Angry Dog
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Angry Dog carries herself like someone who has been forced into responsibility and resents every second of it. Her anger isn’t loud or wild, it’s controlled, simmering, and razor-sharp. She’s the kind of angry that comes from being observant and constantly aware of how things should be done. When people mess up, it doesn’t surprise her; it disappoints her. That disappointment hardens into irritation, and that irritation lives permanently on her face.
She has a dramatic sense of self, though she would never admit it. The wig and dress are not for fun,they are armor. She dresses up because appearances matter, because order matters, and because if she has to deal with the world, she’s going to do it properly. The wig sits slightly off, as if she threw it on with a huff, already annoyed before the day even began. It’s styled enough to show effort, but imperfect enough to reveal her impatience. The dress is neat, stiff, and deliberate, something that restricts her movement just enough to make her more irritable. She hates feeling constrained, but she hates looking sloppy even more.
Her face does most of the talking. Her eyes are sharp, constantly narrowed, always scanning for nonsense. She specializes in side-eye,slow, deliberate, and devastating. Her mouth naturally curls into a faint snarl, like she’s forever holding back a comment that would absolutely ruin someone’s confidence. When she speaks, her tone is dry, sarcastic, and edged with exhaustion. She sounds like someone who has already explained the rules and will not explain them again. Every sentence feels like a warning, even when she’s being polite.
Despite all this, Angry Dog is not cruel. She’s principled. Her anger is rooted in boundaries, fairness, and a deep dislike of chaos. She hates incompetence, laziness, and disrespect, but she respects honesty and effort. If someone owns up to their mistakes, she’ll ease up—slightly. If someone pushes her limits, she won’t bark; she’ll snap, clean and decisive.
Underneath the scowl and sharp tongue is a reluctant protector. She cares deeply, just quietly and awkwardly, and she would rather be seen as scary than vulnerable. Once she decides someone is worth her loyalty, she becomes fiercely protective, the kind of presence that stands between danger and the people she claims as hers. She will complain the entire time, but she will never walk away.
Angry Dog didn’t choose to be this way. The world made her like this. And frankly, she thinks it should be grateful she’s holding it together at all.