Ray and Masquerade's RP (The Struggle)

[Frisk E. Coyote]

After a very hearty meal, Grundy was satiated. Content, he half-bowed his head at Rosemary gratefully before he spoke to her with a few hand gestures. They were simple, but the funny thing about the blacksmith was, everyone could understand what he was saying no matter how difficult the phrase, sentence, or word in particular. Grundy always got his point across. This wasn't because his gestures were so easy to comprehend and perform, thanks to the blacksmith's dexterity, but mostly because his amber eyes showed nothing but the honest truth, serene sincerity. No matter what he was saying, his eyes always had a look to accompany his gestures, giving him that much more personality and emotions.

"Rosemary, be careful around that dingo. Those knives he's wearing don't just seem to be for show." The white wolf said through gestures, his eyes speaking volumes. "He has this air of malice to him, like he's just up to no good, and when he walks, I couldn't even hear those big boots of his make a sound on the floor. He could be a murderer, or a rapist." He continued, his eyes showing genuine concern.

Rosemary smiled at him. "You're mahty sweet, sugar, but you ain't gotta worry about lil' ol me." She assured him. "He's been stayin' h'ya for three days nah, aynd we theynk he's a performah. He juggles his knives and does tricks to pull in moh cust'mas foh us." She explained. "He sort of is a rogue, aynd he's got no manners, but he ain't done nuttin' wrowng so fah."

Grundy narrowed his eyes. "I don't like the way he kissed you just like that. I won't tell him, but your husband won't like it."

"Actually, he kinda deeyd." The barmaid blushed lightly, and leaned closer. "The dingo kissed him too." She whispered in his ear.

Grundy raised a brow and wore an expression of mild shock, a little disgust and disturbance, but more curiosity and confusion.

"He's a charmuh that'un." Rosemary sighed. "He seyez his name's Logan Gyre." She giggled. "At least now you got a name aynd a face, should he do somethin' wrowng. I trust you'd aveynge us, eh?" She said, escorting him to the door. "You take care nah."

"You too, Rosemary. I have to get back to work." Grundy added before he left, bowing once more. Outside, he happened to look up at the inn's many windows. All the lights were closed, and all the curtains were drawn. Save for one. Logan was looking down directly at him, smiling. The dingo waved his fingers at him. Grundy didn't like the way Logan looked at him. He didn't like being noticed or stared at. But to be polite, he waved back, turned, and started walking back down the street.

When he was several blocks away from his forge, his ears perked as he herd a distinct clicking sound a crossbow made when a bolt was being loaded, and he managed to dive out of the way as several bolts darted past him. One hit him on the thigh, and yelping silently, he dropped to one knee, fangs bared.

"Well well well! What do we have here?" An anthropomorphic chameleon said as he climbed down from a tree that was planted in a lot to decorate the town's bland stone and cobblestone streets and roads. He was practically invisible save for his black crossbow until he changed colors to a dark blue one, still hard to see in the night. He was naked for that purpose. "Doherty, Malloy! We've got ourselves a smith." The chameleon said with a grin, one of his eyes focused on Grundy, the other darted here and there, making sure no one was around.

From two alleys, a man and an anthropomorphic weasel came out stealthily, crossbows raised, grins plastered on their lips.

Grundy cursed silently. He had forgotten to bring anything to defend himself with. How careless! It was nights like these that thieves, rogues, murderers and rapists roamed the streets! These thieves were organized too... choosing to mug him at a safe distance instead of up close. If they had, he would've taken them down by now. His tribe had taught him well in the field of combat. But he couldn't even get close to them. He was certain that the bolt in his leg wasn't a mistake, they deliberately aimed for his legs so he couldn't run away or at them. He looked up at them, brows furrowed angrily, muzzle shut tight. He removed his small money pouch and tossed it in the ground in front of him. "I don't have anything else with me." He gestured.

With all the crossbows still pointed at him, the chameleon retrieved the pouch and counted the money.

"How much's in there, Gaspard?" The human named Doherty asked.

"Two silvers, 56 coppers. Not bad. Shame he wasn't carrying more." Gaspard laughed coldly.

"You have my money. There's nothing else I can give you. Let me go." Grundy pantomimed.

The three men laughed at him.

"You mute or somethin' boy?" Doherty asked.

"And what are you wearing? You're almost as naked as Gaspard over there!" Malloy laughed, training his crossbow down at the blacksmith's loincloth. "What? Did someone beat us to you?"

"Quiet Malloy. Can't you tell? He's not just some white wolf, he's an arctic wolf. A foreigner." Gaspard told his partners.

Smith bared his fangs, pulling his bandanna lower over his eyes. He didn't like his differences being pointed out.

"How can you tell?" Malloy asked.

"His fur's thicker, those are arctic tribal tattoos on his left shoulder, and look at those eyes. They're not the regular amber, yellow or blue regular wolves have. Its a lot more... beautiful." Gaspard smirked maliciously. "Arctic Wolf Eyes are very expensive in the black market because hey turn a very icy blue when their owner is experiencing a lot of strong emotion."

Growling now, fury raged through Smithson's heart as he heard this, his eyes flickered the coldest of icy blues for a split second, flickering in color randomly before he calmed down and they remained in their regular deep amber coloring.

The other two men grumbled in awe.

"And if we manage to cut his eyes out while they're still deciding on changing..." Gaspard raised his crossbow, aiming at Grundy's heart. "They're worth more than-" But what ever he was saying never finished as the words choked in his throat, blood foamed from his mouth and gushed out a slit on his throat.

The dingo from the tavern flipped a knife, flicking the blood off it, one hand in his pocket. "Guys, guys, guys..." He said nonchalantly. "This isn't the way to treat someone who's eyes you fancy." He shook his head playfully, producing what seemed to be a card from his pocket. He flung it at Gaspard's corpse and the corner embedded itself in the chameleon's skull. It was razor-edged.

"GASPARD!! The son of a bitch killed Gaspard!" Doherty cried.

"You! You're The Dervish!!" Malloy shook, and tried to point the crossbow at the dingo after realizing that it was still trained at the wolf- but it was too late, a card embedded itself in his paw, causing him to yell out in pain and drop the the crosbow before a heavy fist collided with his skull, knocking him into the wall in the back of the alley that he was hiding in from the force.

Doherty fired at the wolf and the dingo randomly, yelling out in fear. The wolf hid behind the tree Gaspard had come down from, but the dingo flicked his wrist, and a knife buried itself to the hilt in Doherty's forehead. The man keeled over backwards, dead.

The town square was silent.

"So." The dingo, Logan Gyre, if that was his real name, said, breaking the silence. "What's a nice guy like you doing in a backwater, overtaxed, crime-infested city such as this?" He asked, walking over to Doherty and extracting his dagger from his skull, wiping it clean on the man's mantle before sheathing it.

There was more silence, but Smith tried to answer back. This man... was a killer. He seemed so nonchalant about it too, it was like he was used to it, like he enjoyed it. The wolf replied with a gestures.

"Yoink." The dingo said playfully as he took the other thief's money bag. "Jackpot." He sneered, and turned to face the wolf again. "I'm sorry, what? I didn't catch that."

Sighing, Grundy signaled again. "Thank you for helping me. I moved here five years ago from the arctic to learn the culture of other lands. I am mute."

"Oh, so you're a mute, huh? Wow. I actually understood that! I never understood sign language before! Though... that looked nothing like sign language." He said as he bent over and placed another calling card in the dead human's mouth. "Go grab your money. He won't be needing it in hell." He gestured at Gaspard.

Grimacing in disgust, Grundy bent over and pried his money pouch from the chameleon's curled up fingers, oblivious to the Dingo tilting his head at the sight of his hindquarters hidden only by a length of cloth.

"Mm... now that's one firm ass..." Zach mumbled to himself, licking his muzzle playfully. He only had eyes for women, but an incident in the past opened his eyes to some men as well, and Grundy was the few men he liked, aesthetically speaking. The wolf was muscular, powerful and quite ruggedly handsome. This was the first time he found a male like Grundy attractive, as he found more feminine men attractive than manly ones.

Perking his ears up, Grundy turned around. "Excuse me?"

"Damn, you've got some hearing!" Zach slapped himself on the forehead, laughing. "My name's- ungh-" He grunted, eyes wide as a couple of crossbow bolts embedded themselves on his back. He keeled over forward, lying still on the ground, face-down.

Grundy's head snapped toward another man, a fourth member who had been hiding nearby. whose crossbow was designed to be as silent as wind. Furious, Grundy forgot the pain in his thigh and charged at the man, who fumbled his bolts in fear as he tried to reload the crossbow.

In the end, the man tried to run, but the wolf got hold of his arm and snapped it like a twig. The man howled in pain, and the last thing he saw before the blacksmith's powerful fist collided with his face was his frigid, murderous, but beautiful icy blue eyes. Grundy's fist connected with the man's face and it caved in, every bone in his skull broke and his neck snapped backward sharply in an angle. Grundy dropped the man, dead, and his anger turned into fear. He had killed someone...

He inspected his bloody fist, caked in someone else's blood. There were some shards of teeth stuck on his knuckles, and he brushed them off, disgusted. He worriedly made his way to the dingo and checked his pulse.

"Ohhh..." The dingo groaned in pain, but was thankfully alive. "That freaking hurt..."

Glad that the Dingo was still alive, he hauled him carefully over his shoulder, and limped back to his forge, trembling, his ice blue eyes flickering amber every few seconds. He had killed a man. He was a killer.