Blowing off Steam

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"What, couldn't find any dog to sniff the hindquarters of?"

A sound escaped Dainn's lips that was not unlike a scoff, but the dark curving of his smirk spoke of the Shuck's inward amusement. "Is that an invitation?" he offered breezily, flourishing a waving hand about the air while his other remained tucked away in his pocket. The officer was on the taunting offensive, obviously trying to gauge Dainn's anger levels. An old trick, Dainn was used to this; some of the more ballsy Drakonrhedi often thought they had a shot at it. In some regards, it was almost sweet. Almost.

"From what I understand, you are quite willing to work your craft on anyone. What is a privilege without discrimination?"

At this, Dainn brought his once-sheltered hand free from his pocket and cracked his knuckles against the free palm. The sound of the cartilage hammered the silence between them. The Shuck raised his head slowly, the lamplight glinting off the dark hue in his eyes. His smirk had settled now into a small, tight smile, "Oh? You don't think you're worthy enough of my hand?" he cooed softly, the prickling undertones of mockery seeping into his otherwise lulling voice.

In truth, was anyone really worthy of his treatment? Dainn liked to think they weren't, but then again, if he performed with that mindset, he'd never have any fun around here and his creativity would go to waste. Drakonrhedi were different; they were an entirely different league altogether. When Dainn hunted civilians, he did it for fun, for game, for pleasure. When he sought after Drakonrhedi, there was a solid purpose, his own sense of duty. Drakonrhedi dealt with behemoths, Dainn dealt with Drakonrhedi. It was his responsibility, and no one could convince him otherwise.

At the mention of a master, the Drakonrhedi was keen to express his amusement, probably at the fact that the Shuck - the famed Shuck - would stoop low enough to call anyone his master. In truth, the idea made even Dainn wrinkle his nose up. Having a higher authority was essentially prison all over again; the watchful gaze, the hand on the shoulder, the constant pressure of punishment. Was Victor really any different? The answer was...yes, he was. Because (and this was with a startling revelation) Dainn liked it. After all, what was any good dog without his master?

"So you're in need of entertainment, then? Perhaps a dogfight would appeal to you more, being of the canine persuasion yourself."

It was as if this Drakonrhedi was holding a piece of meat in front of Dainn's nose. A single drop of saliva ran down his pale chin and further still down his neck, which was pulsing ever so slightly as the blood furiously pumped through his veins, heartbeat quickening. Perhaps this unusual example of Drakonrhedi was cut above the rest, a worthy challenger, someone he afford to engage in a little fun with. Gods it was so tempting, to have a substantial, high-energy fight instead of a simple, messy execution. Of course, the end would be the same, regardless.

As Dainn prepared himself to launch forward with full force, the man opposite him suddenly became...very unlike himself. His original structure seemed to dissolve and re-align itself, growing fuller, getting taller. The skin paled slightly, the face more angular, the hair darkening significantly and curling. Dainn watched it all; brow furrowing only slightly and eyes narrowing, face long but straight, as if he was watching a game of tennis. His mind was a momentary blank, a brief overload as it tried to comprehend the process in front of him. When it settled, so did the shifting of the man opposite him, and then suddenly, it was as if one of his wanted posters had come to life.

It was an exact mirror image; not a joint or a hair out of place. Even the teeth, straight and white, glistened like his own as Dainn V.2 smirked a very Dainn-like smirk. The original Dainn's face looked far from amused, although certainly by no means angry. More...intrigued, a slight spark of wonder behind those otherwise indifferent eyes.

"The Shuck,"

Dainn could've smirked, hearing the sound of his own voice caress his eardrums, seeing the words fall from his own pink-ish lips. This certainly was a worthwhile evening.

"So powerful, so great, so proud, yet baffled by such simple tricks. Well, not simple for you, perhaps, but I am enlightened far beyond what your little minds can hold."

Now Dainn had to figure out exactly what sort of trick this was. As far as his knowledge stretched, he knew of no sorts of magic that allowed a person to alter forms entirely. Well, no sort a person could be gifted with at birth. Such an ability was attained, usually with a pendant or charm and yet - Dainn could see no sign of it on his living, breathing reflection. This curios man wearing his body, who are you?

Who are you with your forward words and your sense of familiarity?

Perhaps it was possible then, for some people to naturally have remarkable shifting abilities. Otherwise, it would have to be an individual with an outstanding grasp on anatomy, someone who would have intensely studied the human form and-

Oh.
Oh. I get it now.

The look of bemusement slowly dissolved into a shaded smirk, one corner flicking up to give just a hint of teeth. A tiger seeing his prey through the tall strands of grass.

Gotcha.

"I think you may find the tables are turned against you, 'poppet'. Not everywhere can you walk as a wolf among sheep. Occasionally you encounter something far more powerful. Far beyond your mortal reach. So come, then. Are you aching for a fight? I will humor you, only for tonight."

With every fresh word, new cogs rattled and turned, different ideas birthing themselves in Dainn's mind. He processed each and all, a long, heavy sigh escaping his lips, as if receiving an immense wave of pleasure. It almost could've sounded sexual to an unknowing bystander but thankfully, they were all alone. For a brief moment or two, Dainn's eyes seized shut, mouth hanging low to taste the air. The familiar twang of bitter smoke hit his senses once again. Somewhere in the city, something was on fire.

Eventually, after a pause of contemplation, Dainn opened his eyes. The lamplight flickered. "How you look in my body, the way you sound." he began, voice breathy as if recovering from a run, "...it's almost criminal."
There was a flash of madness in those jet eyes, a grin pulling at his wet lips. He took a few slow but purposeful strides over, stopping about three meters away from his clone. The doppelgangers musk was different from his own. One had to live the genuine lifestyle to achieve such a recognizable scent. In his mind, Dainn marked his clone a few points down. Still, an A for effort, at least.

A bony, pale hand reached up and scratched the underside of Dainn's neck, his eyes still surveying the mirror image in front of him. The smile stayed put. "If I knew you could do this, Victor, I would've asked you to do it a lot sooner."

The words were said so casually, so airily, a fleeting remark, but Dainn was quietly confident. This man in front of him, now wearing his skin (the 'wolf in sheep's clothing' really was such a delightfully apt metaphor), speaking with words that Dainn only associated with one other individual was a man much more familiar to him than first thought - Dainn was sure of it.

Dainn spoke again, his voice soft and encouraging, like he was speaking to a dim-witted child.

"But in answer to your earlier question; I'm not just aching for a fight, I'm dying for one." He licked his top lip, slow and hungrily, "If this is the part were you assert your dominance over your house pets, then it's about damn time." There was low, rumbling laugh, "I've made such a terrible mess of your home, master."