[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; color: #494949; font-family: karla; font-size: 8pt; letter-spacing: 0.2px; word-spacing: 1px; margin-top: 10px;"]rory had to admit, this was a pretty solid idea.
comeptition fueled people, naturally. drove them to learn. rory wasn't much of a fan of transportation-by-animal — or a horse to be specific. the smell they entailed was fucking atrocious , a smell that rory couldn't bother to get behind even if it got him somewhere faster. not only that, but any living, breathing thing that was bigger than him couldn't be trusted. let that thing under him, and he'd be dead in a split fucking second — no thank you, he was good on that. dogs and sleds, though? far more up his alley.
rory had always been a dog person. you could trust them far more than humans, a much more suitable companion than cats. when rory was little, he remembered wanting to bring home the strays he and his mother saw in boxes on the road back to their house. she'd always dismiss it until one day , she brought one home for his birthday. the poor thing lasted about three months in the household before an abusive drunken asshole got ahold of it , but in that little time it'd become rory's best friend. since then , he hadn't stumbled upon one he bonded with as much — and besides , most of them were strays fighting just as vigorously as him for their next meal. he didn't want to risk being bitten.
that all changed with these dogs, or at least one dog in particular. oakley was the color of snow and rust, with eyes to match. he was a leader in one of the three , and did a hell of a job at it. the other dogs clearly admired him , and hell , so did rory. besides observation , he didn't get to experience the dog in full motion . perhaps it was time he did so. "what's our reward for winning this?" he asks tommy, trekking over to an excited yet concentrated oakley; he simply acknowledges rory with a wag of his tail.
comeptition fueled people, naturally. drove them to learn. rory wasn't much of a fan of transportation-by-animal — or a horse to be specific. the smell they entailed was fucking atrocious , a smell that rory couldn't bother to get behind even if it got him somewhere faster. not only that, but any living, breathing thing that was bigger than him couldn't be trusted. let that thing under him, and he'd be dead in a split fucking second — no thank you, he was good on that. dogs and sleds, though? far more up his alley.
rory had always been a dog person. you could trust them far more than humans, a much more suitable companion than cats. when rory was little, he remembered wanting to bring home the strays he and his mother saw in boxes on the road back to their house. she'd always dismiss it until one day , she brought one home for his birthday. the poor thing lasted about three months in the household before an abusive drunken asshole got ahold of it , but in that little time it'd become rory's best friend. since then , he hadn't stumbled upon one he bonded with as much — and besides , most of them were strays fighting just as vigorously as him for their next meal. he didn't want to risk being bitten.
that all changed with these dogs, or at least one dog in particular. oakley was the color of snow and rust, with eyes to match. he was a leader in one of the three , and did a hell of a job at it. the other dogs clearly admired him , and hell , so did rory. besides observation , he didn't get to experience the dog in full motion . perhaps it was time he did so. "what's our reward for winning this?" he asks tommy, trekking over to an excited yet concentrated oakley; he simply acknowledges rory with a wag of his tail.