"I should be back there blasting some bum to pieces right now. So why the hell am I the one helping to you bathe this stupid mutt?"

"Hey, don't start bearing grudges against me. General was the one who assigned you to this task."

"But why wash the damn dog when it's just gonna get dirty again?!"

"Because, Dacote, if we let Pluton roam around covered in shit and stuff all the time, the yetis will know where's he been thanks to the dirty paw prints. Gives a lot away, dirt does."

Diverting his gaze to the ground because he knew he'd been beaten for that moment, Dacote soon allowed his eyes as he let out a little chuckle; Tolliver may have been obsessed with his four legged friend, but his head was far from being stuck in the kennel with a reasonable answer for every question.

And it seemed Dacote may have had another question for his clanmate sooner than he thought; noticing a familiar, blue figure in amongst what looked like Pluton's grooming equipment, the soldier couldn't help picking it up and holding it in the other male's view. Looking rather bemused, his confusion turned to a sudden jolt of shock when he found himself 'setting off' the toy's squeak.

"Why the hell does this chew toy look like Tiwi?"

"It's good training for him. Know your enemy, if you get what I'm saying."

At that moment, Dacote deliberately dropped the squeaky toy into the bathwater; noticing the canine instantly clamp his 'prey' between his jaws and shake it for all it was worth, he couldn't help shooting a rather impressed look at his fellow Junta.

"This is a darker side to you that I think I like, Toll. Nice to see that you finally get it. You can't be crying like a pussy about cute, useless stuff when you're in the war zone."

"Then again...it's not me who rips the yetis into pieces."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," the burlier male said, feeling all the pride just drop from his tone. "You know, I've heard all sorts of crazy shit about Timber trying to hunt down the Yetis himself. Damn, what the Junta could do with that mountain man by our side. Oh that reminds me. You may wanna protect your mutt's ears."

Obediently covering his canine's ears, Tolliver would have never guessed in a million years what the heck was about to happen regarding his clanmate.

"MOVE YOURSELVES UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE DEAD MEAT!"

Pointing his most dangerous gun out into the training field, Dacote suddenly fired a rather explosive round of bullets into the open air space; not seeming at all bothered by the shocked look on both Tolliver and Pluton's faces as he then replaced the machine gun in it's holster.

"Has it really gotten that bad now?"

"Yep," Dacote replied, noticing a stray bullet shell stuck in his belts and dislodging it with a single flick of his finger. "And the worst thing is, if I ignore the urge to shoot, every soldier in the place will feel the hurt sooner or later."

Forming what looked like a gun with his fingers, he pretended to shoot two bullets at Tolliver; exclaiming 'pew pew!' as he did so, causing his fellow Junta to shake his head and chuckle. The little relief from answering to his habit seemed to have put Dacote back into a good mood, yet it was all in vain two seconds later when he suddenly, and violently, threw his sponge back into the canine's bathwater.

"Have we done yet?" He asked, sounding rather irritated and ready to just quit. "I want the General to keep remembering me as his deadliest shot, not his best dog washer."

"It's funny you should say that," Tolliver said, sounding rather cautious as if not to set off the other male's flaring, gun toting temper. "You've certainly done a better job than any of the other Junta who have helped me."

Noticing his fellow clan mate unable to keep a somewhat accomplished, slightly too pleased look on his face, Tolliver couldn't help but feel he may have acquired some surprising yet effective help; washing Pluton often took a lot of time and effort, but helping with something that had dragon breath wasn't top of the clan's priorities, despite the canine's success in locating and scaring the furrier Frozn members.

"Possible you may want-"

"WHO WANTS THIS DOG!" Dacote loudly interrupted in response, quoting a character from a popular animation he'd recently seen on the TVs on sale in the city; shits and giggles soon turning to grunts of annoyance when a wet Pluton hopped out of the bathwater, deciding that the muscular Junta was the perfect target to start shaking madly near.

"Toll," he began, sounding rather pissed off as the drops of water were dripping down his uniform. "I'm going to kill your mutt."

"I'd rather you didn't," was the blunt response, as Tolliver managed to usher the canine to his side and begin to stroke his head. "Besides, he was just being friendly."

"You wouldn't think that way if I suddenly got you wet...with your own blood," Dacote snarled, rather seriously as he threatened to once again remove the machine gun from his holster.

"I worry about you sometimes."

"Worrying for pussies," he spat, though he was shooting Tolliver a rather irked look as if to say the feeling of worry was mutual. "Now are you and your mutt coming to watch me blast some targets to dust or what?"

"I guess I got nothing better to do for the time being."

As the two males hoisted themselves from their kneeling positions, Dacote was quick to make a move; almost as if he sensed Tolliver would stop him from any hasty decisions. If he'd already set it in motion, then he couldn't he stopped. But it never stopped Tolliver from trying.

"And no putting the targets on Junta backs just so you have an excuse to shoot them, you!"