A Heartbroken Hound (Open)

There was another lupine situated in the cemetery that night. Her face, obscured by a black birdcage veil hat, was the only thing lit in the orange glow of her cigarette being lit. The rest of her body was draped in black; a fashionable black dress, black stilletos, and a coat made entirely of black mink. The grave before her had been situated next to the crying hound, and instead of mourning, Cruella was staring blankly at it. Respects was all she was here for. Her mother left the fortune, not her wild and unruly father lying at the grave she was standing in front of. But, oh well, the flowers, complete with a flick of ash from her cigarette, would do.

A shadow shifted in Cruella's point of view, and she cast a glance. A red and white hound was sitting on a grave. Xhe had heard stories of a dog in Scotland who had died while staying near the owner's side, and wondered if this was a similar instance. Yet why was this one so much...lankier than others? Her finger curled towards herself, beckoning like a human would call a hound. "No need to get yourself more matted, darling, there's a storm on the horizon." Not that her fur wasn't matted enough.

Cruella gave an irritated puff from her cigarette. The gray smoke floated through the cemetery, disappearing into a foul-smelling puff. She had tried to convert to the "e-cigs" and "vapes" that she had seen of the girls smoking on some of their breaks, but the artificial taste was disgusting. Perhaps it was starting to bleed into her conversation with this small lupine creature. "Surely you wouldn't think I'd come prepared." She snapped a black umbrella, with a damask lace design, up and over her head. When her eyes rolled up, the whites in her already sunk-in eyes made a ghastly appearance. "Forgive me to intruding your feeble weeping. But in my opinion, us hounds should not weep to begin with. It lowers our strength."

Most people would have been insulted at being called glory hounds. Cruella had always been the exact opposite of offended. Rather than scowling or narrowing her eyes or blowing smoke to make the hound cough again, she just threw her head back. The cackle she uttered rang loudly, like church bells over a graveyard such as this. "Oh, sweet simple girl, I've heard every hound comment in the book. It only offends me halfway!"

Cruella's lips curled up at the comment. Beneath the blood red lips were glistening white teeth. In the snarl, two of the teeth elongated. Jenna Bragin, not that she cared whatever this lupine was that was in fact not a werewolf was called, was playing a very dangerous game. "I suggest you ease on the comments of my pack. Like I said before, I'm HALF. The rest is something he," she pointed her cigarette to the grave of her father, "learned not to fuck with."

“No. My father gave me lycanthropy. My mother was a night queen.” Cruella let the words flow like the very bold she thirsted for. “Hybrids come with benefits. No death by silver, no burning in the sunlight, nothing of the classic type.” She swung the cigarette aside, the smoke curling in the direction away from the graves.

Why was this hound staring at her so intensely? The body language confused Cruella. No one in her pack narrowed their eyes or pointed their ears downward unless they had caught the scent of prey. Had there been a...no, that would be impossible. If there was fresh meat willingly coming to the cemetery late, she would have smelled it, too. The dog apologized, backing away timidly. Cruella rolled her eyes. "You could at least apologize for choosing to come to a place of mourning to cry over a broken heart. I've heard enough of my girls cry over boys to know the pathetic sound."