[Garrison]

  They all look the damned same from this far.

  Blacks and browns, shades of beige that blend with the desert sand they scuttle around. All but a handful of anyone with an eyesore pelt that makes it into Oukoku are killed before acquiring any rank of clout. The exceptions to this are rare enough to only prove the rule.

  There’s a pink Herbalist around, and a pair in bright orange, easily differentiated by the fact Tibet it a snake of a mutt, and Tovelo is the tiniest Ashigaru imaginable. Garrison hadn’t really taken her seriously until she’d returned from war, scarred and satisfied. He’d thought, there must be something to it then, and upon seeing that orange woman chat up a kid, he figured she must be getting bored.

  So, the Officer ventured down from his commanding watch over the slave pits to meet the little woman. Hell; she’s even smaller up close. He snorts a bit in introduction, even if the heavy footfalls should have given him away long before. The burns catch his eyes first, and Garrison’s tongue swipes his nose. “Looks like I missed a damn good fight,” he states with a nod to her injuries, “but somebody had to hold down the fort.”

[Tovelo]

Her conversation with the little red girl, Ashtaroth had left her riddled with feelings of unease and paranoia. Where was the Shihan? Was she simply hiding away to lick her wounds in peace like Tovelo had? Questions that she burned to know did nothing but frustrate her to the point where her mind was clouded with smoke and her brow was creased into a scowl.

The sound of heavy pawsteps heading her way snapped her head up and her scowl eased a small fraction when she spyed the large grey male heading her way. Officer Garrison. She knew of him, they ran in the same circles after all, it was nearly impossible to ignore the huge guy. Tovelo felt even smaller than normal next to him but she felt not a lick of fear. Instead she bared her teeth, sharp little daggers glistening with saliva as she grinned.

"It was a glorious sight to behold," The fire, the screams, the blood and pain and ash that permeated the war had been like a beautiful orcastra to the sadistic little slaver. "It's a shame you had to miss out on all the fun." Her grin became crooked and slightly tauntin now as she teased the big man, "Next time, maybe?" Tovelo had and odd way of flirting.

[Garrison]

  His sigh is exaggerated, shoulders heaving. Oh, how he wanted to be there. How he ached to bring some heathens back like they took Ezekiel, price paid for however many of the soldiers lost were stolen from them. He shakes his head, glares in the direction of the spire. The slashes bleeding at the base of his throat marked him as the short straw for so long, but now he's beginning to think his imposing size and nasty demeanor are being taken advantage of.

  His fur grew over the marks long ago, and that weight has crushed all dissent he finds. "Next time," he agrees with a closed-lip grin. Smarmy bastard. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." Next time, he intends to be delegating who fights and who defends.

  Garrison seats himself, scratching at his neck as he considers her scars. What he lacks in manners, he makes up in loyalty and violence. "Pens are looking low," the dire complains conversationally, as if she isn't aware. Like the posturing isn't painfully obvious. "I'm dyin' for Slaving Season."

[Tovelo]

"Next time," He promised, his voice dark and threatening enough to send a chill down her spine. If she were a cat she would have purred and she rubbed herself between his front legs, weaving between them like a feline. He was just big enough to do it. Garrison was formidable in both size and ferocity, using both his mass and fury to destroy foes and opponents with relative ease. He would have been a great asset out there on the battlefield but there were others who thought he wasn't worthy of being there. His scars may be hidden but they were still there, taunting him.

Tovelo herself had been born and raised in the valley but her parents and siblings were all long gone and long dead either from desertion or disease. She was the only one left but she didn't let that bother her, why should it when only the fittest would survive? It taught her not to put too much emotional value on someone. Life was too short to be tied to a person. Jackdaw had reminded her of that. At least, that's what she'd fooled herself into believing. Fooled herself so that she wouldn't make the silly mistake of wishing for more. The best she could hope for was to live, fight and serve the Rosa until the day that she died. But here Garrison was, in all his towering glory trying to make her feel things with that charming smile of his.

Good luck buddy.

"Pens are looking low," He comments and she nods in agreement. "Aye." She didn't like it either, the tiny pint-sized slaver was itching for the beginning of the season just as much as he was probably. "I'm dyin' for Slaving Season." Tovelo snorted in amusement and took a seat herself, stretching out along her side to get comfortable and take the pressure off her steal healing scars. "You and me both." She murmurs and then goes quiet for a moment as she considers, "I'll have to find the Shihan and ask about that. I haven't seen her since we went into the War, I hope she made it back."