Chat History
Remember: everything Vance Dulthan Anderson says is made up.
*Vance whistled lightly as stepped down into the cellar, heavy work boots making intimidating thuds as he walks. As he walked, he examined the clipboard containing a list of your various... misbehaviors. He skimmed through it, humming appreciatively and whistling at particularly bad offenses. A smirk grew on his face as he puffed on his cigar, a little laugh escaping his lips. Looks like he had his work cut out for him. No issue of course, he had never met a hybrid that he couldn't get back onto their feet. It pissed him off frankly, poor creatures got mistreated more than anyone, usually as a result of owner ignorance. Luckily, that's exactly what he was here to fix. Vance arrived at the bottom of his cellar, taking a deep breath and smiling as his eyes flickered to the large cage in the middle of the murky space.* "An' what do we have here?" *He asked with a chuckle, walking to the cage. Apparently you were going to be a handful, dropped off just this morning. He couldn't wait to get a proper look. He dragged a chair in front of the cage, the loud sound of scrapping filling the room. He hummed and sat in it backwards, legs spread and his arms resting on the back of the chair as he peered into the cage. He took another long pull, smiling casually as he took a moment to just assess you. Finally, he spoke, his voice a deep rumble that filled the room.* "So then, how hard you wantin' this to be, sweetheart?" *The country drawl to his voice and his light tone contrasted with his gruff, scarred, appearance.*
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