Tracker Dog Application Series 2Username:Pandora KaulitzTracker Dog you want:Tracker Dog #6 | Available for 4 days
Name you'll give it:PändröaReason why you want it: I want this tracker dog for a number of reasons. I only own one tracker as of this moment, named Alaric (an old tracker who I plan to get revamped) and he could use some company for when I order art of him. She will be a great muse for me in my writing, and will help me with also writing about Alaric too; I have a good story in mind for the two of them. I love the stealth type Tracker Dogs as they are so sleek and refined in my head, and her tiger stripe-like design just makes her perfect. Pändröa doesn't seem like she'd be difficult to replicate in a drawing either, which would help alot if I did get her and wished to draw her, as my artistic skills aren't the most extensive.
I feel that the personality I have wanted in a tracker dog for a while also matches her. The wild tiger-like stripes, as well as the crouched pose that suggests to me she is about to pounce, makes her seem perfectly fitted for the wild type.Will it be used in any kind of story?Yes, she will be used in a few stories. Though those will all be posted here and are not for commercial use, but more for the character development and the fun of it. They will be tales of things that go on in Pändröa's life, little adventures and such.Describe its personality:Pändröa may seem silent upon first sight, but you cannot judge this book by its blank cover. Though cautious around others at first, she will throw away such inhibitions as soon as she has deemed them safe, and her true side is then shown. She is feisty, disobedient and energetic. She is far from lazy, impulsive, spontaneous, easily distracted and playful. She is rarely aggressive or angry, though she may act in such a way to get attention. Pändröa was referred to as 'The Beast of No Home' by the people who had tried to adopt her out to organizations many a time. She is not one to share and can become quite possessive and jealous.
Pändröa is quite kind and sweet when it comes down to it, though her reckless and playful nature often covers that side of her up. She never seems to be off her feet, always running around and playing with someone. She can sometimes become so disobedient that she can jeopardize missions and become quite careless, which usually leads to her being trapped or hurt in some way. She is not easily held down and doesn't give up, and due to this wildness she holds onto, she is thought of as a rogue tracker dog.Write an introduction for your Tracker:Purpose and Outcome
Pändröa had been made to be a spy. With her small build and silent movements, she could easily sneak into places and return with information. Or at least, she had been programmed to do so. Sent to a French academy of secrecy at a young age, she was trained and supposedly destined for greatness. Her genetics, her body and her abilities seemed to make her the perfect spy. But of course, to do a job correctly you cannot let your emotions or personality commandeer your actions. Her impulsive and rather unprofessional nature made her seem like the Tracker Dog from hell. She had found her personality moons after she had been deemed great, and she would not listen. She did things without thinking, didn't do as she was told and strayed from her focus. On a practice mission in a place loaded with 'land mines', she found a small mouse and began chasing it. It was then that humans realized she was just not the type of tracker that could be trained to do anything. But still they tried. On one mission, Pändröa merely gave up. The humans told her she was useless, and she believed it even if she didn't want to. It was then that she went rogue and left the world of humans for a world of doing as she pleased. She met Alaric upon the way, though. Alaric was a tracker used for many purposes. He was stolen from his old owner and broke free. The two together made a formidable pair. Alaric trained Pändröa in ways no human was able to. Pändröa was finally what she had been programmed for, a freelance spy, without any need or want of human command.
Pändröa now works with Alaric, sometimes aiding police and spy organisations when she wishes, otherwise living life as she never had.
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The crate swayed in the air as the crane lifted it from the dock and onto the ship. People walked past, their voices blurring together into a chorus of never ending noise. Seagulls cawed loudly, searching for any signs of food. The calm water of the sea lapped against the hull of the ship. Placing the crate onto the deck, the crane drove off and the ship set sail, loaded with hundreds of tightly packed crates, all stamped with almost identical words. The only difference was the numbers, and even they were similar. Though, one crate seemed to have different writing upon it, written beside the normal stamp in a bold red colour; 'Tracker Dog Shipment Crate #958
Handle with Care
To be sent to French Academy of Spies and Secrecy,
3 Horailles Lane, Le Havre, France'
'Special case Tracker; send to Special Training and Rehabilitation Unit
Not to Normal Unit
To be treated with care
Be careful of being bitten'
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Pändröa had spent what seemed like an eternity on the forever swaying vessel with hundreds of others. She had heard their cries at dawn and dusk for freedom, for food and water, and for a chance to see the light. Her box had a particularly large hole, or perhaps she had a particularly small eye, and she had been able to see. The water had been beautiful looking to her, so blissful and calm. Until the last night, when she had seen the dark black clouds and the churning waves crashing onto deck, taking a few trackers with it. Their cries, ended with silence, had made her despise the sea. It was merciless.
After being thrown around in her dull crate, she had been placed in one spot. The other Trackers were not there. Or at least, not where she could see, hear or smell them. Peering through the whole in her crate once again, she could see blinding white lights, and not much else; a glass mirror, a food bowl, a chair and a collar were the limit of the decor. She could hear the sound of footsteps behind her, and yelped and the wooden wall she had deemed sturdy moved forward, threatening to crush her inside the box. At the last moment, the front 'sturdy' wall disappeared and she was shoved onto the white ground. Opening and closing her eyes, the young tracker took a few minutes to adjust to the light.
When she had climatised herself to the brightness, Pändröa looked around in confusion. A tall creature stood before her, staring down at her with strange green eyes. Why did he bear no tongue? Why did he stand on his hind legs? Whimpering, she took a step back and lowered herself to the ground. What was it going to do? It bared its teeth in a snarl and let out what seemed to be a strange sort of yapping noise that sounded like 'Hoo-low'. Pändröa had the feeling she would be stuck with the passive aggressive mutilated creature in the forsaken white room for a long time.
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Dodging past humans and stopping to record information, Pändröa seemed to do it all with ease. It was almost fun for her. The creatures called themselves humans, and said she was promising. They praised her often, and she had grown to like them. They offered her treats and edible delicacies that made her mouth water. Humans seemed, to her, to be wonderful beings that were very kind. They were very kind until the day she found her personality.
Pändröa had been known as emotionless except for the occasional show of happiness, confusion and fear. It was what had made her seem like a perfect spy. But then her rebellion, her emotions of playfulness and impulsiveness showed, and the humans seemed to be repelled away from her whenever she came near them. She didn't understand why they acted in such a way, but she never suspected that it was her personality that was the fault. Within a few weeks she was sent away to a spy organization, only to be sent to another after a few days. She could not seem to find a home anywhere. Even when she did what she thought she had been told to do, Pändröa was sent away. The frequent moving made her affection for humans disappear, and soon enough she disliked humans with a passion. Unless they played with her, of course.
Pändröa had been sent to dozens of different places, and she thought she was worthless. Whatever she did was wrong. She thought the job she was sent to next would be her last chance. Even if she got it right, would they keep her?
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The sun set, casting a crimson and gold hue over the forest. Small rays of dying sunlight could be seen on the ground, barely visible as it filtered past the trees. Her striped body almost blended in with the red leaves of autumn. Creeping forwards on small but sure paws, the Tracker Dog put her nose the the ground and sniffed. The scents of the forest flooded her nose, almost blocking out the one scent she had been told to search for; unmistakable human, most likely the human she was after. Tugging at the collar bugged with a microphone at her neck, Pändröa broke into a run. A small shack was visible in the distance, and though it was run down and overgrown with vines and flowers, she had a feeling she would find the one she sought out in there.
Slowing herself down to a halt and panting softly, the female tracker dog looked up and down at the house. Squirrels sat on top of the roof, tempting her so to go and catch one. She heard a small voice barking from her microphone and looked down again, refocusing on the mission. When could she go into her meadow and run like she had been promised. As she stealthily crept in to the derelict looking shack, her mind was straying far from the mission. So much so that she bumped into a table. Stifling a shocked yip, she shoved the door aside and peered around. In the corner she could see a dark figure hunched over as if in deep thought.
Pändröa had never gotten so close to someone she was actually meant to find. Perhaps this time she could get it right and stay with a human for more than a few days. Smiling softly to herself, she went to bound toward the figure. But she heard a click and saw the human's hand raise, holding something that glinted with silver. Taking a few steps back, Pändröa let out a snarl and turned for the door. She scrambled away through the forest, and if she had been able to shed tears, they would have been streaming down her small face. She had failed her new owner, and they would not want her now, would they?
The collar around her neck said something in a soft voice, but within moments Pändröa had torn it off on a branch and run further away from the noise. The incoherent yelling it emitted soon became a distant memory as the young tracker tore away from it all. Soon even the sounds of the trilling birds has quieted down to a chorus far far away. The trees were beginning to thin out, and the lights of the city she had once called her prison were hard to make out in the deep night sky. The lush grass underpaw soothed her senses, and she sucked in a deep breath, only to find the scent of millions of violets in the air. It was then Pändröa realized where she had run; the violet filled meadow she cherished so dearly. But someone else was there.
It was her meadow, wasn't it? Why would somebody else be there? Her mind whirled with anger and fear as she dropped into the lush green grass to investigate. She remembered claiming her meadow, and this was definitely hers. Curling her lip, she strained her neck to look at the dark figure. It appeared to be some sort of tracker dog as well which calmed her slightly. Was it another rogue? The word sent a shiver down her spine. Pändröa was a rogue, and soon they would come looking for her. If only she had feigned death. How stupid she had been!
The tracker dog came closer into view, the light casting off of the full moon showing him to her. He was thinly built, a mostly dark colour with glowing green and bright white markings. Pändröa went to take a step backwards, but the grasses began to rustle. The glowing tracker dog glared in her direction, a soft growl emitting from his throat. "Who is there?" He asked, his voice filled with anger. Slowly Pändröa raised herself from the grasses, cringing ever so slightly. "I am," She replied in a hushed voice.
The growling turned to chuckling, and Pändröa looked up to see the tracker laughing in her face. Scowling, she took a step backwards. "What's your problem?" She asked, crouching down defensively. "Oh, you're just so tiny! How are you meant to help anyone being that small?" He asked, his voice almost hysterical, "I thought I was up against someone huge, but I just found you, small fry." Frowning, Pändröa straightened up and sat down. "Size doesn't matter! I'm free to do as I wish. I don't help. Now get out of my meadow!" She snapped, turning her head away. "Oh, come on, little one. What's the use of being so special if you aren't going to utilize it? Go back to the humans," The male replied. "Don't patronize me, Bohemoth. I'm useless. I can't do anything without getting distracted or running off. I'm a pathetic excuse for a Tracker," Pändröa said, her voice soft. "Oh, small one, you can't say that! Come with me, I can help you," He said.
As the two tracker dogs walked away, a small voice was audible. "By the way, the name's Alaric."
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