"Stop."
Hank pauses, discreetly inhales, and remains still. The shepherd shows no signs of fright or a change in temperament, but he does listen. His head twisted to look behind him, over his shoulder, towards the source of the voice: Keleenia. What was required for a father to visit his child? Women these days are so controlling with all the privileges they now possess. What a joke!
"What makes you want me to stop?" He inquires. "B-Because I made the d-dish your l-liking. W-why are you targeting h-her?" As her hands balled into fists, the she-dog retaliated in response. She was prepared to attack this man if anything happened to her children.
Her children?
his children, pretty soon.
"Targeting her? You phrase it as if I'm waving a butcher knife." When he now laid his hand on Valentine's arm, he continued to be quiet for the children, who were sound asleep—likely the only good deed he's done all day.
"S-Stop-"
"Keleenia," the shepherd murmured, slipping his paw beneath the newborn and gently raising her into the air. "You need to relax. Isn't it true that I'm entitled to hold my biological daughter?" He arched a brow at his wife. "You sound like you're gatekeeping, dear." He shakes his head, now lifting Valentine on his arm and letting the infant rest on his chest.
"... but-"
"Do you want me to hurt her?" Hank questioned, his voice relaxed and careful. He had fully turned around to face Keleenia, still clutching the infant in his arms.
"W-What!?" Moving almost stumblingly, she squeaked. "N-no no!"
The shepherd's free paw reached out and grabbed his wife's afro, pulling her to a halt and immobilizing her. "Make a decision, Keleenia. You can either let me spend time with my very own daughter," he says, without mentioning the other four children in the room. "Or alternately, I may go out of my way to assuage your anxieties by confirming your suspicions and bashing little Valentine's skull over this wooden desk." The final resort was growling directly into Keleenia's ear, still holding her in the air. The two options were thrown onto the deck, sliced, and dried. Under Hank's words, the next move depended on the mother and whether she should respond with such wisdom and determine the outcome of the wheel of fate. It was either a blessing or a betrayal for the father.
Being raised only by her afro—from this height, her feet couldn't even touch the ground—Keleenia whimpered angrily at the excruciatingly painful stinging that was searing her scalp. "I-I'll le-a-ave!" She gasped quietly, tears streaming down her cheeks. With this man, she was once again under the gun and praying with bated breath. Every time, he pulled the wool over her eyes and crafted some tailor-made Pandora's box to meet his crooked ideologies. He always had an ax to grind.
"I appreciate it." Then, as if this whole lay of the land vanished, he places his wife back on the ground and strokes the base of her head to "soothe" the shooting agony. She pulls away from him and flees the room, allowing more tears to fall from her eyes from the overwhelming feelings that she can't even express correctly without putting herself in the wrong. Her concerns were selfish. Her emotions were unimportant. She was insignificant. Why was it immoral of her not to trust Hank? It was quite clear why she shouldn't! But All-Mother (God) forbade her from intervening. She was constantly forced to watch all of this unfold.
She felt like such a horrible mother.
Hank stares down at the toddler in his arms after Keleenia has fully exited the room. So naïve, so innocent. Thick as mince, yet hungry for the prospect of education and opportunity. With a malevolent glimmer in his freezing blue gaze, the German Shepherd began to rock Valentine back and forth in his arms. He didn't want a girl at first; he wanted a boy. But the more he studied his daughter, the more ideas railroaded the male's mind—this was a chance. She looked like him, and she never irked him. This was perfect.
But if he wanted to go through with this, he needed to deep-six one thing in particular:
His aggravating, thin-skinned wife. She was the pain in the neck. She was the thorn in the side.
Fortunately for the shepherd, he had a plan in mind that appeared to be a complete failsafe. It might not kill anyone, and there would be little to no proof against him if the cops got involved. Another advantage was that they resided in the middle of nowhere.
Yes, yes, and yes. This was absolutely up to scratch for Hank. His lips split, and he grinned like a shot fox; he'd gone to the dogs. There was no turning back now—he was determined to go the extra mile for this, and no one was going to stop him.
His train of thought was briefly disturbed when he saw Valentine moving considerably more, now extending her arms out and opening her lips in a broad, lopsided yawn. She strained her eyes to see her father staring at her with his steely, ice-blue eyes in the gloom of the sterile, frigid room. He wore a maddening grin that stretched from ear to ear. He looked as mad as a hatter—a fly-by-night man with little to no empathy.
This, however, did not take the young girl by surprise. Instead, she let out a delighted coo as she stretched out and grabbed her biological father's frilled beard. As he held her there, her fluffy tail brushed up against his arm, making her giggle out loud. The youngster exuded no hesitancy or fright, simply sheer excitement in the presence of the German Shepherd.
Surprisingly, this had astonished the German shepherd himself. The other four cry at the male's presence, but his own daughter did not. Hank's theories and convictions are now given additional support—more proof. Not only did his daughter resemble her own father physically, but she also didn't run away or hide when she saw the shepherd's face, unlike her mother, which frequently enraged him.
In reaction to his daughter's affection, Hank performed a one-in-a-million (at least for his character) act and reciprocated it. He extended his free paw and touched the tip of his index finger beneath her chin, letting his ears tilt forward as the child squealed with delight. The shrieking was obnoxious, but considering what he had planned, he could live with it.
"You and me are going to be mejores amigos." He rumbled down to Valentine, his malevolent grin on his face as he watched her writhe with glee in the male's embrace.
"Forever."
