Post by trouble on May 14, 2006 22:20:41 GMT -5
"Blunt!" Brute bellows at Jet. "If ye 'aven't found a thing just blo'y /say/ so!" The mirthless mastiff takes a few wrathful steps towards the black lab and glowers down at her. "So did ye actually find those wolves gatherin'?" Fervently as his demands are, Zag's explosive interest rips his attention away; an action manifested by his ears perking towards her while his eyes bore holes through the back of Jet's head. "'ey Zag. Wot's wot?"
"If I'm so incompetent, how could I have done and gotten back?" The black lab does her best to meet the gaze with one of equal intensity- her usual bright and sparky reply to any greeting headed her way absented this once.
"Brute....back off." Zag says as she hops off the porch, "Wolves gathering? Back from where?" Looking with interest between the two, actually as an after thought, physically coming between the two and sitting. "I haven't heard them, are they poking around again?"
Nonchalant as it may have been intended, Zag's words don't detour the monster in the slightest. "Sit on it, Zag. She won't give me a straight blo'y word, I'm about ready ta give 'er another convincin' nip. If ye saw somethin', just tell us wot ye saw." Hackles raise as his fierce annoyance bumps up to another level; one that his voice soon raises to match. "Otherwise, just tell us ye didn't see squat!"
Crashing into the scene (and I mean that literally) is a gray tabby kitten. He comes flying from the roof of the barn, and with a loud cry, lands in a haystack, knocking down picks and hoes on his descent. Seconds later, he pokes his head out of the hay with a sheepish look as he hopes nobody saw that.
Boris walks towards the gathering of canines, a low, rumbly purr echoing in the usually grouchy cat's throat. He even pauses to rub his side up against the barn itself, getting a good scratch and then continuing on at a smooth trot. Once he comes into clear view he slows down and perks both ears, staring towards the kitten - oh yeah, that stunt got witnessed.
Teasing Brute is one thing but to outright lie... Jet lays her head back down but keeps a wary eye on him, "Nothing." she concedes. "Hey, Zag." she adds a little late.
The scene is taken in through curious brown eyes that peer around the farmhouse. The rough collie shakes her fur out as she pads up next to the road, partially folded ears perking towards the gathering. Is someone crying wolf? Brows furrow together skeptically at the word. A listless sigh passes through her maw. Gabrielle seats herself and looks down the road with an idle expression, an ear craned in the direction of voices.
"Knock it off Brute, your getting to be like Ceaser!" Giving Brute a light nudge to back off Jet alittle. Zag otherwise ignores Brute's comment at her and stays put, between the two. Yet how can a loud cry not catch a border's attention? She looks up just intime to see the farmer's tools fall and a kitten land in the hay.
Trouble looks over to Boris and flattens his ears some before climbing out of the hay stack, dragging a strand of yarn (that's been wrapped around his hind paw) behind him. He looks over and sees the canines looking at him and he smirks, keeping his ears tucked back, "I didn't do it."
"Vigilance ain't no crime, Zag. If anythin', it'll strengthens us all." Honest concern hides behind a veil of zeal and paranoia as Brute grunts out a bass mantra. The sizeable figure stands and turns abruptly to investigate the kitten disaster. "Now...wot the bleedin' 'ell was that?" He demands; glare rapidly focusing on the cat. "Ye didn't do it, lad? Well wot do ye 'spose /did?/"
Boris sighs and twitches one of his own ears, again moving briskly.. but this time to reach the kitten. "Sure you didn't. Hmph." Once he arrives next to Trouble he steps on the yarn to hold it still, nose twitching. At the sound of the dog's tone of voice when addressing the little feline, Boris starts to growl. "Leave him alone."
Jet watches, ears perked in interest despite herself.
Zag gives an audible sigh, shaking her head at Brute as he goes after the kitten, she then hops on the porch, laying down with her head on her paws. Boris can handle the cats in her opinion. So the kitten falling down is none of her's as entertaining as it might be.
Trouble looks to the mastiff and, very unafraid of his massive form, raises a forepaw to him, "This." When he realizes that something's not right, he blinks and mewls out, "Wha? Where's my yarn?" He spins around, looking for it, not realizing it's caught on his hindpaw.
"Wot's this, then?" Brute muses aloud at the seemingly growling cat. "Ye gettin' confused, lit'le one? Ye ferget wot ye are, where ye are, an' wot that lit'le cuss did?" Brows, formerly lifted with surprise, knit with authority as his head nods towards the tools. "Ye know wot's comin' 'ere. Take 'em aside an' get 'em not ta mess wiff th'man's things. Purposeful 'er not, it ain't right. If ye dun do it, I 'afta." Lips curl back as a deep growl rumbles out, tail stiffening in the process. "An' ye also no not ta do wot yer doin' now. Sod off!"
Boris steps around to put himself between the younger cat and the large dog, his fur lifting along his spine and on his tail to make him appear twice as large.. and he's a big kitty to begin with. A quick, spitting his at the dog seems to sit right with him, since after he delivers it he turns to the kitten and grunts. "You heard the dog, son. And the yarn's on your foot."
Zag remains on the porch, her head in her paws with another sigh, why can't everyone just get along??? Her tail gives the occasional sweep across the porch behind her but she otherwise goes quiet and observing.
Trouble looks over to Brute, tilting his head in obvious confusion, "Uuhh.. yes?" Perking an ear to Boris, he blinks a bit before looking over to his hindpaw. "Aha, there it is!" Trouble exclaims at his father's revelation, pouncing the yarn and yanking it off his paw, "Do you know how hard it was to get this, Dad?"
Boris rolls his eyes in a long-suffering way and raises a forepaw to bat lightly at the kitten, nudging him in the direction of the barn. "You can tell me later. For now, you can go sit quietly."
Trouble nods his head and trots off, yarn in his mouth, heading towards the barn. There, he sits down and has full intention on being good.. but the yarn. He drops it at his paws and idly starts batting at it, his eyes looking towards his father and the mastiff.
Boris nods after the kitten and then rolls his shoulders, sitting down in the barnyard and starting to groom himself, licking at a forepaw and then swooping it over his ears. His fur has begun to calm down, lying flat once again. In his mind, the problem has been solved.
Aghast surprise darkens Brute's features. "That's /it?!/" The beast demands, voice booming with ire. "If it 'appens again 'e'll get a right proper thrashin', 'e will." Eyes narrow as he sneers down at the cat. "I reckon ye should warn 'a the trouble, lest misfortune must be done."
Trouble perks an ear up. The trouble? Yeah, that's what they all call him alright. Looking down to his yarn, he bats more at it, rolling to his back to kick at it with his hindpaws. He grabs it with his forepaw and bites on it. Yup, having a grand ol' time with that single piece of string.
Boris turns his head to stare back at the dog, his yellow eyes narrowing. "Touch him, and you'll get a 'right proper' clawing of your wrinkly head." Boris isn't the nicest of the farmcats, far from it.. but he's definitely up there in the protective department.
No words are exchanged, no attempt to point out the mistake made. It should be evident. Brute's jaws spread wide with a lunge forward with the intent to clamp them shut across Boris' back.
Trouble looks up from his play, seeing the dog attack his father. Playtime's over. "NO!" He leaps to his paws and ignoring the yarn, darts at the dog, "You leave my father alone, you big brute!" Hmm, aptly named it seems.
As soon as the dog lunges, Boris darts into motion. One of the many advantages of being a cat is speed, and the big tom darts right back at the dog with a flying leap, aiming directly for the top of the mastiff's skull with his claws flashing.
Brute howls with fury as the cat scratches latches, bending over quickly and bringing a paw up to tear him off and pin him to the ground. For now, the kitten is ignored; partly because of the cat attached to the mastiff's head, mainly because it's a kitten.
In Barnyard, Brute howls.
It'd be kind of hard to avoid a big, big paw when attached to a head, so yes, it connects with Boris.. but that cat isn't letting go of the dog's head, his claws digging in. If he's going down, he's taking some of the mastiff with him.
Kitten or not, Trouble is not just going to sit there and watch the dog try to hurt his father. "Let. Him. GO!" he cries out, leaping at the dog, all four claws unsheathed and aiming for the dog's side.
Jet finally sees fit to at least lend a small hand, moving to block the kitten with a paw and threatening growl in an instant- his cry ample warning. "If you get involved, you think this'll end quicker or with /more/ damage done to your friend?" she snaps between the rumble in an attempt to make the sort of appeal which may have gotten to her at his age.
God bless the high pain tolerance of his breed. While Boris' claws rake along his cranium and further fuel Brute's frenzy as older cat is torn off and pinned to the ground at the neck, Trouble's Kamikaze dive summons little more than a twitch along the beast's side, as if an itch has afflicted the area. Head whips back to grab the kitten in his jaws as extra pressure is placed on Boris to return the gift of great discomfort.
Boris yowls and struggles once he finds a paw pressing on his neck.. but even that doesn't stop the older tom from continuing his vicious attack. Claws rake up and down the leg holding him, the cat's sharp teeth digging into whatever part of the sensitive paw that they can find. Pressure or no, it's unacceptable for the dog to be harassing the kitten.
Trouble shakes his head and mewls out as his pounce was blocked, "Lemme go! He's got my father!" He looks back to Brute and hisses out as he's snatched up in Brute's jaw. His courage fades immediately and he cries out in alarm, "Help!"
The Labrador rounds on the much larger dog, all teeth and fury and thinks better of trying to interfere further. Wincing, Jet backs up a short way and flattens her ears back. Ouch.
Nonnie has connected.
( Trouble is tossed aside without a crunch. A whelp, much more could kill it, he reasons. Today's lesson for him will be in what he's brought on the raging ball of fur and claws tearing at his leg, anyway. The stinging scratches accumulating on Brute's foreleg are most unpleasant and once his adrenaline ebbs, a good deal of itching will likely ensue. To end the game quickly, though, Brute reaches down and closes the jagged vice of his mouth around Boris' midsection and removes the paw in order to begin shaking him furiously back and forth. )
Boris undergoes quite a bit of bloody damage as he's thrown around in the dog's jaws, but he's not a snarky old cat for nothing.. he's a fighter. He hisses and grabs at the dog's muzzle for support, ears flattening back as his fur stands on end once again. The big tabby is clearly hurting a lot at this point, but it's also not too pleasant to have one's nose and mouth scratched up.
A most curious creature enters the baryard scene, the form and figure of one of the farm's Elders steps in from the shadows... and she isn't too happy looking. Her dimming eyes peer at the scuffle between the feline and dog, and her deep voice arrives an octaive higher than it normally would address anyone. "DROP THAT CAT!" If a sheep could hiss, this one certainally would.
Trouble hits the ground with a dull thud and mewls out in sudden pain. He looks up to his the dog with his father and frowns, ears flattening. What'd they do to deserve this? Then, he jumps visibly as the sheep shouts out and he looks over to her.
Trotting at an eager pace from down the road, Gabrielle arrives with a bounce in her step. She slows, ears perking towards the sound of struggle. With a bound and a leap, the collie darts towards the barn, rounding it with a surprised bark. "Brute! /Brute/!" she calls.
Schneeflocke's approach to the barnyard is cautious, and he lingers towards the edges, never a few bounds away from the safety of a climbable tree. Tail curling in a questioning ploom above his back, the cat's muzzle twitches as he sniffs the air, sizing up the area.
Resistance stimulates Brute to clamp his jaws down harder and shake Boris even more violently, feeling the true end only comes when the tabby surrenders and goes limp. Slobber mingles with blood, strands of the reddish slime flung about with another pulse of pressure as a particularly well-placed claw snags a fold of jowl and sends a surge of pain to the mastiff. Nonnie's orders are ignored, but as soon as Gabrielle calls his name the great canine slows and tosses Boris towards Trouble. Panting with satisfaction and the fade of bloodlust, Brute glares down at the kitten before raising his voice for all present to hear. "The tools a' men. The tool's a /master!/ They ain't no joke! It ain't a game! Ye treat man with honor, ye respect'is order, an' ye'll be treated wit' respect!" Malice and disgust pour down to the felines as Brute ensures all present see his distaste. "They dun find the glory a' th' master serious?! This is th' punishment! Ye think me monstrous? This monster enforces masta's order so ye ain't turned ta wolves, er fox, er /boomstick!/" A deep growl issues as Brute turns and slowly walks back to his spot at the barn door.
Boris goes flying, but still manages to land on all fours.. and his belly, but that's besides the point. His sides are bloodied and marked with tooth punctures, but thankfully he's not wheezing - so he hasn't had a lung punctured. The tomcat hisses balefully back at the dog even still, taking a great degree of pleasure when glancing at the dog's torn face, skull, and leg. Let's hear it for claws! He does, however, look to the sheep and gives a thankful nod.
Coming upon the scene of a dog savaging a cat does not bode well for Schneeflocke, but surprisingly-- to him-- he holds his ground. He's far enough away, not for comfort, but to provide some level of safety. His expression remains impassive, and he stops and sits, tail wrapping about his forepaws.
"Dad!" Trouble cries out and runs over to him, ignoring his pain since it's just minor compared to Boris's. "Dad, say something!" He looks back to Brute and narrows his eyes. That dog is no friend of his anymore. He thought he'd be nice to him but not now.. not ever.
"I think you've said quite enough, Brute." The Ewe nods to the cat, an eye taking a quick inventory of his injuries. She not sure who's worse off; but both left tended to their injuries would heal in good time. "I'm not sure what the lamb-cat or it's father did to you or the farmer's tools, but I doubt it deserved /this/." She nods her head to the injuries they all had sustained, eyes sharpening, "Hear me this, if I hear of you tormenting these two again... I will let the flock know, and no dog will be able to herd /us/. Try and explain that to the precious 'master'."
The collie snaps a look at the ewe, but otherwise doesn't interject the chastisement. It's something he's going to have to deal with for a long while. Gabrielle briskly examines Brute, noting the large amount of cat scratches along his leg and face. "I hope you're /happy/, Brutus." she scolds darkly while turning towards the downed cat and his kitten. "What'n the skyfire happened?" is her question, clearly presented to anyone that would answer.
"Spit on yer threats, Nonnie. I told 'em ta scold the kid so 'e didn't make toys outta the farmer's crud. It ain't nothin' ta take seriously, huh?" Brute snorts and begins to lick his paws before glancing to Gabrielle. "Pike off it, Gabby. Lit'le bloke wanted ta give me a fight. I gave 'em a fight. Simple." A gaze pans the barnyard before lowering to relax. "I sure as 'ell 'ope y'all see that when any o' ye lean against the rules, they'll lean right back atcha." Brute's bright, fleshy tongue licks at the side of his muzzle and at his paws to reveal a crisscross of shallow cuts. "Blimey! These itch..."
Boris simply turns his head to nose at the kitten with a light purr. "I'm fine.. but this is why we don't speak to dogs like that. No manners.." the tomcat looks over at the collie and twitches his whiskers. "Brute over there decided that a kitten taking a tumble from the roof warranted disciplinary action on a youngling not his own. I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate intrusion into your style of parenting, especially from a member of another species."
Trouble looks back to Boris and softens his features. He noses his father back and sighs, "I'm glad you're okay." He looks back to the fallen tools and frowns, "What was the big deal? I fell. I didn't mean to do it." He looks down in shame. All this was because of him.
The elder snickers, mumbling something about young today having no respect for their elders. Well, the drama was over, so she begins to turn around with a mind to leave. "Be wary, I wouldn't trust that canine as far as I could throw." She mumbles this to the pair of cats then exits out of the barn.
Nonnie claims that
Gabrielle is clearly unamused. The tight jaw and hard look directed at Brute testifies this. "I think you got your point across clear'n fine there, Brute. Why don't you take back'n leave the cats alone for the night? Huh." The collie makes a wry face as she looks at the cats, almost apologetically, before she turns to pad off towards the farmhouse.
Boris finally gets to his feet again, the bitten and injured cat stepping alongside his son to give the younger tabby a short nuzzling.. something rarely seen from the tomcat. "It wasn't your fault, Siren," he rumbles under his breath. "I am going to go get cleaned up. I'll be in the barn if you need me." And with that, the bulky feline slinks off.
"If I'm so incompetent, how could I have done and gotten back?" The black lab does her best to meet the gaze with one of equal intensity- her usual bright and sparky reply to any greeting headed her way absented this once.
"Brute....back off." Zag says as she hops off the porch, "Wolves gathering? Back from where?" Looking with interest between the two, actually as an after thought, physically coming between the two and sitting. "I haven't heard them, are they poking around again?"
Nonchalant as it may have been intended, Zag's words don't detour the monster in the slightest. "Sit on it, Zag. She won't give me a straight blo'y word, I'm about ready ta give 'er another convincin' nip. If ye saw somethin', just tell us wot ye saw." Hackles raise as his fierce annoyance bumps up to another level; one that his voice soon raises to match. "Otherwise, just tell us ye didn't see squat!"
Crashing into the scene (and I mean that literally) is a gray tabby kitten. He comes flying from the roof of the barn, and with a loud cry, lands in a haystack, knocking down picks and hoes on his descent. Seconds later, he pokes his head out of the hay with a sheepish look as he hopes nobody saw that.
Boris walks towards the gathering of canines, a low, rumbly purr echoing in the usually grouchy cat's throat. He even pauses to rub his side up against the barn itself, getting a good scratch and then continuing on at a smooth trot. Once he comes into clear view he slows down and perks both ears, staring towards the kitten - oh yeah, that stunt got witnessed.
Teasing Brute is one thing but to outright lie... Jet lays her head back down but keeps a wary eye on him, "Nothing." she concedes. "Hey, Zag." she adds a little late.
The scene is taken in through curious brown eyes that peer around the farmhouse. The rough collie shakes her fur out as she pads up next to the road, partially folded ears perking towards the gathering. Is someone crying wolf? Brows furrow together skeptically at the word. A listless sigh passes through her maw. Gabrielle seats herself and looks down the road with an idle expression, an ear craned in the direction of voices.
"Knock it off Brute, your getting to be like Ceaser!" Giving Brute a light nudge to back off Jet alittle. Zag otherwise ignores Brute's comment at her and stays put, between the two. Yet how can a loud cry not catch a border's attention? She looks up just intime to see the farmer's tools fall and a kitten land in the hay.
Trouble looks over to Boris and flattens his ears some before climbing out of the hay stack, dragging a strand of yarn (that's been wrapped around his hind paw) behind him. He looks over and sees the canines looking at him and he smirks, keeping his ears tucked back, "I didn't do it."
"Vigilance ain't no crime, Zag. If anythin', it'll strengthens us all." Honest concern hides behind a veil of zeal and paranoia as Brute grunts out a bass mantra. The sizeable figure stands and turns abruptly to investigate the kitten disaster. "Now...wot the bleedin' 'ell was that?" He demands; glare rapidly focusing on the cat. "Ye didn't do it, lad? Well wot do ye 'spose /did?/"
Boris sighs and twitches one of his own ears, again moving briskly.. but this time to reach the kitten. "Sure you didn't. Hmph." Once he arrives next to Trouble he steps on the yarn to hold it still, nose twitching. At the sound of the dog's tone of voice when addressing the little feline, Boris starts to growl. "Leave him alone."
Jet watches, ears perked in interest despite herself.
Zag gives an audible sigh, shaking her head at Brute as he goes after the kitten, she then hops on the porch, laying down with her head on her paws. Boris can handle the cats in her opinion. So the kitten falling down is none of her's as entertaining as it might be.
Trouble looks to the mastiff and, very unafraid of his massive form, raises a forepaw to him, "This." When he realizes that something's not right, he blinks and mewls out, "Wha? Where's my yarn?" He spins around, looking for it, not realizing it's caught on his hindpaw.
"Wot's this, then?" Brute muses aloud at the seemingly growling cat. "Ye gettin' confused, lit'le one? Ye ferget wot ye are, where ye are, an' wot that lit'le cuss did?" Brows, formerly lifted with surprise, knit with authority as his head nods towards the tools. "Ye know wot's comin' 'ere. Take 'em aside an' get 'em not ta mess wiff th'man's things. Purposeful 'er not, it ain't right. If ye dun do it, I 'afta." Lips curl back as a deep growl rumbles out, tail stiffening in the process. "An' ye also no not ta do wot yer doin' now. Sod off!"
Boris steps around to put himself between the younger cat and the large dog, his fur lifting along his spine and on his tail to make him appear twice as large.. and he's a big kitty to begin with. A quick, spitting his at the dog seems to sit right with him, since after he delivers it he turns to the kitten and grunts. "You heard the dog, son. And the yarn's on your foot."
Zag remains on the porch, her head in her paws with another sigh, why can't everyone just get along??? Her tail gives the occasional sweep across the porch behind her but she otherwise goes quiet and observing.
Trouble looks over to Brute, tilting his head in obvious confusion, "Uuhh.. yes?" Perking an ear to Boris, he blinks a bit before looking over to his hindpaw. "Aha, there it is!" Trouble exclaims at his father's revelation, pouncing the yarn and yanking it off his paw, "Do you know how hard it was to get this, Dad?"
Boris rolls his eyes in a long-suffering way and raises a forepaw to bat lightly at the kitten, nudging him in the direction of the barn. "You can tell me later. For now, you can go sit quietly."
Trouble nods his head and trots off, yarn in his mouth, heading towards the barn. There, he sits down and has full intention on being good.. but the yarn. He drops it at his paws and idly starts batting at it, his eyes looking towards his father and the mastiff.
Boris nods after the kitten and then rolls his shoulders, sitting down in the barnyard and starting to groom himself, licking at a forepaw and then swooping it over his ears. His fur has begun to calm down, lying flat once again. In his mind, the problem has been solved.
Aghast surprise darkens Brute's features. "That's /it?!/" The beast demands, voice booming with ire. "If it 'appens again 'e'll get a right proper thrashin', 'e will." Eyes narrow as he sneers down at the cat. "I reckon ye should warn 'a the trouble, lest misfortune must be done."
Trouble perks an ear up. The trouble? Yeah, that's what they all call him alright. Looking down to his yarn, he bats more at it, rolling to his back to kick at it with his hindpaws. He grabs it with his forepaw and bites on it. Yup, having a grand ol' time with that single piece of string.
Boris turns his head to stare back at the dog, his yellow eyes narrowing. "Touch him, and you'll get a 'right proper' clawing of your wrinkly head." Boris isn't the nicest of the farmcats, far from it.. but he's definitely up there in the protective department.
No words are exchanged, no attempt to point out the mistake made. It should be evident. Brute's jaws spread wide with a lunge forward with the intent to clamp them shut across Boris' back.
Trouble looks up from his play, seeing the dog attack his father. Playtime's over. "NO!" He leaps to his paws and ignoring the yarn, darts at the dog, "You leave my father alone, you big brute!" Hmm, aptly named it seems.
As soon as the dog lunges, Boris darts into motion. One of the many advantages of being a cat is speed, and the big tom darts right back at the dog with a flying leap, aiming directly for the top of the mastiff's skull with his claws flashing.
Brute howls with fury as the cat scratches latches, bending over quickly and bringing a paw up to tear him off and pin him to the ground. For now, the kitten is ignored; partly because of the cat attached to the mastiff's head, mainly because it's a kitten.
In Barnyard, Brute howls.
It'd be kind of hard to avoid a big, big paw when attached to a head, so yes, it connects with Boris.. but that cat isn't letting go of the dog's head, his claws digging in. If he's going down, he's taking some of the mastiff with him.
Kitten or not, Trouble is not just going to sit there and watch the dog try to hurt his father. "Let. Him. GO!" he cries out, leaping at the dog, all four claws unsheathed and aiming for the dog's side.
Jet finally sees fit to at least lend a small hand, moving to block the kitten with a paw and threatening growl in an instant- his cry ample warning. "If you get involved, you think this'll end quicker or with /more/ damage done to your friend?" she snaps between the rumble in an attempt to make the sort of appeal which may have gotten to her at his age.
God bless the high pain tolerance of his breed. While Boris' claws rake along his cranium and further fuel Brute's frenzy as older cat is torn off and pinned to the ground at the neck, Trouble's Kamikaze dive summons little more than a twitch along the beast's side, as if an itch has afflicted the area. Head whips back to grab the kitten in his jaws as extra pressure is placed on Boris to return the gift of great discomfort.
Boris yowls and struggles once he finds a paw pressing on his neck.. but even that doesn't stop the older tom from continuing his vicious attack. Claws rake up and down the leg holding him, the cat's sharp teeth digging into whatever part of the sensitive paw that they can find. Pressure or no, it's unacceptable for the dog to be harassing the kitten.
Trouble shakes his head and mewls out as his pounce was blocked, "Lemme go! He's got my father!" He looks back to Brute and hisses out as he's snatched up in Brute's jaw. His courage fades immediately and he cries out in alarm, "Help!"
The Labrador rounds on the much larger dog, all teeth and fury and thinks better of trying to interfere further. Wincing, Jet backs up a short way and flattens her ears back. Ouch.
Nonnie has connected.
( Trouble is tossed aside without a crunch. A whelp, much more could kill it, he reasons. Today's lesson for him will be in what he's brought on the raging ball of fur and claws tearing at his leg, anyway. The stinging scratches accumulating on Brute's foreleg are most unpleasant and once his adrenaline ebbs, a good deal of itching will likely ensue. To end the game quickly, though, Brute reaches down and closes the jagged vice of his mouth around Boris' midsection and removes the paw in order to begin shaking him furiously back and forth. )
Boris undergoes quite a bit of bloody damage as he's thrown around in the dog's jaws, but he's not a snarky old cat for nothing.. he's a fighter. He hisses and grabs at the dog's muzzle for support, ears flattening back as his fur stands on end once again. The big tabby is clearly hurting a lot at this point, but it's also not too pleasant to have one's nose and mouth scratched up.
A most curious creature enters the baryard scene, the form and figure of one of the farm's Elders steps in from the shadows... and she isn't too happy looking. Her dimming eyes peer at the scuffle between the feline and dog, and her deep voice arrives an octaive higher than it normally would address anyone. "DROP THAT CAT!" If a sheep could hiss, this one certainally would.
Trouble hits the ground with a dull thud and mewls out in sudden pain. He looks up to his the dog with his father and frowns, ears flattening. What'd they do to deserve this? Then, he jumps visibly as the sheep shouts out and he looks over to her.
Trotting at an eager pace from down the road, Gabrielle arrives with a bounce in her step. She slows, ears perking towards the sound of struggle. With a bound and a leap, the collie darts towards the barn, rounding it with a surprised bark. "Brute! /Brute/!" she calls.
Schneeflocke's approach to the barnyard is cautious, and he lingers towards the edges, never a few bounds away from the safety of a climbable tree. Tail curling in a questioning ploom above his back, the cat's muzzle twitches as he sniffs the air, sizing up the area.
Resistance stimulates Brute to clamp his jaws down harder and shake Boris even more violently, feeling the true end only comes when the tabby surrenders and goes limp. Slobber mingles with blood, strands of the reddish slime flung about with another pulse of pressure as a particularly well-placed claw snags a fold of jowl and sends a surge of pain to the mastiff. Nonnie's orders are ignored, but as soon as Gabrielle calls his name the great canine slows and tosses Boris towards Trouble. Panting with satisfaction and the fade of bloodlust, Brute glares down at the kitten before raising his voice for all present to hear. "The tools a' men. The tool's a /master!/ They ain't no joke! It ain't a game! Ye treat man with honor, ye respect'is order, an' ye'll be treated wit' respect!" Malice and disgust pour down to the felines as Brute ensures all present see his distaste. "They dun find the glory a' th' master serious?! This is th' punishment! Ye think me monstrous? This monster enforces masta's order so ye ain't turned ta wolves, er fox, er /boomstick!/" A deep growl issues as Brute turns and slowly walks back to his spot at the barn door.
Boris goes flying, but still manages to land on all fours.. and his belly, but that's besides the point. His sides are bloodied and marked with tooth punctures, but thankfully he's not wheezing - so he hasn't had a lung punctured. The tomcat hisses balefully back at the dog even still, taking a great degree of pleasure when glancing at the dog's torn face, skull, and leg. Let's hear it for claws! He does, however, look to the sheep and gives a thankful nod.
Coming upon the scene of a dog savaging a cat does not bode well for Schneeflocke, but surprisingly-- to him-- he holds his ground. He's far enough away, not for comfort, but to provide some level of safety. His expression remains impassive, and he stops and sits, tail wrapping about his forepaws.
"Dad!" Trouble cries out and runs over to him, ignoring his pain since it's just minor compared to Boris's. "Dad, say something!" He looks back to Brute and narrows his eyes. That dog is no friend of his anymore. He thought he'd be nice to him but not now.. not ever.
"I think you've said quite enough, Brute." The Ewe nods to the cat, an eye taking a quick inventory of his injuries. She not sure who's worse off; but both left tended to their injuries would heal in good time. "I'm not sure what the lamb-cat or it's father did to you or the farmer's tools, but I doubt it deserved /this/." She nods her head to the injuries they all had sustained, eyes sharpening, "Hear me this, if I hear of you tormenting these two again... I will let the flock know, and no dog will be able to herd /us/. Try and explain that to the precious 'master'."
The collie snaps a look at the ewe, but otherwise doesn't interject the chastisement. It's something he's going to have to deal with for a long while. Gabrielle briskly examines Brute, noting the large amount of cat scratches along his leg and face. "I hope you're /happy/, Brutus." she scolds darkly while turning towards the downed cat and his kitten. "What'n the skyfire happened?" is her question, clearly presented to anyone that would answer.
"Spit on yer threats, Nonnie. I told 'em ta scold the kid so 'e didn't make toys outta the farmer's crud. It ain't nothin' ta take seriously, huh?" Brute snorts and begins to lick his paws before glancing to Gabrielle. "Pike off it, Gabby. Lit'le bloke wanted ta give me a fight. I gave 'em a fight. Simple." A gaze pans the barnyard before lowering to relax. "I sure as 'ell 'ope y'all see that when any o' ye lean against the rules, they'll lean right back atcha." Brute's bright, fleshy tongue licks at the side of his muzzle and at his paws to reveal a crisscross of shallow cuts. "Blimey! These itch..."
Boris simply turns his head to nose at the kitten with a light purr. "I'm fine.. but this is why we don't speak to dogs like that. No manners.." the tomcat looks over at the collie and twitches his whiskers. "Brute over there decided that a kitten taking a tumble from the roof warranted disciplinary action on a youngling not his own. I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate intrusion into your style of parenting, especially from a member of another species."
Trouble looks back to Boris and softens his features. He noses his father back and sighs, "I'm glad you're okay." He looks back to the fallen tools and frowns, "What was the big deal? I fell. I didn't mean to do it." He looks down in shame. All this was because of him.
The elder snickers, mumbling something about young today having no respect for their elders. Well, the drama was over, so she begins to turn around with a mind to leave. "Be wary, I wouldn't trust that canine as far as I could throw." She mumbles this to the pair of cats then exits out of the barn.
Nonnie claims that
Gabrielle is clearly unamused. The tight jaw and hard look directed at Brute testifies this. "I think you got your point across clear'n fine there, Brute. Why don't you take back'n leave the cats alone for the night? Huh." The collie makes a wry face as she looks at the cats, almost apologetically, before she turns to pad off towards the farmhouse.
Boris finally gets to his feet again, the bitten and injured cat stepping alongside his son to give the younger tabby a short nuzzling.. something rarely seen from the tomcat. "It wasn't your fault, Siren," he rumbles under his breath. "I am going to go get cleaned up. I'll be in the barn if you need me." And with that, the bulky feline slinks off.