy mutt holding two halves of a ragged bandanna with drooping ears looked like he felt.
He tried to rally his expression. Come on. Gotta get this stuff off and get back. Dodger was nearly back to the Snuggly Duckling. He couldn't face the Wings with unexplained dried blood covering the usual grey of his paws. But the last thing the Dodge wanted to do was get into any more of this forest's cold water.
Supressing another sigh, Dodger scowled bleakly and slid into the shallows. Red bloomed like oil in a puddle back home from the area around him.
The peaceful chimes of the water over pebbles, Park Avenue birdsong, and bluesy starlight faded. All Dodger could hear was the solemn drumbeat of the waterfall. It had smashed the life out of the fox. It had gotten louder from the moment his bandanna tore and it wouldn't go away, so far.
The terrier clinched his ruined fabric between his teeth even tighter and tried to shake himself out of it. Couldn't let them in the Duckling know. Not just that his scam had gone too far--and Essie. The wolf hadn't meant to do anything shady. And she'd been so cool about it all. It wasn't her fault. Not like she'd pushed Tod as far as Dodger and his big mouth...but it wasn't just that an animal had died, and Fagin's mutt had something to do with it that he couldn't let them know. It wasn't just that he'd tried to score big and a screwup like this, involving a Sun scout, would get in the way of his chances at moving up Wings food chain that Dodger didn't want them to find out. It was not being able to save the helpless country bum.
Ol' Dodge can't save everybody. The spotted canine looked with glassy eyes, discordant, at the miserable reflection staring back at him.
Sighing was out of character for Dodger.
A gust of winds didn't go with the beat of his personal drum. Sadness, hopelessness, or even weariness were not part of the image. A class-act, streetwise mover and shaker didn't sigh. Sighing meant throwing in the towel, slowing down long enough to regret, admitting you were beat. And he'd made it in New York City. He'd come to this war believing he could make it anywhere.
He could. But not everyone he ran into could. Apparently.
Dodger's dark eyes took in the reflection of a dog so down-and-out looking, he almost didn't recognize himself. Maybe the streams in this backwoods were broken. ...Nah, the soggy mutt holding two halves of a ragged bandanna with drooping ears looked like he felt.
He tried to rally his expression. Come on. Gotta get this stuff off and get back. Dodger was nearly back to the Snuggly Duckling. He couldn't face the Wings with unexplained dried blood covering the usual grey of his paws. But the last thing the Dodge wanted to do was get into any more of this forest's cold water.
Supressing another sigh, Dodger scowled bleakly and slid into the shallows. Red bloomed like oil in a puddle back home from the area around him.
The peaceful chimes of the water over pebbles, Park Avenue birdsong, and bluesy starlight faded. All Dodger could hear was the solemn drumbeat of the waterfall. It had smashed the life out of the fox. It had gotten louder from the moment his bandanna tore and it wouldn't go away, so far.
The terrier clinched his ruined fabric between his teeth even tighter and tried to shake himself out of it. Couldn't let them in the Duckling know. Not just that his scam had gone too far--and Essie. The wolf hadn't meant to do anything shady. And she'd been so cool about it all. It wasn't her fault. Not like she'd pushed Tod as far as Dodger and his big mouth...but it wasn't just that an animal had died, and Fagin's mutt had something to do with it that he couldn't let them know. It wasn't just that he'd tried to score big and a screwup like this, involving a Sun scout, would get in the way of his chances at moving up Wings food chain that Dodger didn't want them to find out. It was not being able to save the helpless country bum.
Ol' Dodge can't save everybody. The spotted canine looked with glassy eyes, discordant, at the miserable reflection staring back at him.
