Word Count: 312 FASTSIE IS FAST?

Oh, he lamented having only two arms at this very moment. Both carried heavy gallon jugs of gasoline, but he wished he had two more to also carry the ones Haku held. The Dahlian king should not have had to carry any gasoline at all, but Sicarus understood why he had been chosen for this mission. He was most trustworthy and they could not have twenty Dahlians heading to Inferni on this night; they could not risk being found out before the blaze was burning high already. Sicarus, of course, was positively elated to be on this journey; being chosen by Haku was something to be proud of, no doubt. The tawny-furred werewolf's head was held rather high, though he certainly didn't let the arrogance get in his way—this was war, they were on enemy territory.

The tawny werewolf stopped behind his darkly-furred leader, watching what the Rosen did so that he could better copy him. Sicarus was not an arsonist; he had never set a fire beyond lighting a candle before in his life, but in his Rosen he trusted. This would hurt them, this would damage them. Yellowy canines bared in a ferocious grin as the tawny werewolf copied the alpha, pouring out his own gasoline slowly, dragging it over the land so as to better consume it. Inferni would burn for what they'd done to Dahlia de Mai; the damage was not so great, true, but it was still unthinkable in Sicarus's head to allow such a crime to go unpunished. He remained silent, intent on pouring out all of the gas. No need to talk, no need to alert others to their presence yet. When the match was struck and the fire was lighting up the quiet night, then they could howl and laugh to all the coyotes that their precious wasteland would be consumed in flame.

Word Count: 329 Supasie, supasie, yeah, she's supasie... >____>

Sicarus was an arrogant creature; he had devoted himself to Haku and that was that. There was no reconsidering where this was concerned; the tawny-furred werewolf was indebted to Haku for allowing him amongst the Dahlians, and this small act of arson was nothing. The King might have asked Sicarus to walk off a cliff; the only thing Sicarus might have done was to ask why. If the King provided sound reasoning for his execution, then there was no discussing the matter further—Sicarus was to jump. Oh, how Kai would have hated Sic for being chosen for this mission—but there was no more Kai anymore.

The first canister emptied, the male tossed it aside as quietly as he could setting about working quickly on the second. The smell of gas would rouse passerby sooner or later, and the pair of Dahlian men could not have that. There was burning to be done, first. The blue-eyed Alpha padded over to Sicarus and issued his command; wordlessly the man shook out the remainder of the second gas container and fumbled for his matches, seeking the tiny pouch he had tied about his waste. There was no reason to fill the pouch with anything but the matches, and Sicarus found them quickly, taking a few steps back. There was a breeze, so he cupped the matches. True, it would harm the fire's initial start with this tiny flame, but when it got to burning, the wind would only spread the destruction the pair of wolves had wrought on this coyote territory.

He drew in a quiet breath as the match flared up, holding it cupped in his large paws for a moment, shooting a glance toward Haku. A rare, full-tooth smile burst onto the werewolf's face, and he tossed the match forward, the flames spreading forth in a beautiful flare, devouring the fluid quickly. “For you, my Alpha,” he said, throwing his arms wide as the fire began to dance.

Word Count: 303 In your next post, you can throw him into the trap, ja? :3

Oh, how jealous Kai would be at this glorious night! Sicarus alone had been chosen to accompany his lovely leader; Sicarus alone was trustworthy amongst the Dahlian remnants to come with their exalted and wonderful leader. The coyotes would burn for what they'd done to Kai, for what they'd done to Haku's sister, for everything they'd ever done to pain or discomfort or even mildly annoy his wonderful leader. There was an overwhelming sense of pride within Sicarus for having been chosen for this mission above his packmates. That pride was about to come crashing down, and in an instant it did—white-hot pain sliced into the orange-eyed canine's face, shock and disbelief bowling him over. Before he did, the Rosen's claws flashed and there was a gaping hole in his stomach, leaking sanguine fluid. The wound itself would be fatal if Sicarus did not receive care—already crimson fluid was staining across his stomach, his Optime hands flying to the wounds, his brilliant, fire-colored eyes looking slowly from the wound to his leader, his ears folded back and his eyes wide. “Why...?” How had he failed Haku? Surely there must be reason for this; surely he must have failed at pleasing his Rosen in some integral way. Perhaps this was for failing to keep Kai alive; perhaps it was because he simply was not good enough... Sicarus did not know, and a low whine escaped his throat, all of his bravado evaporated in the face of his own epic failure. To Sicarus, this was entirely his own fault—his leader would not betray him in such a manner if he had not done something horrifically wrong. Perhaps it was his failure to kill an Infernian, to inflict major damage onto one? Sicarus could only guess at the motivations behind the hirsute creature.

Word Count: 416 EWWW YOU STINK ;D

How could something like this happen? Sicarus had failed Haku; what had he done to spark the man's hatred? The tan-furred wolf had attempted to be a good servant to the dark Rosen; if only the man would give him a reason. If only he would reveal to the Italian wolf what had displeased him so, Sicarus might be alright with this. He had been trained to accept his punishment in the event of a failure; sometimes it was sufficient to simply self-harm, sometimes destruction was in order. He had failed his mentor and the monastery, but they were improper, incorrect—they did not understand. Sicarus had only been trying to make things better. The world did not need the whores and scum he had exterminated from the earth. Was Haku indicating with this act that he was no better?

The sound of flame was dim in the man's ears; the laughter only barely penetrated the foggy haze of pain and defeat overtaking the tawny-furred werewolf. He had failed, he had done wrong, and in death he was not even permitted to know why. The tawny wolf yelped as he was flipped over with a rough kick, thrashing weakly against the other man as he was picked up, dragged by the arm, and carried over the borders. His glazed eyes only barely saw the dancing flames as they were spreading; dimly in the distance, the sound of a coyote alarm rousing the night caught his attention. If the fire did not burn him, if Haku did not kill him... the coyotes would make damn certain to finish him off, that was for certain. He was aware of being lifted from the ground, blood still leaking from the large wounds torn in his body; he landed with a thump.

“Rrraghhh!” the wolf cried out weakly, the metal jaws of the trap snapping half-shut around his unfortunate hip, crushing the bones of it. Of course the trap could not shut completely with so much flesh in its jaws, but it did its work well; Sicarus would never walk a step again, even if he managed to escape the looming death facing him from three sides. Without warning, the wolf lost consciousness, whether it was from bloodloss or pain—his vision faded and he went completely limp, his breath barely causing his chest to rise. The only indication that he still lived was the blood still steadily streaming from his wounds, far too much to be a corpse yet.