Specially you Sora

ravenmoon wrote:(Sorry if I include my dream custom tracker a couple of times.(Did the person who made this get "inspired" by my dream tracker? X3)
Tracker Dog Application Series 2
Username: Ravenmoon
Tracker Dog you want: #5
Name you'll give it: Underworker
Reason why you want it: My wanted custom, which would be named Underground, would be a perfect companion to Underworker. They both have the same job; mine working. Digging out ones that have been buried, sense gas, and push carts. This is what is making me so desperate to get Underworker.
As soon as I saw him, it was a must. He was actually calling to me: "Pweaz! Adopt meh!". Ever time I see him, that mysterious desire grows.
Will it be used in any kind of story?: Of course! Underworker would feature in one with Underground (hopefully).
Describe its personality:
Warm and friendly, brave, proud and loyal, calm and cool: these are just a few traits. Underworker is often seen working even it's a day off, though he will rather be seen going outside and enjoying the fresh scent in the breeze, for those are things he does not often get. He is prone to panic in larger crowds, cities are not his place. A panicked Underworker would burst through a crowd, and just run for the smallest place he can find. He has a strange, responsible side. If someone just trips, he would do something, no matter who they are.
Underworker is strong, physically and emotionally. It's hard to break him. The only thing that could is a loved one dying or dead. He can concentrate, and he is not easily distracted, which is great since being distracted in a mine can cause serious problems. His pride allows no one to mock him, no one can get away with it easily. This adds up to a (sometimes) good thing. For his job, Underworker needs to be calm in many situations, for in a mine, it is often said that people get killed by ghosts; also known as panic. By being calm, Underworker doesn't jump and run at the smallest thing. As mentioned above, crowds are the only things that truly scare him. That, and loud, booming noises such as bombs.
Write an introduction for your Tracker: (Sorry if I add some adaptations (bigger lungs...) that are not originally there; I've done so much research on mine that I seem to know all their dangers. ^_^" (And brown is the tracker's point of view.))
"Ahem. Will ya be buying 'nething?" His long, southern drawl brought me out of my daydream. A grey underground tracker, it was about.
"Umm, sorry, no." I quickly told the man working at the curio shop, and exited the tiny shop. The curio shop was rumored to have many 'pickled punks' coming from a cave close to this place, yet I saw none. If it were true, I could have studied about them, find out more adaptations and if they were genuine.
Who am I? My name is Vincent. I am a part time scientist, working in mines. Apart from being a scientist, I look at trackers, and made sure they were fit for my job. So far, none were. They were too 'soft', don't have the right claws, and adaptation. By soft, I mean that their lungs and muscles were not fit. They needed really strong muscles to push carts filled with stones, and huge, thick lungs built to resist gas or not having enough air, whether it's from a cave in, or going underwater to save some helpless miner who fell in.
I needed one to accompany me on my mining journeys. I had imagined a grey one. A grey one, strong and fit, who can walk lightly. One skilled and cunning.
I decided to check out Nex's place.
.
. . .
.
The shadows twisted and escaped my grasp; they never stayed in the same place. "Well then" a gleam of one's tooth indicated where they stood in this dim hall. "You've been here 'while." He seemed to be questioning me. I could not answer.
That man was the caretaker. He took care if us, special dogs. He brought us our food and water, and I learned his name: Bill.
Bill brought me out of my cage; dogs as I, outcasts, different, barked and scraped against their case. I could hear a faint voice down the corridor.
"Got to go" were the only words I could catch.
Bill put a collar on my tough neck. It hurt and scratched, and I tried to bite at it, but my attempts were fruitless. He clipped something around it. He pulled me, but I just sat down.
"Wut now?" Bill asked as he pulled on the green rope connecting to my collar, as I blank point refused to walk. My butt dragged along the floor as he pulled me to my destination. What would become of me? I had had many friends, all taken away one day and unheard of. Perhaps they were disposed of. Perhaps they lived happily ever after. I put my sharp claws in front of me in hope to avoid my fate. "Get yer butt up!" Bill said, a bit angrily.
Let truth collide, they say. Avoid love, and destroy hope. Not another's hope. My own. By letting truth collide, I would be accepting my fate.
Slowly, sadly, I raised my brown head and accepted my fate.
The shadows seemed to be mocking me, running around and laughing at me. I raised my head higher, deteminated. This would be bound to happen sooner or later. I looked straight ahead, as if I had had eyes. No one could mock me!
The area around me lightened, and I saw a man communicating with someone, the shopkeeper. The man looked odd. He had a pale, almost grey, serious face. He was tall, and he looked as though he had spent years in a dark cave. That's when I noticed those fingers. Long and pale, they almost looked like claws.
"Will this one do? He was built tough and made to last long without good air. Lighter then most trackers, and he has great hearing." Were one of the few words we exchanged. I stole a look at the grey and brown tracker, listening in suspiciously, an odd look on his already queer face. "Yes." I would the tracker home. His official name was now Underworker, I decided, as I put a newer collar on (While a grumble formed in his throat), one labeled 'Underworker', a name I had chosen long ago.
He didn't seem to trust me as I brought him outside; he kept sniffing me and growling softly if I came to close. Having worked with dogs for awhile, I stuck my palm up and let him take a good sniff. He growled, but came up. As he scented me, I saw his muscles relax, and his mouth turn back to normal. It had been fixed in a soft snarl before.
I felt his dry tongue rasp over my hand, and nudged him between his ears. He seemed to enjoy it, and open his mouth slightly. As I retracted my hand, I saw his long tongue dart quickly in his mouth, and I crouched down on the dark pavement. "Hey buddy. I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Vincent, and you are now Underworker. C'mon." I lifted myself up and led him to my car. "Jump in." I ordered as I opened the right door, and I saw his back legs go down, and as though they had springs, he jumped high and gracefully. He would curled up and looked at me. 'What?' he seemed to ask, his head cocked to the side.
.
. . .
.
I nudged the cart, felt the vibration under my toes. The shadows still escaped my paw, darting to the side as though I were a fearful beast. The mining cart screeched as I pushed it along. The water mady my paws soggy, the dust and dirt gave way and fell on me. I obviously didn't wince away; this what I was for. This was life; why I still lived.
"C'mon!" Vincent's voice echoed through the mine corridor. It bounced off the walls and floor. I thumped my tail softly, making a sound pass through so he could find me.
Something softly touched my back, a hand. I looked back to see his serious face. He had told me I was a dream come true, a wish.
He had not found me at Nex's place. Somewhere else, another place to hold trackers. That place was another tracker holder, one that put trackers such as myself when we didn't get adopted for awhile. When the first place, Nex's place, didn't hold the dog someone needed, they got redirected there.
He had got me so many months ago; training and adapting skills were what we had done for those months. The wall tapping is an example.
This was my first real cave visit. The other times were just normal caves, many meters down. This one was rumored to reach Hell, yet those believes had been made many, many years ago. After those rumors were made, it was abandoned. It just got warmer as one reached the core.
A tiny spider thing stepped in front of me. I howled softly, breaking and continuing, sounding as an alarm. This was what I needed to do if I saw life.
Vincent put the spider thing in a jar, and I was reminded of old memories, o being stuck in a cage. He pat my head, nudged behind my ears, gently under my neck. I opened my mouth slightly, exposing sharp canines. This was what I did when I was pleased.
"C'mon now, surface, Underworker." Underworker was my name; it was simply one who worked underneath.
I led him out, carefully listening to sound waves.
Stop! I halted suddenly. This patch of ground sounded empty; the echos didn't come back. I stepped to the left, nothing. To the right, perhaps? Still nothing. So I took another path.
As I passed my master, he told me that I was a good boy. I wagged my tail slightly, and it must have creaked slightly, for I had not wagged it in awhile.
I led another way. This time, the bridge was over some water. I could not taste, the water was very bitter, I had heard. I didn't know what taste was. To me it was simply a word.
As I lead the path up some squeaking stairs, I heard the sound of breaking wood, and swiftly turned around. Vincent had stepped on a rotten step, and fell. I saw his fall, and as quick as I could, I grabbed his shirt, preventing worse injuries. I pulled him up slowly, and dared look through the broken step. A deep pit, ending in water. It was good that he didn't fall.
.
. . .
.
It turns out Vincent was alright. He had hit his back, and it ached for awhile, and he was slightly shaky, but that was all. I convinced him to call the hospital (By a series of barks and annoying phone stealings) anyways.
Vincent picked up his phone. "All right, all right." he protested as I nudged him. I estates at him carefully, if I had had eyes. He typed in 9, 1, 1. "Hello?" the other line remained static. We were probably to deep. I scented something and went frantic. Gas!
I looked at Underworker, jumping around frantically. He pulled on my shirt, and ran away, not so far, and came back. His brown tail was quivering, and it was between his legs. I stood up, but my back hurt. I felt my breath catch in my throat. This was a dry kind of pain, the one that left you catching your breath. I breathed deeply, letting oxygen fill my lungs before emptying them. I stood up, sensing danger. Not being a fool, I followed the frantic Tracker.
Vincent looked pained, but he stood up anyways. He started following me, limping slightly, as I ran behind him and nudged his legs lightly, making walk faster. The stench of the gas was getting fainter, yet there was still a faint trace.
I walked down the corridor, my claws emitting a faint 'click, click'. The damp air seemed to creep under my fur, but my fur grew slicker and straighter and the water simply washed off.
For awhile I walked, nudging my owner and getting ahead before coming back. When I could see a light, I barked, and ran. I heard my bark echo through the corridor, as if many other dogs were lying in wait. The fresh, sharp scent of outside dulled the dark, moist scent of the cave, and I barked joyfully.
"Good boy." Vincent puffed as he walked out. I let my ears lie flat, and smiled slightly as he scratched behind my ears. I was a good boy!
Softly, love,
Don't you cry
Everything is goin'
Be just fine
Don't ask why I enter random poems I invented at the top of my head :/
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