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Mambe prowled through the slave cages, looking at each feline as if they were goods, and not living creatures. They came in all colors and shapes, much like the other hounds who were also roaming the paths. He crossed through a pathetic looking mud puddle, uncaring about the squelching sound his paws made in the goop. The river beside his house had worse and he went in it nearly every day. Because of this he knew that he stood out, a hound uncaring about appearance? Willing to get his paws dirty with something so common as mud and not seem phased by it?

He could almost see the thoughts that raced across those kitty minds that watched him. He grinned at one feline, and watched it recoil. No one ever said Mambe was a charismatic hound, despite his pelt colors and the way he carried himself. He was a trained warrior who, despite what his peers often thought, kept himself in shape by his lifestyle. What better way to keep his skills honed then by fishing and dealing with the crocodiles that tried to drift into his part of the river.

With a dark chuckle to himself Mambe continue to wined his way among the cages, before stopping in front of one that held a pure white feline with black accents on its ears and tail. "What's yer name." He asked, voice coming out with a slight growl behind the words. He really did need to work on his social skills.

Mambe grinned at the white feline, knowing it looked more like he was baring his teeth at the poor contradicting thing. Humility one moment then mouthiness in the next breath. "Aye, I'm quite tha 'unrefined beast' but there are scarier Hounds out there." He replied, still looking over the feline as if he were looking for something in particular he wanted.

When the spotted hound had come to buy himself a slave or five he hadn't really had anything in mind. They had to be sound of mind and body and any attitude adjustments he could do himself. He knew for a fact that beatings only got you so far, hard work was the key to breaking anyone. That and being confined to a small dark space with little food and no sense of time.

"I need a slave who isn't afraid o water or any manner o beast that might approach em in there." He said finally, ignoring the little slaves comment that there were prettier pelts on the market then his. He didn't give a rattlesnakes shaker about slaves who were pleasing to the eye. "You think you could fit that bill?" He rumbled, prowling as much as he could around Shornic's cage, eying the feline from all angles.

The spotted hound chuckled, a sound that came from the back of the beasts throat and ended with a little snort. "The beasts in tha water have a lil more bite then a whip boy, a good chomp from em could leave you nothin more than some white scraps o fur on the shore." He stopped in front of the cage and did a mental tally of the stones he had versus how many slaves he wanted to buy. While he wasn't one of the more wealthy hounds, he did have a little to spare on purchasing a slave or five.

"Oi, Hyena, I'll take this one." He said, suddenly calling out to Hyde. He turned back to Shornic, his expression serious, "I'll be using you to look for others to buy. If you know somethin about em you tell me right away, you hear. I don't want no pity kitty with some personal history that means nothin ta me. You hear?" Hyde came over then, grumbling and slippery as usual. The chain was unlocked and stones were exchanged. "Come, I need three more slaves for what I have in mind."

He didn't wait much longer after the feline had been released before he moved on, slinking between the cages like a thief looking for treasure. He'd spied a few earlier that he wouldn't mind taking a second or third look at now that he had a feline who had, hopefully, kept his ears open. If not, well, that was one thing his new slave would learn, was that he had to listen to gossip even if he himself didn't understand much of it. After all, how else was someone supposed to learn things about others without having to really lift a paw? A lot about a hound, or slave, could be gleaned just from their behavior.

Mambe was a good example of a walking contradiction. He walked like an unrefined beast with an attitude that was just as pleasant. Yet he never beat his slaves or had them killed unnecessarily. If there was a problem he preferred to try and work it out himself, or send said slave off for a higher level of training before he resorted to selling them. It was bad for business after all, to have a high turnover of slaves. It was also danged expensive.

He stopped suddenly, in front of one of the smaller cages, with a rather small feline inside. This one was white with splotches of brown on her, as he deduced from her scent, that looked like someone had just dumped a pawfull of mud on her back, and more on her head. There were darker brown stripes inside the splotches that reminded him of rich earth.

"You, what's yer name." He demanded, orange eyes eyeing her up and down, looking for physical deformities. She had been quiet, almost too quiet, and the way she sat said that she had attitude. He liked attitude, or else he wouldn't have bought Shornic. He wanted a feline who could think for itself, yet still fulfilled his orders. He wasn't going to war, but he ran a smooth household. He didn't like it when too many unknowns threw off his dream of a quiet, yet exciting life of fishing.

This is what he got for going on appearance rather then perceived intelligence or strength. Such a timid little thing, now that Shiq'ai had introduced herself. Submissive, shy, nervous. It made Mambe want to eat her alive. Such traits wouldn't have lasted long in war school, but at the same time, she also felt young, despite her proper language. He snorted, "You'll have ta do better'n that Shiq'ai." He said, stressing her name, "I don't want no timid kitty who'll be afraid o a lil water. Of tha things that live in there."

He watched her slight movements, grooming already clean fur. It was one thing to be clean, another entirely if it was an obsessive behavior. There was too much mud and other things where he lived to be obsessively clean all the time. "If you come with me you'll be diving into rivers and be up to yer shoulders in fish guts." He said, breaking the silence that had followed his previous statement. "You'll end up lickin yerself bald if you can't handle that." ...Wait. When did he decide that he was going to take her? Pah, he in no shape or form held a soft spot for felines, especially the 'different' sort.

He turned his orange eyes to Shornic, silently commanding the white slave to start talking. If he could give him even a small opinion about this one, then he could make up his mind and carry on. Daylight was burning and it was a long trip back home.

Shornic stared at the fae a bit wide-eyed. He didn't remember much from school days... He didn't remember much at all, really, but he wasn't about to point that out. The look from his new master burnt holes in the back of his eye sockets while he tried to guess what the brute wanted. A brief glance between the two gave him some hint. "Ur... She seems t' like the idea..." He muttered, watching her briefly with his eyes cocked at different heights. "An' there's other stuff a fae c'n do if she en't n'good, yah?"

He found himself annoyed, not really at the situation, but at the strange choice of actions the mud-coated female submitted, and his desire to be the bars on her cage. He batted the thought from his mind as he mentally shook his head, only giving a light shrug and a soft swallow instead.

Shornic's head ducked briefly; he felt as if chastised, and he was certain he should. The tone and wording, for whatever reason, started pushing buttons in his own mind. They were like whips, without the bite under his fur while still toting all the emotional bite. What little... If you could call that composure, you'd be one step ahead of anyone else, vanished with a low hiss. "En't nothin' wrong wit' mah speech... I dun' need lessons ter talk when ah'm alone... 'Speshully not 'f ah'll be followin' you toe t' tail 'n' depth t' death." The idea that death might be his next move with or without Mambe, or even by Mambe's paw, seemed to have eluded his mind's grasp, at this point.

The cat didn't bother trying to figure out why he might find such an affront in the mention of his speech pattern. It seemed unimportant, particularly as he was not hunting for a fight... Or a beating. Somewhere deep in his mind, one brain cell was probably trying to figure it out, but with everything else donning boxing gloves, it would be hard-pressed to get a voice heard even if it found the answer. "Ye don' 'spect me ta be talkin' ta the fish an' their friends, do ya?"

Shornic winced and recoiled a little. Those words again, that tone... Cracking through the air like whips and biting, all too much like claws raking accross his hide. The tongue-lashing seemed to have hit home, as the feline's paws took to a pristine arrangement and his tail tucked cleanly around them, despite the mud and filth of the area. Everything above that was slouched, though, and looked as though berated and weighted with grudge.

"Don't sound like nothin' I en't had 'fore..." He grumbled. The response seemed almost automatic to the situation, though he hid almost every aspect of his search for the information behind that claim, the only hint his waving eyes under half-closed lids and the furrowed brow that came with them. A brief glance up turned into a grouchy grimace and he resorted to glaring off to the side while trying to sort out memories half-surfaced digging their holes once again.