User blog:Locke Flinnt/WWYD-reply 1: Hellhound.

(Sidenote. So there was this WWYD post by a certain Wikia Contributor asking us how we'd react to a somewhat acting up daughter's retort, said girl being a hellhound and apologetic as of the last line of the situation report by that Contributor. As the answer got a bit unruly itself, had to consult the specialist about it and was told to relocate the comment here.

Just in case one stumbles upon this post without seeing the WWYD-post, I'll have it copied right before my "reply", This being the first - hopefully, not the last - post of such kind, I presume this to be the standart layout I'll stick to when posting these WWYD-replies./Sidenote)

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My baby-girl just barked at me to shut up. It hits me like a ton of bricks. Thoughts in my head are at disarray, my mood whiplashing constantly. Being torn between the urge to brutally restore my authority in a spectacular display of domestic violence and thought of appeasing my lowly cunning by reporting the whole incident to my wife, which will most likely result in even more horrifying punishment for my daughter, though the latter will lead to me losing what remains of my authority in her eyes. This leaves me with only the former, forcing me into the role of carnifex upon my own child. My own child yelling at me! My own daughter, the one I conceived, the one I raised, the one I gave all my love, for whom I gave up my service, for whom I would kill or die without a second thought, should it be needed!.. My own flesh and blood!.. And I shall...what? Am I going to raise an arm on my own child? It is I who gave you life, it shall be me who will take it, is that how the cossack father told his traitor son? Am I going to hit the one that I hold dearest in both this and that world? A hurricane on images flashes past my eyes: my hand being drawn back, the disbelief upon my daughter's face, her eyes widening in horror, my hand striking her, bruising her tender dark-grey skin, the terrified gaze of her tearful amber eyes; my hand outstretching to grab her by the wrist just under the line where the crimson furr starts growing, her body struggling in vane, being dragged to the couch and thrown onto it like a doll... I'd maim a man for as much as a wrong look at her, and here I am about to hurt my baby girl with my own hands. For the first time these past ten years I feel the old scar just under my heart start aching dully.

My daughter crossing the line at school again, crossing the line with me here, now, for the first time. And me about to cross the line, too. Guess I can't blame her, really. She may take it after her mother in appearance, but the character she inherited is more akin to mine. I've always had a hair-trigger temper - even my honey couldn't match that - and I've always been prone to being brash, though I'd always manage to think one last time before acting and not drop the metaphorical hammer after all when I couldn't live with the consequences. Luckily for me, I learned to keep myself in check early on, thank my parents for that. Which means that I have failed at teaching my daughter the same. It wasn't her retort that hurt - it was knowledge that she was right in a way. I had no rights to talk about complex moral issues since I hadn't taught her the basics – her mother couldn't teach the girl self-restraint, that was the human thing, a concept somewhat alien to hellhounds.

"D-dad?..", my girl whispers quietly,"Are...are you..?" She looks worried, aware of her misbehavior, but afraid to either move back to try escaping the punishment by fleeing or come closer to toutch me and talk this out. At least she's not running away... Suddenly, all the weigh of this entire situation comes down crashing on me, I drop myself on the couch feeling weak in the knees and light in the head - getting old has it's drawbacks. The little helhound snaps out of her indecisiveness and rushes to me, pressing an ear to my chest, then looking into my eyes as if to see the answer written in them. She's not bad for all I know, she's just young and not quite able to control her emotions yet - which is mostly my fault. I pat her on the head lightly, feeling her ears still stiff. "It's all right, Come 'ere. I understan, I'm not angry with you." Not anymore, for it is me who led us both to this mess.

My girl sits by my side, knees drawn to her chin, eyes wandering all around me, as if searching for something. "Dad... I'm... I don't know what's happening to me.", she speaks slowly. Ain't talkative when it comes to really serious matters, so this must be really hard for her to tell me. All the more gruelling experience she must have had with all this issue to make her talk. "When I'm alone, it's all ok, but once I'm around others, I get all heady as of lately. You get really angry or upset at times, too, right? I know, I can smell you feeling that way. But you never act up on that, never go wild or yell, only your scent changes. That, and your eyes. That blank thousand yard stare of yours...you look scary then. But now you smell sad, more than I've ever felt, even though you were mad at me just a moment before.” She lays her hands on my shoulder cautiously, her forehead pressed against my upper arm. “Tell me, how can you stay so calm at all times? I thought I'd gotten my temper from you, but i just keep losing it. What's wrong with me, dad?". I put my hands around her, she buries her face in my chest and sighs. “There is a simple torch burning in most men's hearts, though some got candles and others – furnaces. Your mother said once that I had a wildfire in my heart. And, while mortal men's passion burns with the fire of mortals, hellhound's heart is always engulfed in the hellfire burning ten times more intensively. Imagine the raging inferno of your own heart.”, I whisper the to my little girl's ear, running my fingers through her hair. Indeed, even above her mane I can feel the blaze she radiates constantly. How hard it is for me to remain calm on the outside, how unbearable must her feelings be, perceiving every emotion and experience with the intensity so great human mind would collapse in mere hours, if not minutes.

She's always been able to avoid violence, even though she would never hesitate to speak up her mind. This usually was the worst thing to happen to her. Something must have set her really off as this was not the first time she had an outburst in the school, though this was the most spectacular by far. I let her sit idly like this for quite some while, letting her calm down at least a bit."What's been going on lately? Has anything extraordinary happened to you in particular? Anyone mistreating you?", I ask her keeping my voice down. "Nah. Not Really.", her voice seems...somewhat drowsy - she must be getting sleepy, because otherwise she'd have to be drunk, and she definetely wasn't when all of this started. "Just getting jumpy around others my age. Especially girls. Can't stand 'em anymore. All prissy 'n' sissy, but only one thing on their mind... Then there's this new scent I've started smelling recenty. First thing I sence coming to school – or anywhere public, really - is that. And once I catch a whiff - then I really lose it. Can't think straight, can't breathe, as if I'm in a dense sack or something. Guess I'm just going crazy.". She inhales deeply, then smirks grimly and adds,"It's been getting worse these past few days. That smell's haunting me even at home, now.".

I can feel her hands on my back, unbearable heat sipping even through the clothing, her hold becoming firmer by the moment. Soon her claws start digging into my body in a manner all too well known to me, a manner I find somewhat inappropriate between a father and a daughter. "Dad?", her whispering voice becomes deeper, with every word she utters I hear bothering tones,"You smell so-o good...". With that, she looks me right in the eyes and – thank goodness - snaps out of it. Terrified of her own behavior and a few shades paler, she backs away from me and coils up in the far corner of the couch. Finally, my suspicions are confirmed. "No!.. No, no, no-no-no! I'm so sorry,dad, I really am sorry! I didn't mean!..", she sobs. A rather amusing explanation for all of this comes to my mind, I think I know now what smelled fishy all along, so to say. Before she goes completely unresponsive, I manage to come up with a plan on how to seize the iniciative. "Hey, kid?”, I tap her once on the shoulder, hard enough to draw he attention. “What's the name of that lucky son of a - khm! - that you've taken liking to?". My not so little anymore, as it turns out, girl looks stunned, tears still shining in the corners of her eyes. She is so taken by suprise that even forgets about what – almost – happened just a second ago. My guess turns out to be precise - hit it like a nail on the head. After taking breath a few times my girl finally regains the gift of speech. "W-what? How... N-no, you got it all wrong!.. Well...ok...yeah, there's one guy that's not half bad, but...". It seems she got where this was leading. “Oh, boy...” That really must be one hell of an “oh, boy” for my baby to lose her head like this. Although, judging from how she reacted to my scent, that lad must be pretty much like me. Hellhounds choose their prey by scent, after all, and oftentimes they subconsciensly seek out men with scent similar to that of their father's.

Ok, where there is one, there is always another. "Was there some other girl paying him too much attention?", I ask her. Strike two - she nods after a few seconds of thinking this over. "Guess I overdid it a little in a fit of...jealousy.", she says meekly in an obvious understatement, as caving a cooking pot in on another girl's skull is a bit more then "overdoing it a little". Not that her mother was any better when we first met. Or me around the same time, for that matter. How many innocent bystanders ended up in hospital for just talking to her or me. Especially to her. Those were some times!.. Oh, well, like the parents, like the child.

"Well, now we both know you ain't crazy.", I tell her reassuringly. "You're just horny. Don't worry, 'tis all natural. You know what, go ask the guy out, that should help your jealousy fits! Hope he's a good boy, I won't tolerate some arse near my baby. Oh, and make it safe, allright? I may be getting old, but not in the mood for becoming literally a grandpa. Besides, I won't handle another hellhound - you an' your mom are more than enough, really.". The look on my daughter's face is priceless - a concoction of disbelief, confusion and shame paints her cheeks bright red. Willing to drive the point home, I decide to add the injury to the insult. "You know what, go loot my bedside table, there should be a fresh pack of rubber. The extra-durables, they should hold, but I'd still not go all-out on them. Seen those things breaking in a few motions, and that wasn't the fiercest go we'd given 'em." She's completely deep-red now and robbed of speech.

A minute or so passes in dead silence, me doing my best to keep a straight face. "That was embarassing as hell, not to mention the creepy part about you and mom...", the girl finally squeezes the words out and shudders. "Just so you get the taste of what I'm going through tomorrow when we go to apologize to your teach for demolishing the room.", I tell my daughter, allowing myself to grin snidely at last. She looks a bit unsure as to what to make of this. "S-so... That's it, then? You're not gonna punish me or anything?". "What, feeling masochist all of a sudden?", I ask her jokingly to relieve the remaining tension. "No, seeing you so embarassed was a reward enough. Seriously, though, I'll have to fix the mess you made there in the classroom. Part of that is my fault, too. Should've told you earlier about hellhounds getting frisky around boys when maturing and how to hold out long enough for your reason to kick in again. After all, I am and always will be your father, and you - my child. You are my responsibility. My treasure. I'm always there for you, no matter what is your need. Never hesitate to come to me for help.".

She once again sits by my side, careful not to make the same mistake twice. "Thanks, pa. I guess... Though I'd rather take a spanking or something instead of learning about your intimacy with mom." Seeng the way I raise an eyebrow upon hearing the spanking bit, she blushes. "I'm sorry, kido, but not that kind of help.", I tell her with a giggle as she hurries to correct herself. "Uh, poor choice of words! Not that kind of spanking!". This awkward exchange leaves us both laughing for quite a bit. "But, you know, regular intimacy helps, too. You should really try dating that lad of yours or you know, relieve the stress manually". Strike three! She's freaked out."Pa, sometimes you not only embarass me, but scare the hell outa me, too.". That's what parents are there for, right? Aside from all the “raise and protect” routine, of course.

We sit like this for a while, both tired from all the (mis)communication. I throw a sideway glance only to see my daughter with a tense expression on her face, hands clenched in fists. "How's your willpower training?", I ask my girl with a smug smile. "Barely holding. Can hardly think straight.", she replies in short huffs."Allright, enough!". The young hellhound jumps off the couch, but stops dead in her tracks and jolts as if struck by lightning, suppressing a yelp. "Aroused much?", I ask her snidely, but soon change the tone. "Allright, go find someplace private and cool down. I'll just go to the shed, check the tools, give you some space.".The girl nods gratefully and step by step makes her way to the bathroom. As she is about to dissappear behind the door, I hear her saying something about cold shower. I turn around to warn her that cold shower won't literally cool her down, but the ofher door slams open the same instant and my wife comes in. "I'm home! Got ourselves some hares in the wood for dinner! Guess, who gets to skin them?", her voice seems overenthusiastic, until she catches a whiff of something, drops the sack and sniffs the air audiably, asking me a tricky question. “What's this..? Do you smell that? Smells like...” That moment I hear the hiss of water and a loud yelp, a cuss, a scream and a few moans straight from the bathroom. “... teen spirits?”, I ask my wife in return. My daughter's voice is heard once again from the bathroom, every phrase intermixed with panting heavily. “Oh, WOW! Damn! That. Felt. Awesome! O-oh! That's some “cooling down”, all right! Oh, boy! Hell, must have been too vocal. Good thing pops was outside. I just hope he didn't hear...” She doesn't get to finish the sentence, because that very moment she walks – more like dances, to be honest – out of the bathroom, all happy, refreshed, steaming as the cold water evaporates off her burning-hot skin, and still naked. “What were you doing, exactly?”, my honey asks us, sending angry looks my way. “I'll go handle the meat, you go ahead and explain our kido how to relieve stress...manually.”, 'couse I've had enough embarassing father-daughter interactions for today, I think to myself. “If there what, just gimme a yell.” - this last remark sends my baby-girl blushing furiously, as I walk off, leaving both of my beloved hellhounds to their own devices.