Dominion 'Dom' MacCready

Bailey must’ve been getting sloppy in his older age.

No night watch, not even that little yapping mutt that old Jackie bought to take the guard dog’s place. Hell, it was starting to look like that transition was gonna happen sooner rather than later based on the way this farm was being run.

Not that Dom could relate.

Back in his day, Jackie ran that farm like a tight ship. He was soft, sure. But it was a familiar game of push and pull that Dom knew how to play. Jackie kept the farm locked up and protected, Dom infiltrated and got a few of those tasty sheep only for someone to come out shooting–it was familiar. Reliable.

Until Jackie decided it would be better to start pushing daisies and have his grandkid of all people become the farm’s new owner in his stead. What an absolute joke.

But if that meant Dom could take advantage of this newly mismanaged place, he wasn’t going to complain.

The moon had fallen ages ago, the flocks all called inside for the night. But one stray demihuman had decided they’d rather stay out later than the rest. Predatory orange eyes tracked their gate as they meandered along, unaware of the beast lying in wait just mere inches away, claws gleaming in the moonlight.

Too easy.

Blood spilled without a second thought, gurgling the only sound announcing the death of the poor grown sheep that fell right into Dom’s jaws. His claws made quick work of their flesh, cutting strips of meat to slide right down his throat. “Usually I prefer your type cooked, but raw has its moments,” the coyote conceded with a low rumble, smiling as he glanced down at the demihuman’s lifeless eyes. This was meant to be a warning, after all, not a buffet. With him and what pack? It would be stupid to try anything more than this, but Dom was going to milk it for all it was worth—

And that’s when he heard a twig snap.

Dom’s ears immediately perked, but not in alarm, but recognition.

This wasn’t the too-eager gate of a puppy boy coming to growl and threaten him, nor the stomping thuds of a guard dog coming to shoot his head clean off. This was something different.

It was that new farmer, lantern in hand with a pitiful little light to show them the way. At first, it showed them red on brown dirt, and next it showed a limb in the tall grass. Finally, it shined a light on the body of the man crouching right beside it, blood smeared on his fingers and the crooked grin marring his face.

“Well, well, well,” the coyote rumbled, standing to his full height. His tail gave an eager swish behind him. “Funny seeing you out here, farmer. I figured you’d be cozying up with those two mutts of yours, nice and warm, safe inside that little farmhouse you call home.”

Dom gestured to the limp corpse between them, shoving one of his bloodied hands into the pocket of his pants. “So what brings you out here, hm? Come to see where your little sheepie ran off to?”

The gleam in his eye from the light began to glint, cruel as he licked a long strip down his finger, enjoying his meal to the fullest. “Wouldn’t know anything about that, personally,” he said, giving the body a light tap with his boot. “Just... found ‘em like this.”

His smile was tight-lipped, but it did nothing to hide the edge of his canines. “This farm seems to have a real predator problem, huh?”

It was always an entertaining sight when Honeysuckle Farm got itself in a tizzy.

Dom could spot cow demihumans rushing around and outside the barn, voices raised in distress while the livestock guardians tried—and failed—to calm them down. It was the early hours of the morning, just before chow. Dom wasn’t usually the type to stroll by the fenceline keeping all the nasty critters like him out, but something had felt... different.

It was the smell of blood, for one. And that always got his nose twitching. Not the sweet, musky scent of a new birth to welcome a new demihuman onto the farm, but something deeper. Metallic. Like old blood mixed with morning dew, dripping from freshly grown stalks of wheat, mixed with absolute fear.

Dom’s ears vaguely pricked at the sound of words on the wind, giving him a glimpse of what transpired.

Second... calf... night... missing... eaten?... varmint... injured Sampson... night...

Hm. That painted quite the vivid picture, didn’t it?

If a calf had been taken by any one of his pack, he’d know. His nose was keen enough to scent out what predator had been responsible. And besides, if it was one from his pack, and they had the gall not to share? That would’ve been a whole ‘nother problem in itself. But no. The predator stench here wasn’t one of his.

So it seems Honeysuckle Farm had yet another worry added onto their already toppling plate.

Dom’s eyes lazily traced the visage of a figure coming down hot from the hill to the lower edges of the fence, where he greeted them with a flick of his tail. “Farmer,” he uttered. “Seems like you got a real problem on your hands—”

And that’s when the muzzle of a rifle was being aimed right at his head.

“Woah, now. Hold your horses! I didn’t peg you the type to jump the gun,” he simpered, his back straightening up. Literally. “Before you go shootin’ anyone’s head off, you oughta make sure you’re holding the right predator responsible now, don’tcha?”

Still, Dom knew when he was caught in a bind, so he raised his clawed hands, revealing the calluses prominent on his palm. Clean of blood, and no bits hanging from his teeth either. Not that that would be enough to get them off his case. “If this was our doing, you’d know it. Besides,” he continued, jutting out his knee as he continued to talk. “No point in picking off a calf anyhow. They don’t even got any meat on their bones! Ain’t enough to feed even one of my guys. We prefer ours grown.”

Dom was right and they knew it. The MacCready’s never shied away from accepting responsibility for a missing animal. If they claimed a demihuman, Honeysuckle Farm would know about it. And it was because of this truth he could begin to see that shift in their eyes, the type that gave him just a little bit of edge.

“Say, how ‘bout we make ourselves a little deal, hm?” he began, his voice low and rough, like a secret shared amongst friends. “This is... what, the second time this happened? You know Bailey-boy and your little dog Cooper ain’t gonna be able to find out who did this, let alone stop it. The cops won’t care neither. Another missin' animal? Hah!–” he spit on the grassy pasture. “–just another day of farmlife, farmer! You know how it is.”

Dom leaned in, deliberately pressing his forehead harder against the cool muzzle of the rifle.

“But me? I can find out who did this for you,” Dom promised. “Bring those sunovabitches responsible right to your farmhouse doorstep and let you do the honors of doin’ ‘em in. Might even be able to find those little ones they took too. No more missin’ calves, and one less predator off your hands. Sounds good, don’t it?”

Sounded good to Dom, at least. He wasn’t the sharing type, especially not when it came to Honeysuckle Farm. Even if they didn’t accept, he’d likely send out Lex to do her own sniffing to see what dumbasses decided they could snatch from the farm without giving the MacCready’s their dues. But there was a catch. There was always a catch, wasn’t there?

He tilted his head, as if in mock contemplation. “All I’m askin’ for is a little bit of subsistence. Got a pack to feed, and winter is comin’ mighty soon, ain’t it? Two-for-one special, sweetheart. You’ll get rid of some predators takin’ what’s not theirs, and you get me out of your hair for the season. Sounds mighty amendable, don’t you think?”

Some other demihuman had begun to scent-mark the local forest, and it was obvious to anyone paying attention in the pack that it rocked Dom the hell off.

Didn’t matter if it was skunk, coyote or what. Dom had them taken care of without a second thought. If you started marking space that belonged to the MacCready’s? You were done for. And going so far as to mark the fences of Honeysuckle Farm? It’s like the poor dumbass had a death wish!

And finally, Dom decided it was time he put a stop to all that. Ordered Ruf to go track down that poor sod and nip that in the bud and took it upon himself to personally mark it the fence line again, just so all of the forest would know Dom MacCready wuz here. Keep Out.

The fence line smelled like a mixture of faded musk over wood, mixed with the scent of sheep, cows and other demihumans that lingered in grain. It smelled like someone else had marked it. And that just couldn’t stand.

Stale grass crunched underneath his boots as he readjusted himself, zipper already pulled down halfway to whip himself out as a steady stream began to darken the old wood as he let out an uncharacteristic sigh. The relief in pissing on something—well, not just something, but reclaiming what was his, made his fur stick straight up and his tail flick in pride. Good piss indeed.

Only problem was, it looks like his little scent marking schtick had been caught, by none other than that new farmer. Dom’s ears twitched, but he didn’t move, standing just as lax as he always did as he marked the fence line. No shame was the MacCready way, after all.

“Howdy, farmer,” he greeted, teeth sharp as he grinned. “Don’t mind me. Just markin’ something that someone thought was theirs to claim. I’ll be outta your hair in... say, give it a minute or so. Can’t rush work like this, you know?”

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