plutounknown
PlutoUnknown
Fanfiction writer and boxoffice enthusiast (it's surprisingly intriguing).
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Paula Alexandra Fernandes Carvalho
charlotte-family-apologist
Trying My Best RN
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"...together, I mean to say that our partnership has always had strength to it and with this new deal it'll only become stronger. So long as everything comes together perfectly, we won't ever step on each other's paws in any district and we almost certainly won't bump into each other on any of the routes. I think you'll find that there's no better way for things to go about and that if your old man were still around, he'd..."
Jonesy trailed off upon noticing the soft snores in the room. He turned around to find Otto sleeping softly across from him and a temper flared up in him all at once.
"Are you cussing kidding me right now!"
He took two sharp step forwards across the cracked floor of the warehouse only to find his third blocked by a heavy figure.
"Enough," Roman commanded shortly. "Boss is sleeping. Use your inside voice."
"I'm not gonna keep quiet when–" Jonesy started to bark, but stopped when Roman took his own step forward.
"Inside voice," he commanded again.
Jonesy took a moment to look Roman up and down and upon deciding that he was being serious as far as his intent was concerned, he heeded his advice and calmed down.
"Could you at least do me the favor of waking him up?"
Roman let a beat pass, skilled in taking control of every interaction, before slipping away and bending down to nudge a sleeping Otto awake.
"Morning Roman," he yawned as he came up, asking in a groggy voice: "Is the meeting over yet?"
"Not yet Boss."
Otto turned his attention to the other side of the room, catching the eyes of Jonesy, "Ah, Mister Jones, you're still here." He cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed and then gestured to a bowl filled with a red liquid, "Please have a–"
"I've no time for this you spoiled brat!" Jonesy yelled, all prior forced conviction gone. "You think that all of this is just fun and games? You think I came here to entertain your idea of what a pack leader does?"
"Tsk, tsk," Otto imitated the sounds pointedly. "You make yourself sound more important than you actually are."
Otto's condescending tone seemed to fuel Jonesy's temper, but with Roman breathing down his neck, he made no attempt at lashing forward as he once might have. In the days when he was a younger, more unhinged leader. He allowed himself a moment to look over what had once been a small, helpless pup. Like most of those acquainted with Mister Otto, he'd made the effort of attending the birthing ceremony, leaving behind gifts considered lavish even by human standards. Yet all the while, he had stared down at the newborn completely aware of the fact that he would one day have to deal with the strongest of the litter himself. The tiny thing at his paws was to friend or foe. If the way his current meeting was going, the latter seemed more likely.
"Otto," Jonesy said out through gritted teeth, "I knew your father, I've been around for every celebration and every milestone and let me tell you something: me and your old man, we had a real close-knit thing going. We didn't always see eye to eye and for that, we respected one another. Each of us had our own idea on how to run things, how to keep the tails wagging and bones coming, neither of them necessarily the 'right' way of doing things. Kid," he said, straightening out his composure and stretching forward, "what I mean to say here is that I care about what you're running right now. I want to make sure that it's done right by and if I'm there to advise you and to help you, it'll be a win-win."
Otto had been smiling the entire time during his speech, but let him finish without feeling the need to inform him all he was saying would be for nought. It brought him greater delight to inspire so much hope and then immediately squash it. "Roman," he said shortly, the elder dog going to work.
He was gone only a moment before returning, jaw full with the limp body of another dog which he unceremoniously dropped at Jonesy's paws.
"What is–"
"One of your's we deduced," Otto said, stepping forward to get a look at the dead and bloated body as well. "Came in here claiming to just want fair pay for fair work and well, Roman caught him snooping around where he shouldn't have. He was tight-lipped though, I will give you that. It's remarkable what loyalty does to a dog. We had to borrow from some allies, a certain potent mixture to get him yapping, but I think we gave him more than was needed because an hour later, he was dead."
Jonesy recognized the dog of course, it had all been just one part of an elaborate plan to have someone on the inside. Someone who could formulate a plan B should his discussions with Otto have fallen apart. But in such dire straits, denial often worked best in his experience.
"I've never seen this dog in my life," he announced.
"The words of one Paulie Rusty Lewis would beg to differ," Otto said and yawned as he turned away. "Try not to make him scream too loudly Roman, it's unpleasant when they scream too loudly."
Only when he laid down and closed his eyes, did Roman pounce, biting and clawing at flesh in all the little places that would not immediately result in death and occasionally on the snout when the screams grew too loud. Otto fell asleep to this lullaby, breathing peacefully.
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With a tired groan, Dizzy cracked her eyes open. Sunlight poured in through stained windows, giving the living room a vast array of color. In the midst of gently pulling herself up, she stopped, feeling some sort of mass by her side. With some semblance of surprise, she realized it to be Peg, still snoring away softly.
To avoid waking the older dog, she moved much more gently, garnering only a little bit of stirring, but otherwise not doing much to budge her. After a somewhat relieved sigh, she headed off to the kitchen and decided to go for an early breakfast. Rather that, than to think over an empty stomach.
As she ate, the fact that she had woken up much later than usual did not escape her. Whilst she usually would not struggle to wake up early and more often than not, did exactly that, she'd had good reason to be exhausted lately.
Having shown up with little warning or expectation, her new housemates had done nothing so far but bring question upon question to the forefront of her mind. It was strange to consider that only a few short months ago, she had been dying to ask and be answered and now was struggling to so much of think what to ask.
That was largely due to the fact that until she'd had the pleasure to actually meet the myth that was Peg, everything that was her mother had been little more than a few loosely strung together, disillusioned guesses. As smitten as he had claimed to be with Peg, her dad had hardly ever bothered to tell her much, often relaying only the basic message that she was a beauty and only had to leave because of that very beauty.
"Morning there."
Dizzy nearly leapt out of her skin, finding that she quickly withdrew her head from her bowl of food and spun around to come face-to-face with the very dog consuming her thoughts.
"Oh uhm, good morning... Peg," she said, difficult as she found it was to address the other. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mhm hmm," Peg quickly hummed, wearing the same smile that she always wore, the very one which had been plastered on her face since the day of her untimely arrival. At first, it had been warm and disarming, exactly the type of thing that Dizzy would have been happy to respond to in stride. But the novelty had eventually worn off and now the expression elicited more awkwardness than anything else. That was evident by the awkward stretch of silence that followed, Dizzy's eyes glancing every which way in her sudden desire to leave the room. When they did eventually reach Peg's once more, it dawned on her that the older dog was looking behind her toward the water and food bowls.
Wordlessly, she stepped aside, giving a grateful Peg the chance to quench her hunger and thirst.
"Thanks kid," she said before bending down lightly, joints cracking noisily in the process. "Y'know," she mused in between her first bite, "always thought the house dog life would suit you best."
"Oh?" Dizzy feigned interest, hardly able to keep herself from simply up and leaving.
"Course. Your dad and I always wondered where you would end up, we both lived on both sides of the tracks so we both knew what either side was like."
There was her chance once more to ask about everything she had ever wanted to know. Questions that had implanted themselves in the back of her mind could be answered with the help of just a few short words.
"Peg?"
"Yeah Honey?"
"Why did you have to leave when I was so young? And why did dad leave me behind?"
"How do you know Lady and Tramp?"
"Why now? Why leave me alone for all these years and choose now to come back?"
Her queries stopped in her mind's eye and with a subtle sigh, she deflated, "Never mind."
Peg paused in her eating for a moment to turn and face Dizzy as though she could sense the inner turmoil present in her offspring, but before she could say anything, a pair of blue suede shoes stepped noisily into the kitchen.
"Good morning you two," Dorian greeted them with a yawn, stretching two arms into the air. "Glad to see both of you are getting along just fine."
Dorian was a funny man, far from the norms of the time despite his youthful, handsome appearance and well dressed nature. Dizzy had more than once been present for all the times in which he told a joke entirely to himself or danced in a silly manner whenever something excited him. More than anything, he seemed to maintain an undying adoration of dogs, having taken her in after a little bit of pushing and nudging from Ward. When she had asked her friend why he did not do the same, seeing as Dorian was so welcoming, he had merely responded with a bored shake of his head.
"That's a good girl!"
She turned to see Peg engaged with Dorian as the man lightly peppered the top of her head with a few pats, reminding her once more of just how open he truly was. Bull and Toughy had also been let in with little complaint, the few protest that he did bring up being that their paws dirtied his favorite carpet. Even Lady and Tramp, little as he knew of the two were regularly allowed into his garden to frolic and relax. Dorian had even had the fortune of meeting their owners, two people and a little boy whom he privately considered to be the only genuine people he had ever spoken with. Appropriate and polite but not burdened with any superficiality.
"Whoa girl!" he laughed as Peg tugged on the sleeve of the old shirt he had on, leading him outside in what was seemingly a spontaneous game of tug-of-war. "Give me a moment!"
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Finally, a proper drawing of cowboy sonic for my sonic cowboy au
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"Pops, why is Mama crying?"
"You don't worry about that sweetheart, now why don't you run along and find that rascal Randall huh? The two of you do some playing together."
"Okay."
The young puppy left without any complaint, stopping only briefly to cast one more glance at her mother, who was choking back sobs in an unsuccessful manner. She shook the image from her head and did her best to ignore the increasingly softer cries, even as they were easily carried through the air. Ultimately though, her attempts were successful. Her paws always moved faster than her mind could.
Before she knew it, she was tramping across the dusty ground of the rural area that she called home. No one could say it wasn't where she had grown up. Her mere presence there was a declaration unto itself. It was all that she had ever known. The large church tent on it's outskirts, the bulky brick building which was something called a bank, the occasional sight of horses prancing down the road, it was all home to her. Some of those horses, she had occasionally worked to befriend, although none of them ever stayed long enough for them to get to know each other well. Still, horses were friendly, she liked them.
It made some of the more boring days holed up with her parents more bearable when she could at least watch a horse stomping across the dust, cowboy in the same stride taking the lead. There had been a time where she thought it might be easy to mount and ride a horse, even for someone with as short a stature as her, but after witnessing a man fall off and hit the ground with a hard thud, she decided that the ground resting calmly beneath her feet was better than seeing the world from the sky.
She crossed over a small wooden bridge, situated above a river long ago affected by a drought. Some of the more unhinged animals she had met insisted that there was water if one knew where to look, but she'd only ever seen them licking up sand. Dry, coarse sand. She hated the stuff. It was irritating and got everywhere, no matter the care she took. And on occasion, if she observed the dry riverbed for long enough, she could swear that she saw snakes slithering around.
In the stuber of her own thoughts, she failed to notice the legs of the man she was about to crash into. And so when she did, they both released a cry of surprise, but quickly relaxed when they met each other's gaze.
Sebastian Bach.
The town's local ranch owner and a favorite on karaoke nights.
To most strays, every human was a thing to avoid. It was never pleasant to spend the day walking around with sore ribs or a trampled tail. And while that did hold true for most humans, Sebastian was a completely different breed of the strange monkeys. Where most chased a stray away from their bins, Sebastian openly fed any dog brave enough to approach him. Some had even built up the courage to seek a pat or two from the man.
He was kindest to Peg most of all, who'd come across him once in the middle of a rare storm.
She could still recall the night he had brought her to his home, let her stay there for the night and even sang to her in that sweet, soft gentle voice of his when she was too scared of every single clap of thunder to fall asleep.
"Well now girl, where are you off to in such a hurry?"
She didn't answer, too excited by his presence to even bark.
"You thirsty?"
That time she did bark. Her throat was parched.
"Well that's too bad. There ain't never water in this town. Are you hungry though?"
She barked again, feeling the dry thirst scratching against her throat in tandem with the tightening of her stomach's many pipes.
"That's really bad cause you know like the rest of us that there's barely ever enough food to go around. Horses eat better 'an any of us out here."
She whimpered in defeat.
"But I do got something for those ears of yours! C'mon it's this way."
With little else to do with her day, she eagerly followed after him, jogging lightly to keep up with the quick pace of his dirty boots.
A horse from out of town trotted past her and she had to resist the urge to say hello when it was clearly in a rush to be somewhere. She wondered where. There was never any reason to rush anywhere in the place where they lived.
She sneezed and wrinkled her nose when a small gust of wind blew a bit of sand into her face. Almost falling behind, she quickly made sure to catch up when it became apparent that they were headed in the direction of the ranch. Already, off in the distance, she could make out the town's most regular drinker, who broke from his self-imposed trance when they both came within sight.
"Hey Sebastian wha'd'ya think you're doing leading the strays everywhere! I don't need anymore fleas on my pants."
"Oh get off your high horse John," Sebastian shot back playfully. "Now wake up and tell me where in the seven deserts is my guitar?"
"How would I know?" he drawled lazily before pulling a small bottle from his jacket.
"You had it last night at the town's karaoke you drunk fu-"
She lamented the fact that she hadn't been allowed to go to the town's karaoke. Randall had been the first to inform her of the event, which hadn't been all that surprising to her, considering that he always had his ear to the ground. In any case, she had been in a terrible mood the evening prior and almost hadn't slept in her silent rage. The only solace she took was the way in which a select few sounds were carried to her ears by the breezy night.
"There she is!"
He had a guitar held up to the side of his face. It was pitch black, but had a heavenly white outline, it seemed to mold perfectly into his hands where the strings touched his fingers before running off past the obtusely wide sound hole. Given the way he rocked it back and forth, she could only assume that it was as precious to him as she was to her mother.
"You come here just to make out with your guitar in the middle of town?" John commented snidely. "By all means, don't stop. Maybe some real woman will come by and feel sorry for you."
"Women are overrated anyways," Sebastian replied before slowly strumming a pattern across the guitar. His fingers glided between a C major, A major, G major, E major, and D major. To her it was all magically memorizing and so she watched and listened, pondering in the back of her mind if he would begin to sing or not. "How's that for making out John?"
"Sounds pretty bad. As usual."
Sebastian laughed before strumming another note, "Don't listen to him girl," he said to his guitar and to Peg simultaneously, "he wouldn't know the difference between good and bad. Let alone good and bad music. Not when he spends all day, every day in the saloon and with his eyes on every last women who crosses his sight. He's a bit of a...tramp. No?"
"Hey who you calling a tramp?"
"He's a tramp," his fingers ran up and down the strings. "And I love him. Don't I love you pal?"
She tilted her head at the way John sharply held up one of his fingers.
Sebastian strummed another few chords, "He breaks a new heart everyday. He's a tramp and also a scoundrel and a rounder and a cad."
"Guilty as charged," John professed, raising his bottle before taking another swig.
"You can never tell when he'll show up he gives you plenty of trouble," his fingers moved faster now, alongside his words. "He's a tramp he's a rover and there's nothing more to say. If he's a tramp he's a good one and I wish that he would pull up his damn pants! Jesus John, how drunk are you?"
"Drunk enough to call you a hypocrite," John half-slurred from the barrel he now occupied, belt doing nothing to keep his dignity.
With a sigh and the shake of his head, Sebastian continued:
He's a tramp
But they love him
Breaks a new heart
Ev'ry day
He's a tramp
They adore him
And I only hope
He'll stay that way
She couldn't help herself and let out a loud howl once he came to an end, trying to keep in tune as much as possible.
"Great, you're teaching 'em to sing now too. Never gonna get any sleep around here ever again."
Sebastian ignored him and instead looked down at the small Tibetan spaniel with a hand on his hip and a crooked smile across his lips.
"Well ain't that something. Glad that someone around here appreciates the value of good music...here's a little piece I been working on. Just for you."
And then he was at it again, hands in sync, fingers in sync. She could have even sworn that she saw his feet sway this way and that a few times. It was a sight to behold and surely better than anything that the town's karaoke could have possibly produced.
"Hey Peg."
"Shush."
She silenced the dog that had come to sit next to her.
"Right foot, left foot, tap back."
"Peg?"
"Shush."
"Turn around, stamp, swing."
"Peg it's just that uh-"
"Shush!" she turned to glare at him. "What part of shush don't you understand Randall?"
He glanced away sheepishly, "Gee sorry, it's just that the church is starting up soon and I-"
"The church," Peg suddenly perked up eagerly. "Why didn't you say so sooner?" she turned to Sebastian and barked in excitement.
"Headed out already? I was just getting started, welp, I'm sure you've got important...business to get up to. See ya' later girl."
She accepted the way that he pet her head and then turned back to Randall, "Let's go."
"Yeah," he trotted in place for a moment and then spun around, "race you there!"
He then bolted off without warning.
"Hey no fair!"
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Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror (1981) dir. Andrea Bianchi
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as a librarian, i can't encourage you enough to check out stuff you don't think you'll get around to reading
like other institutions, at the end of the day we have to use numbers to justify our existence and inform our financial decisions
check out that novel by that author you like even if you know there's no time to finish it. check out a movie you like even if you can't watch it. check out a sewing machine even if you don't have time for a project. we don't check if you finish anything, and it all adds up.
support your local library by checking out things you don't need
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First encounter with Death / Last encounter with Death
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Fear me, if you dare!
Help support me on PATREON
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It's my 1 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳
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Wade Whipple vs. Wade Ripple
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