The Isle of Strays//Roleplay//Closed Sign-Ups

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    OOC: and so it begins.  aliferous   I'm Divergent   Jaybird



    IC; The leak of the water hose is louder than a roaring waterfall. Ratton's ears twitch feverishly at the sound of the dripping water. They resound like bombshells in his ears, loud and echoing in the dark shelter hall. His eyes shift and peer through the wire fencing, panic coursing through his veins at the eerie silence of those on death row. It's odd, he thinks, never before have things like this terrified me so; normally the visions are loud.


    But the silence is the scariest of all things.


    He sees the halfblood in the cage beside him, her large paws like sandpaper against the concrete, pacing and scraping and pacing again, in circles and circles and dizzying patterns, claws tapping on the rough sediment like a ticking clock, counting the seconds. There's a restlessness in her eyes, an empty, not-quite-there look in their neon glare, sightless as they roam the walls. It's like an ancient trill-- nervous, high, and enticing in its tune. He tries to find a happy place-- a good one, somewhere in the muddled memories divided by hallucinations and reality and surgical tables, until he remembers his mother's voice; clarity in the darkness. He remembers her singing of green hills and wild skies, a place where dogs don't lie in the dark, unable to tell whether it's day or night, whether the dry, cheap feed is their last meal before a divine paradise or an even darker hell.


    He can suddenly see the azure skies. He sees the walls of the shelter crumble to pieces, pierced by the bright white of the sun, and the bars of the cage melt away, overgrown with ivy and trees. He hears the laughs or lovers and the joyous cries of pups, and howls of laughter. He sees rolling hills and endless forests, fresh, running water and blue springs. It's not real, his mind tells him. It's another vision. Just an illusion. But he doesn't believe it-- the voice, that is.


    Paradise. It feels tangible, like a fresh sea breeze in his nose and the cool of water on his tongue. Perhaps it's the delusional, mad part lined with stitches and science fluids, a last part of his head that craves for something more, something better than-- than this. Better than the death of a sewer rat in a mink's jaws, of trash in the garbage bins.


    I need to get out of here. He looks around, the vision vanishing in the abruptness of epiphany. He sees the other dogs, the crazed half-wolf, the cripple, a terror and an old soul. There is something each of them have that the other lacks. And I'll need all the help I can get.

    Cain


    Constant nightmares have kept Cain tossing and turning almost every night since he arrived in this dump. In those few moments that he is able to sleep, another dog's nightly howls bring him right back to wakefulness. He had just woken up from a particularly horrendous nightmare, the fight that replays the most in his memories. He seemed like so long ago that without these nightmares, he would have completely forgotten that night. The first fight he had ever been entered in while he was yet to be considered an adult. He flinched at the memory of the Doberman's barred teeth only inches in front of his face, taunting him before he landed the nearly fatal attack. In the corner of his cage at the shelter, the Presa Canario closed his eyes tightly until they hurt. Every night after this nightmare, he wished that it would just go away. He hated the fear and helplessness that he felt that night, looking into the eyes of the other dog, not knowing what to do when he had clearly been outmatched. That was his first fight and the first scar of many that he would get from the several fights to come. Cain forced his eyes open at the ghost burning coming from the scar in his chest. Though he knew the scar was long healed, it still seemed to hurt whenever the memory of the fight came back to him. Flexing his paws, Cain rose. The idea of sleep seemed to far out of reach to even understand and the sudden growl in his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten the day before. Being in the cage for so long each day has been slowly draining his energy and his boycotting of the food every other day didn't work but he couldn't get himself to eat the rotten pellets unless absolutely necessary. Trying to shake the memory away, he started forward cautiously to the front of his cage where the bowl sat and leaned forward reluctantly.



    Emrys


    The grass felt soft underfoot as he ran, all four paws stretching when he leaped into the air over the log. Birds squawked nearby, taking flight into the air in one big group. The smile on Emrys's face couldn't be bigger as he spotted his destination a short distance ahead. The smooth water reflected the few clouds above and was soon in disarray with Emrys's sudden presence. The water cooled his warm pelt and Emrys's long legs carried him smoothly and swiftly across the pond. He soon emerged from the pond and before him sat his destination. Her warm smile greeted him as they met, rubbing their muzzles together. Emrys took a seat next to her, his stubby tail wagging. Both pairs of blue eyes looked forward over the pond where the sun was setting on the horizon, their matching pelts touching. "I love you mother," Emrys told her, meeting her gaze and then she disappeared and he was plunged into darkness. Blue eyes opened to a dark cage with orange light coming from the hallway. Then reality struck when he once again couldn't feel his back legs. The three year old dachshund lowered his head on his front paws, remembering that he wasn't an Australian Shepherd like his mother and that she was gone and he was still in the shelter. The same place he's been in for a year now. Unlike the dream, there was no happiness here. The only time he felt happy was in the dream with The Australian Shepherd who adopted him so long ago.

    It was dark. Most of the kennel was asleep, and Kesthul could hear only the breathing of the dogs around him and the steady tick of the clock on the wall. The humans had long since closed the place up for the night. But Kesthul was still awake.

    "Aren't you afraid?"

    The aging dog lifted his head to meet the eyes of the one who spoke. It was Daisy, the doberman across the hall. She peered through the fencing of her cage, head tilted as she questioned the other. "You never whine or pace. Don't you know we're going to die?" Oh, Daisy. A sweet thing and so young; not even a year old yet. There was not a mean bone in her, but she was deathly ill. Even in the dark, he could see the frost over her eyes and the sickly way she slumped over. She would go into sneezing fits, and cough up blood on the regular. Unfortunately, that meant she was high on the list of being... taken away.

    "Maybe." Kesthul's voice was rough with age and exhaustion, though his eyes shone with life. "But maybe not." Daisy's ears perked up slightly, but she didn't look convinced. He felt bad giving her even the slightest bit of hope when he knew fully well that she wouldn't last to the end of the week. He just didn't want her to be scared for the last few days she was here. "Try and get to sleep, friend. I'll see you in the morning."

    After a few weak coughs, Daisy nodded and turned around in her kennel to lay down. Kesthul rested his head on his paws and watched as her breathing grew slower until she was in a deep sleep. If only he wasn't just a bystander. If only something could be done.


    He was right. Daisy was gone 2 days after their conversation, and he sat facing her now empty cage with tired eyes. Every time another dog was taken away, he was reminded of this unforgiving reality. One would think he'd be numb to it by now; he'd seen more dogs disappear from the cages around him than he could count. Even outside of the kennel, when he was a stray, he saw more deaths than any dog should ever see. That life seemed so far away now. His freedom, however harsh, was gone. He would die here just as Daisy did, just as every other dog that had taken that cage before her.

    Kesthul had become a bystander to this horrible metal existence, a bystander of his own life! It was the same routine day in and day out; Lights on. Food and water. Dogs pulled in and out of cages. More water. Lights off. Repeat. Once upon a time he might have fought to find a way out of this, but now he couldn't find the energy to pace his cage, let alone snap at one of the humans.

    Regardless, he wasn't going to let this destroy him. He would always be thinking of the streets, the fields, the freedom of the outside. It was only a matter of time before he returned to that, one way or the other...

    [oof my muse. sorry for any typos, I'm only working with one hand]

    ooc: so sorry for the delay!!!


    IC; Ratton's eyes set on the large, hulking form that suddenly moves in the shadows across from him. It's the fighter. The dog everyone in the shelter fears. A large, hulking creature with battle scars and a visage that terrifies even the hound-dogs for all their howling and big talk. His mouth becomes dry as he sees just how big he is. But as the combatant leans down to lap at the bowl before him, he glimpses the mouthful of huge, sharp teeth in a huge jaw, and his mind is settled. He gathers up the last vestiges of courage in his heart and speaks.


    "Psst! You there, across from me! Do you see the wire on the bottom left? It's frayed from when Crazy-Eye Joe was there. He hit his head against it a lot, so it's weak now," he half-whispers, trying to be loud enough to be heard but not loud enough for the humans to take notice. His voice causes a reaction-- albeit not from the one he was trying to catch the attention of. The wolf-dog stops her mindless pacing, her eyes swerving to his crouched form, the small, furred ears perked forward and suddenly too-sharp pale cyber eyes trained intently on him in silent scrutiny, as if trying to figure him out. He feels very small in that moment, like a mouse staring into the eyes of a hawk that was trying to decide whether they would eat it or not. It's the first time he's seen the halfblood look anything similar to being lucid, and he's uncertain of whether or not that's a good thing. Regardless of his discomfort, he continues.


    "If you can chew through that, you're free... and perhaps you could help me with my latch afterwards?" He tries his best to look truthful and harmless, wagging his tail and smiling at him, making sure to keep an eye on the wolfdog whose intensity only rises after his proposition to the fighting dog. The female looks torn between something, worry furrowing her brow as he ears drop back. Does she fear death like he does?


    "I know a place where we can go," he says, sympathy flooding him at the pleading look the wolfdog send him. He looks at all the other remaining dogs, and his little heart breaks with pity. Perhaps such a feeling is wrong of him, but he can't help but want to help them.


    "All of us," he continues, shooting a nervous but kind look to the halfblood. He raises his voice, forgetting to keep quiet a little in his rush to speak. "We can go to the Isle of Strays"

    The feel of the dry pebbles on his tongue was revolting but the growling in his stomach kept him going. As he was chocking down the sorry excuse for food, his ears pivoted forward to the slightest movement across from him. He glimpsed upward and his eyes met the Jack Russel across the hall. Never having spoken to him, Cain only knew him by the large scar on the small dog's head. With how much downtime Cain has had in the cage, he has sometimes wondered what would have caused such a scar. Even his own scars seemed trumped by the small dog's. The words that came out of the terrier surprised Cain. He had never been spoken to since he arrived at the shelter except for the yappy Pomeranian next-door but it must have been something he said that had shut the dog up since then. Cain grinned a little at the thought before returning his attention back to the words of the terrier. His eyes narrowed at the idea that the small dog would even have enough courage to speak to him but the information interested him. A weak spot in his cage he says? But also the idea that he would risk being caught to go back and save the terrier made him laugh a little. But before saying anything, he looked down at the corner of the cage to see just what it was talking about. Yes, yes! He could see it now, right on the corner. With the strength he had left in him, he could bite through that. Edging towards the corner, he met the terrier's gaze again. "What's your name?" He said too calmly with a not too hidden threat underneath, as he placed a massive paw on the frayed wire.


    He was laying near the front of the cage, one front paw sticking out, eyes half closed, when he heard the voices a few cages down. They were too low for him to make out the words but it seemed strange to hear it. The dogs in the shelter didn't talk to each other much and it felt nice to finally hear voices. When someone did speak, Emrys didn't feel quite so alone. What were they saying though... "Hey, hey you." He whispered to the dog closest to him who happened to be the older dog to his right. "Do you hear that? I wonder what's happening." At the moment, he craved any kind of socialization. Just to hear someone's voice or even just his own for a moment would be nice.

    Darling not meaning to sound rude but you’re really overreacting. for most people it’s the holiday season/break so everyone’s off doing things with friends and family.

    I'm Divergent Please, be patient. A lot of people have other things to do and are either way too tired to roleplay (and they have a right to be, yeah. Roleplaying's no fun when you're about to pass out in your ramen) and others are spending New Years with family.