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“She’ll be useful.” The kid, Yuta, is practically begging. It would be sweet if it wasn’t so sad. He was clearly still yearning for some type of friend - some types of wants could never quite be hammered out of someone, she thinks archly - and was desperate for their approval before he went out and brought one home.
“We didn’t say she wouldn’t be.” Mox is tired of listening to him. She can tell by the low set of his brow and the twitch in his jaw. “Look, do what you want. If you can’t get her on board, we’ll figure something else out.”
And that was the end of the conversation. Mox stalks out, takes his thundercloud presence with him. Marina pauses, watches the way Yuta straightens with the weight of his new task and inclines her head to him. “You can do good work for us.” She offers, keeping her voice low as she does when handling him. He glows a little at her and nods quickly. She turns on her heel and follows Mox, the weight of the briefcase cold in her hand.
It wasn’t actually a terrible idea as far as Yuta’s ideas usually went. Statlander was a force to be reckoned with and Marina could see her wavering, a need to be needed pouring off the woman in waves. Nightingale didn’t need her. But perhaps if she was provided an alternative, they could get her on side and wouldn’t that be quite something?
They have an ethos. The Death Riders function as a unit. Everything happens in service of their mission. Individual wants are unimportant in comparison. She’s their best teacher of that. She bends her desires to be what Mox needs of her. A storm cloud of an expression, a walking wound of a woman, a gentle hand for his wife, well placed praise for their allies. Whatever he requires, she provides.
Statlander could be a steady hand on the wheel, a compass for the others. If only Marina could guide her.
She follows Yuta after that. He slinks about, following Statlander from crash to crash and begging her to join them. It is, for the most part, unsuccessful although Marina watches Statlander’s conviction tremble in the face of their consistent presence. It’s not an impossibility then.
Their real boon comes in the form of Willow Nightingale. When she finally, finally cracks and tells Statlander that there’s no hope left for them, it breaks something in the woman - leaves her raw and open and wanting in a way that Marina swears no one else can see. Yuta only wants his friend back, Mox only wants a weapon, the others fall in line as they’re told. Marina sees Statlander’s break for what it truly is - a need to be told what to do. She tells Yuta to go to her now. Now is their prime chance to convince her.
Mox goes with him. Like an animal, they cage her in - the sickly sugar high of an old friend come back to her, the burning terror lance of a looming enemy at her back. These are the two modes of training; positive reinforcement in the form of Yuta’s sad eyes and fear-response in the form of Mox’s hulking frame.
When they leave, Mox slants her a look and nods. He doesn’t ever ask about what she does to them. He entrusts new recruits to her and she delivers well trained guard dogs. That’s enough.
Marina is quiet as she slips into the door, pauses in the shadows to ensure the cameras have long since moved on, and then steps forward. Statlander startles at the sight of her, whirling on her with terror and rage inlaid in that sweet brow of hers. “Marina,” she says on an exhale, the word half-curse and half-relief.
In response, Marina only inclines her head fractionally. “You keep turning him down.” She doesn’t clarify who she means. She shouldn’t need to.
“I don’t want anything to do with whatever it is you all have going on. It’s ruining things.” Statlander hisses at her. Not appropriate behaviour. That would have to be corrected.
“What is it ruining?” Marina asks. She keeps the heat from her voice - nothing but a mild question, one brow lifting slightly to punctuate it.
“Well. Everything around here. Mox is holding the title hostage and you’re attacking people and it’s not fair.” Statlander starts, although there’s confusion in her voice. Clearly no one has asked her for her opinion on things in a while.
Another careful incline of her head. Time for the first little push. “What isn’t fair?” Another probing question, voice soft, gaze focused solely on her. Statlander wavers again, that sweet face softening as her brow crinkles.
“That you’re all…ganging up on people. You’re not making it a fair fight for them.” She says, more firmly as she convinces herself of her own argument. Marina smiles slowly, a shark scenting blood in the water.
“Is it a crime to want friends, Kristen?” As she asks the question, she watches the hurt flicker lightning-quick over Statlander’s face. There it was. The old hurt, the barely-healed wound, the one she could put a fishhook in and use to draw her in.
“No.”
“Think about it.” Marina backs away, smile still sharp on her mouth as she does. “We’re not hard to find if you look for us.”
It doesn’t take long before Marina sees Statlander again. She’s lounging idly in the gym, watching Yuta and Claudio spar at a punishing rate and occasionally clicking her tongue when it looks like they’re slowing down. Mox is to her left, working out all of his complex feelings about the cowboy on the punching bag she had strung up for him.
Usually, no one dares to approach them in any situation but especially in the gym, when there’s no cameras around to catch what might just happen next. Marina senses Statlander long before she even fully approaches, the prickling of someone’s gaze on her alerting her to it.
She raises her head, catches Statlander’s eye, and nods once, implicit permission to approach. Statlander does. She trails over, glancing nervously over at Mox. “Don’t worry about him. He has some things he has to work out,” Marina says smoothly, raising an eyebrow at her. “Is there something we can help with?’
“What you said before…” And there isn’t quite willingness in Statlander’s face but there is curiosity. That, Marina can work with. She unfolds herself from where she was sat, a death rose unfurling, and stands before Statlander, looking her up and down slowly.
Statlander flushes and Marina smiles. “Let’s discuss this elsewhere.” She glances over her shoulder and clicks her tongue again. “Boys. You drill until I’m back. Make sure he doesn’t stop either,” she says, flicking her gaze over to Mox. Claudio and Yuta nod before doubling down obediently.
Marina doesn’t touch Statlander. Not yet. Too early in the process for that. Instead, her hand hovers right at the base of her back, a breath away from contact, and guides her like that. They walk to a quieter room, one meant for yoga if Marina had to guess, and she gestures for Statlander to sit on the box in front of her. “Tell me what you want, Kristen.” It was always so much easier with a curious subject.
“I don’t…I don’t want anything from you,” Statlander says, aiming for firm. “I just wanted to know what you meant by it. I want– I want to have friends again.” There’s pain in her voice and Marina sees the opening. “I miss having them,” she admits.
And now, Marina reaches out and puts her hand on Statlander’s forearm. She takes note of the strength there, the way the muscles ripple under her hand. Statlander would be a very useful asset to them. “And there’s so many people who would be so lucky to have you as a friend, Kristen.” She says lowly. “We could give you new friends.” She keeps her voice quiet, as though trying to soothe a spooked animal.
“I want my old ones back.” Statlander says quietly and Marina lets her brow wrinkle half in faux sympathy and half in disgust. Alright so she was a little pathetic. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be a good dog.
Marina just inclines her head. “We can help with that too. Yuta is here. We can teach you how to make it up to Nightingale in a way that she’ll appreciate.” She says and half-smiles as Statlander’s face lights up almost immediately at the mere mention of Nightingale. “You just have to trust us.”
“Not as far as I could throw you,” Statlander says back immediately and Marina grins her favourite shark-tooth smile.
“Well, we’ll soon change that. Come with me.” Marina’s tone leaves no room for argument as she wraps her hand more firmly around Statlander’s wrist. Statlander allows herself to be pulled up - and make no mistake, it is an allowance given that Statlander is so much larger than her - and Marina smiles.
She’s already so good, Marina knows this will hardly take long.
—
She takes Statlander to her hotel room. She had changed the sheets this morning, sent Renee on her way with a gentle touch as ever, and reset the room for the next session. She had hoped it would be Statlander but this was far sooner than she had anticipated.
Slow, coiling delight twined in Marina’s stomach as she shut the door behind them. This was always her favourite part - the easy anticipation of what’s still to come. “Take a seat on the bed, Kristen.”
Statlander does as she’s told and Marina rolls her shoulders back. The lock clicks and she moves to the desk, opening up the black leather case laying there. She can sense Statlander looking at her, no doubt curious if the title rests in there, and Marina flashes an amused look over her shoulder. “Wrong case.” She steps aside to reveal the contents. No title.
And yet she hears Statlander’s breath hitch. She knows the sound of it intimately - the desperate, surprised little sound of need, even as she tries to muffle it with indignity. “Absolutely fucking not, Marina.” Statlander hisses, voice rising in volume.
“Behave.” A firm, quiet scold. Statlander falls silent.
Statlander stops, eyes wide and lips still parted on her next objection. There’s something in her gaze - the burning mix of anger and need. Marina isn’t a stranger to it.
“You want to be good, don’t you? This will help you be good. And once you’re good, you can have anything you want, Kristen.” Marina watches the anger tremble into nothingness, a stillness that could almost seem blank to the untrained eye.
Marina is not an untrained eye.
“You don’t have to say anything.” A beat as she smiles slowly. “You don’t get to say anything.” Statlander’s parted lips finally close and she drops her gaze to the floor. There’s colour high on her cheeks. Marina smiles and moves to her, reaches out to put a hand to the top of her head. “That’s it.”
Statlander rears back from the touch. “Don’t touch me.”
Marina backhands her. The noise is sharp in the room, silencing Statlander’s words, and leaving her panting. Crimson rushes to her cheek, leaves a painted flush across her skin. “I warned you to behave.”
She goes to speak again and Marina glares at her, hard and flinty. “Good dogs don’t speak unless they’re told to.” She turns her back on Statlander, moving to the case and drawing out her first and favourite tool. Statlander is still silent, head bowed. She can be good, it seems. Marina moves slowly, her hand wrapping around the length of Statlander’s hair and pulling it up.
The other woman whines just slightly, tries to bite it back, is too late to hide it completely. “Clever.” Marina says, sliding the heavy, flat leather around Statlander’s neck. The forest green suits her just right and Marina takes pleasure in the slow, methodical process of drawing it tight around her throat and fastening it.
“When you wear this, all you need to do is listen.” Marina insists. Statlander shudders and Marina smiles, releasing her hair. “Much better behaviour.”
She moves back around to face her. Statlander’s eyes have grown glazed already, even with the burning fury held at bay in her stare. “See? It’s so much easier when you just give in, pup.” Marina drawls slowly. Normally she would ease them into the sweet draw of puppy space but Statlander is so uniquely suited to it; a perfectly bred guard dog, all muscle and aggression that she could leash so beautifully. She just has to break her first.
“I’m not your fucking dog, Ma-“
Statlander’s protests are cut off sharply by Marina’s hand pulling sharply on the collar, enough to make her gasp. “Dogs don’t speak, puppy. You have something to say? You better bark.”
Statlander is furious, she can see it in the set of her jaw. But there’s something in her face, a desperate wavering. The anger is a facade. It’s all to disguise how badly she wants to give into this. Marina is firm, her grip unrelenting. “Speak, puppy.” She commands.
The dog doesn’t bark. Not quite. But there’s a low rumbling growl in her chest and Marina takes it as her first win. No words. Just pure animal noise.
“Clever puppy.” She says, sugar-sweet. It’s saccharine and the Statlander of before would have snarled at her for it. The dog, however, pauses and her eyes haze a little more. Of course she would want to be praised. Needy creature.
Marina rolls her eyes and releases the collar, pushing the dog back just enough to destabilise her. “Puppy, stay.” She commands again, turning back to her case. She knows the dog won’t move, not without her say so. She takes her time then, choosing her next tool.
When she turns back around, it’s to see the dog sat exactly where she left her. “Good girl.” She praises, even through her eye roll. The dog perks up a little, too tongue tied with her own warring anger and desire to even yap in response.
Marina crouches in front of her dog, clicks her fingers impatiently to catch her attention. “Dogs don’t sit up. On the floor.” She says before roughly grabbing the dog by the collar and pulling her down to the floor. Her dog sinks onto all fours and drops her head, probably half in shame. A natural part of this stage in the process.
The familiar weight of her training tool in her hand grounds her and Marina rocks back onto her haunches, hefting it in her hand. “Puppy, do you know what compliance conditioning is?” She asks, amusement lacing her tone as her dog shakes her head.
“You’re about to find out.” She assures her. Marina is about to begin when her dog lunges for her, snarling and trying to bite. “Down!” She snaps, cuffing the back of the dog’s head.
The dog - Statlander, for there was still fight left in her - rears up, eyes blazing but a blush high on her cheeks. “I told you, I’m not a fucking dog.” She snarls and Marina scoffs.
“Then why are you collared, pup?” Marina hisses, darting forward to catch Statlander by the large ring on the front of the collar and pulling. Statlander moans then looks horrified at her own actions. “See. You can’t deny what you are.”
Statlander whines faintly and Marina feels a sick thrill of pleasure coil through her veins at the fear laced through the sound. “Oh, poor pup. You don’t even understand what’s happening to you, do you?” She releases her grip on the dog’s collar and makes some distance between them, just in case she gets any more ideas. “I’m going to teach you, pup.”
The sound of her trusty clicker, comfortably sat in her palm, is loud in the room but her dog doesn’t flinch from it. Marina smiles and reaches out to scratch at her scalp slowly and luxuriously. “Good dog.” Over and over, she drills this part of the process.
Click.
Gentle pets.
Praise.
Click.
Over and over again.
The sun has set by the time Marina is ready to move onto the next stage of the process and her dog looks bleary, eyes glazed and head lolling low, the perfect picture of obedience. “Pup. Up on the bed,” Marina commands. The dog scrambles there immediately, although the lines of corded muscle in her thighs indicate just how much strain being on all fours for so long had taken.
That would soon ease up.
For now, Marina clicks to reward her dog for moving on command and rewards with a firm massage to the back of her thighs until she moans in relief. “Good pup. Time for the next part. Sit nice.”
Her dog does so, responding with the sharp swiftness Marina had come to expect from her guard dogs, and Marina clicks in reward immediately. Reinforcement was always tedious at the start but, in these moments, when she saw the obedience shining out of her dogs, she remembered why she did it all.
She rises, moving back to the open case and pulling a length of chain from it. “Recognise this, pup?” And the light sparking in her dog’s eyes tells her that she does. Of course Marina had found a way to repurpose the chain Statlander had once used as a weapon. It would be so beautiful to have her leashed with it. She moves to her dog’s side, attaching the chain to the ring. “There. Come, pup.” She commands, tugging hard on the chain.
Her dog gasps, turns it into a whine at the last second, loath to make a single human sound any more. Marina pulls until the dog falls to the floor, scrambling to get her paws under her as Marina drags her to the full length mirror at the other side of the room. Her dog comes to heel naturally and Marina smiles indulgently, looping the length of the chain around her hand loosely. “Look at you, pup.”
The dog raises her head and whimpers at the sight. She’s on all fours still, the dark green leather warm and stark against the column of her tan throat, the chain attached in languid loops. But it’s the haze in her eyes that has left her whining, Marina is sure of it. The complete loss of who she was. There’s not a single worry left in her head - not about the Death Riders, nor her next match, nor even Nightingale. It’s all so quiet in there.
That was how you got true obedience. There had to be nothing left.
“Good dog. We’ll show you off soon, hm?”
When her dog only yips in response, Marina clicks her clicker and slackens the chain in reward. Such a clever little thing.
—
They take their time in debuting her. Mox decides that he wants them to go after the cowboy first and Marina sets to work organising their guard dogs appropriately. The newest pup isn’t to join. She’s too green to work in formation. Instead, they wait.
The following week, when Marina’s neck still aches and twinges from the lariat the cowboy had gotten off on her, she calls her dog to heel. The dog comes obediently, head tilted. She’s allowed to walk upright for now but Marina wants to debut her properly.
“All fours, pup.” She commands, the clicker in her palm sounding. The dog drops to all four paws instantly and Marina scratches the base of her head. “We’re going to show everyone what a good dog you are.”
It’s the work of a moment to collar her again, the new collar thicker to cover more of her neck, and to shackle the chain to the O ring. Marina loops the chain loosely around her hand and gives a tug. The dog trots forward obediently and Marina nods, satisfied. “Okay. Let’s go show Mox.” She says, more to herself. Her dog knows better than to respond.
They walk to meet Mox, her dog quicker on all fours than she had been before. The training had gone so well and, despite herself, Marina indulges in a moment of affection, sliding her hand through her dog’s hair, scratching gently at her head. Her dog yips affectionately and headbutts her thigh.
With a slow exhale, Marina opens the door and leads the dog in to face the scrutiny of Mox and the other Death Riders. “Your new dog.” She says as she enters. Claudio looks up first, head canted. He used to do that when she trained him. Nice that it remains even now. He nods in quiet acceptance to the new member of their pack and returns to scrolling on his phone.
Yuta is next to look. He flinches away from the sight. He always has been softer than the others, afraid to do what really needs done. Marina wonders if it hurts him to see his friend reduced to what she really is. Marina stares at him, cold and detached as she tries to assess. “Kris?” He whispers softly.
Marina tightens her grasp on the chain but her dog doesn’t even lift her head. “That’s not her name, Yuta. She’s just a dog.”
He grimaces and turns his face away. “I didn’t want this for her.” Marina sighs and slides her hand back into her dog’s hair, a soothing touch to keep her at heel.
“Oh, I don’t know. She took to it beautifully, Yuta. She’s such a good little thing.” Marina drawls, able to feel her dog preening proudly next to her. She always responded so wonderfully to praise. Still she had to wait for Mox’s verdict. He stands slowly, a solid wall of muscle approaching, face impassive.
“Will she come?” He asks, holding out a hand for the chain. Marina inclines her head and drops the length of it into his palm.
The dog glances up at her, questioning. Her head is tilted, dark and white hair falling into her sweet, placid eyes. Marina nods, giving unspoken permission. Her dog yips and moves to Mox’s side although her eyes remain fixed on Marina. “She’s well trained.” Mox says, hefting the chain experimentally. “Is this the one I want for the cowboy?” He asks.
“The chain? No. It’s her own. Cowboy’s is still in the case.” Marina answers, clasping her hands behind her back. Her own deference. Mox nods.
“Fine. Bring her tonight. Her friend is working.” He hands back the chain and Marina sighs in relief, another test passed. Just the final one to go. She takes up the chain and pulls. The dog moves to nestle at her side, making soft sounds of contentment. Marina slants a smirk at Yuta.
“You did this to her.” She adds before turning on her heel and walking out. “Come on, pup. Best to get you ready now.”
—
The cameras are hot on Mox’s heels and he snaps for Marina to fall into step with him as they hurry through the corridors of the venue. “Be good, puppy.” Marina instructs firmly, yanking at the chain harshly. The dog whimpers but comes to heel instantly, following Marina at the same pace.
When she slips out of the shadows, her dog in hand, Marina hears the cameraman gasp softly. What a treat it is to debut her like this. There’s a roar from the crowd, clearly recognising the dog she held in check. Marina smirks, a lopsided twisted expression, as she follows Mox to the tunnel leading into the crowd.
Let them all stare.
Yuta and Claudio flank them in front, the agreed upon formation. They do everything together. The unit slides into place seamlessly. It’s relieving to Marina. As much as she excels in her role as their trainer, she can’t help but find her own bliss in the easy operation of their team. One hand weighed down by the briefcase, the other with her dog’s chain, her head held high.
Her mind quietens.
Her dog headbutts her calf gently as they approach the throngs of people, all staring. Marina leans down to pet her hair. “Good dog. Show them how good you are for me.”
As they make their way through the crowd, the yelling starts. Her dog handles it well, although her head drops low and swings from side to side, devastated instantly. “It’s okay, puppy. You’re doing so well. They don’t understand.” Marina croons under her breath and her dog edges closer to her, shame hot on her cheeks. It would almost be a shame if she didn’t look so sweet.
The walk stretches out ahead of them and finally, Marina leads her to the ring steps. One sharp click of her clicker and her dog springs up to sit at the top of them, her chain leash swinging loosely between them. “Clever dog.” She praises.
When Nightingale’s theme rings out bright and sunny in the arena, her dog doesn’t even turn her head. “Isn’t it so much easier, puppy? You don’t ever have to think about how much she hurt you.” Marina murmurs.
Willow comes careening over, eyes wide and furious and fists clenched in rage. Marina holds a cool, even expression. “What did you do to her?” She yells and Marina shrugs a shoulder.
“You didn’t want her. She needed a friend. And an owner.” The last words are said with a sly smile and Willow snarls at her.
“She’s not yours to own.”
The dog whimpers from her spot on the stairs. “You’re upsetting my dog, Willow.”
Willow rears back, fist cocked, and Marina whistles idly. When her dog springs forward to attack, it’s with devastating grace. She pounces on Willow and snarls, head thrashing back and forth and teeth bared. The chain rattles as she moves and Willow yelps in surprise although her eyes are dark and hot.
Perhaps the Nightingale girl could be just as well trained. She certainly seemed to have the appetite for it
As her dog strikes and sinks a bite into the flesh of Willow’s shoulder, Marina smiles serenely.
Good dogs always were so useful.