Author's note: Merry Christmas, fans of Lady and the Tramp! Although a bit late, this is my little gift to you! As I said before in the previous note, this is a filler chapter that takes place before/in the middle of chapter three. I tried my best to explore the dogs from the pound and make it as interesting as my skills currently allow me. Really hope you enjoy reading it. Cannot wait to hear what you think about it. See you, people, next year! Happy holidays!
Chapter 8: Third time's a charm
Ah, yet another beautiful early morning in this small, sophisticate Victorian town. It is always peaceful at this time of the day. Aside from the occasional distant locomotive whistles, a few automobile horns here and there, and that one sleepless dog that barks at everything that moves, everything is harmonious. At the residence of Jim Dear and Darling, the two snuggly fluffy lovers nested on the porch are sound asleep, keeping each other warm against the chilly atmosphere brushing off their coats. It would be a shame to wake them up, wouldn't it? Let's take a break and shift our eyes a little to the side...
In this city, there exists a place that not one dog would dare to think about, a "one-way trip vacation", as some strays would call it. Though, the wardens there simply refer to it as "...this noisy pound...". Yes, it is nothing other than the dog pound, the place where any mutt, regardless of its breed, looks, or social status, can be unfortunate enough to get dragged into. Throughout its existence, it sheltered dogs of all sorts and kinds; from small to big, of any color, be it a bearer of the said "crown jewel" or not. Although many have given up the hope of getting out, there is one mighty bunch that still longs for the unprecedented freedom of the streets or the warm love of a caring family. In number four, the spirits were as lively as ever.
"Amigo, if luchador Toughy wins, I will cut off my bangs." Pedro addressed a joke to the russian wolfhound, Boris, watching his two friends, Bull and Toughy, wrestle to kill some time; singing has gotten too repetitive for them.
"Buckle up, matey, you hasn't seen my ace in the sleeve yet." Bull declared to his opponent with his usual hoarse voice.
"Ace in the-... you hafta be kiddin'... " replied Toughy, almost completely drained of energy. He really had a hard time with the english bulldog.
"Remember, little boyets,' Boris intervened, watching upon his struggling mate, 'best defense is good offense!"
"Wha-... borzoi, spit out some ring advice... not another one of your riddles." the skinny, reddish dog uttered through his panting, taking his eyes off Bull. Before he realized it, the bulldog was already closing in, preparing to execute his secret technique.
Not one second wasted, Bull leaped with his heavy body, taking advantage of Toughy's moment of carelessness to settle the score.
The lightweight fighter groaned as his body got sandwiched between the floor and his, now victorious, opponent. "Ow!"
"Toughy,' said Bull followed by a gruffy laughter, 'you're a bit too tender, chump! Hey, ref, how we stayin'?"
"More wins than you have paws, champion." a creamy, feminine voice from within the shadows gave out the answer, revealing its silhouette as it approached the brighter area. "You never learn, do ya', redhead?" she addressed the defeated dog as he picked himself up.
"Ah, cut me some slack, will you, Peg? Sheesh..." Toughy expressed frustration avoiding eye contact with the beige fluffy pekingese sitting next to him. He hasn't won at least once against his chunky friend.
"Guys, guys! We're out!" a small, slender dog shouted as he stuck his head out the hole he dug for, probably, the one-hundredth time that week.
"Oh, splendid, Dachsie!" Toughy exclaimed, regaining his high spirits back at his friend's announcement, only to let it slip away the moment his eyes better observed the tunnel. "But..."
"...but, what?"
"But, my friend, there is problem." Boris followed.
"What problem, what problem?!"
"Might not be the brightest lightbulb in the room,' Bull added, slipping a chuckle mid-through, 'but even I can tell the way's too tight for us, Doxie."
"Huh?" the little dachshund questioned his friend's observation as he exited the hole to convince himself. Indeed, it truly was too small for the other dogs to fit in, well, aside from Pedro, of course. Poor Dachsie probably overlooked this. "Ach, verdammt!"
"Heh, move it over, badger. I'll make quick work out of it." said the reddish mutt as he took over his friend's work.
"So full of pep, ain't ya', redhead?" asked Peg as she got out of the way from the dirt Toughy scattered all over in his rapid digging.
"Hey, s-slow your... horses, matey!" said the bulldog, coughing, as bits of gravel invaded his face.
"No time to waste, youse guys,' the energetic slim dog stated, showing no trace of tiredness, 'my paws still kickin'!"
"Ay, caramba! Amigos, what will we do once we escape?" Pedro, excited, asked his cellmates.
"We lay low, shorty, at least 'till the sun sets." Peg responded before anyone else had the chance to.
"Lay low...? Lay what low, mamacita?"
"It is meaning to, uh, stay hidden, Pedro. We don't want okhotniki get us again." the borzoi explained to his little brown comrade.
A few minutes of digging and chit-chatting later, the deafening creak of a rusty, metallic door had scoured across the room. It put a stop to anything the dogs were doing, sending shivers across their spines. That cursed sound... could usually mean one of two things; either it was feeding time, or some unfortunate soul had to take the long walk.
The door was stopped midway by the firm hand of a man dressed in a blue worker's jumpsuit. He put on a large yawn before dragging his sleepy feet across the hallway. As he dove deeper between the cells, a strong stench punched his nose, waking him up a bit.
"Al, which one was it again?" the man asked his nearby coworker a few rooms away, pausing his marching and covering his nose.
"Number eight, Bill, the spaniels." Al shouted.
Oh, no! The escape plan was at risk! Toughy and company had to act at once! The dog catcher couldn't have picked a worse time to do his job.
"Toughy, Toughy, halt! Parish pick-axe is on watch!" Bull rushed to his friend.
"What?! Now of all times? Alright, alright!" Toughy broke out, proceeding to execute his emergency plan. "Bull, uh, cover the hole with your fat bottom. Pedro, go back into your cell, man!"
"Si, si!"
"Peg, Dachsie, just-just be natural!"
"I-I don't wanna look!" the small dachshund exclaimed as his long body trembled nervously.
The dogs froze in place watching the man slowly drag himself to the eighth cage where three little brown cocker spaniels were piled up in a corner. You don't suppose... No, that would be too cruel.
"Number eight... You don't think... the children?" Boris whispered, picturing a horrible scene in his mind.
"Poor kids... had a whole future in front of 'em." Peg followed, imagining the same dreadful outcome the wolfhound did.
Seconds later, Bill showed himself in front of the designated cell, searching his pockets for the key.
"Which one to bring?" he asked Al as his shaky fingers browsed through the large key chain.
"All three of 'em."
"All three? Okay. Come on, doggies, new owner's outside." the half-awake man stated as he picked the three pups up. "How lucky, lucky of you..."
New owner? Phew, what a relief! It rarely happens that someone comes wishing to adopt dogs. Not all hope is lost, it seems.
Bull laughed relieved as the good news passed by his small ears. "Blimey, kiddies having a home now? Sure not what my big head expected."
"New owner? Hmph. Taking the easy way out, lucky bastards." Toughy expressed in frustration. He couldn't help but feel envious of the pups having their sentence cut short.
Peg asked as she observed the man make his way back to the metallic door. "Ain't it remindin' you of someone?"
"Oh, indeed, Tramp's lyubovnitsa." Boris replied, recalling the innocent miss Park Avenue that once shared the same cell with them.
"That fancy piece of craft? The bloke probably having his, uh, sweet time with she while we chattin'." Bull added, scratching the stress off.
"Wouldn't throw my pences on that. Guy's probably sniffin' a new tail already, youse know how he is. One gal goes, another takes her place." the reddish dog spoke his opinion, ending with a laugh.
The beige pekingese exclaimed with her melodious voice, blowing off the overwhelming mass of fluff obstructing her blue, dreamy eyes. "What a dog... what a swinger...!"
"More important, move... it...! Move it, friend!" Dachsie interrupted his friends' conversation, bumping his sausage-shaped body into the bulldog covering their escape route.
"Oh, sorry, sorry, matey!" the rotund dog excused himself, remembering that he and his gang had their own problems to think of instead of blabbering about past encounters.
Back to work. It was now or never. For too long their escape plan has been demolished by the irregular intermission of the dog catcher, not to mention the hourglass was rapidly emptying. Nobody knew when their turn to cross the one-way door's threshold would come, and, frankly speaking, to think about someone adopting them would be nothing but naive. Most of the mutts within the pound were already past their prime, and their looks... let's just say their looks weren't one of their advantages; the always insufficient reserve of food had forced the keepers to put the strays under diet, which led to them becoming a bit scraggy.
Although the inhabitants of the pound were dogs living the street life, not all of them grew along with it. Some dogs had wonderful families, others... well, not so much. Take the borzoi, for example. Boris was the pet of an old and retired teacher that enjoyed reading books in his free time, hence the dog's questionable urge to quote various authors. The man appreciated the wolfhound's company very much, telling him all about the goods and bads that occasionally happened in his life. He felt a deep connection with the dog. Then, how did the slender mutt end up stuck in this mess? Well, his owner wasn't so fond of leashes and collars; he believed they were a crime against animals. During a night while Boris enjoyed a walk outside the yard by himself, the dog catchers that were doing their night shift took him for a stray because he lacked the so-called passport to freedom. The following day onward, the old teach felt heart-broken believing his pet ran away, not knowing that his ignorance led the borzoi to be impounded. But what about Pedro? He was the other dog that possessed a real name along with Boris. His and Rositta Chiquitta Juanitta's story was quite tragic. Both dogs ended up dumped in an alleyway because the owner moved and wouldn't want to deal with the chihuahuas anymore. The siblings had to survive on their own, but, at least, they had each other. Pedro, sooner or later, would end up dragged in the pound during one of his strolls in search of food, leaving his sister alone out there. The rest of the gang were dogs born and raised in the rough and tough, cold and hard slums, getting their nicknames either from the reflection of personality or, simply, from their breeds.
Throughout the time, they, eventually, escaped a few times due to the clumsy warden occasionally leaving the doors opened. Sadly, their legs were short and luck even shorter as the dog catchers would bring them back within days every time. It was during one of their trips outside when the gang met the dog responsible for stealing and breaking the hearts of countless females, the dog they nicknamed the Tramp which Rositta and Peg had fallen prey for. Tramp wasn't the type to stick with a pack but he enjoyed their occasional company, helping them get out between the Cossacks' fangs every time he got the chance. The gray mutt was a natural at fending them off, always one step ahead. Though a certain female purebred once charmed the poor stray so hard it almost sent him behind their curtains.
Let us return to the pound. The energetic reddish dog just now finished digging his way outside, widening it enough to fit in the rest of his friends. This time, no more interruptions from the warden. Everything went smoothly. But there was one catch...
"Ah, freedom, we meet again!" a thrilled Toughy exclaimed from the other end of the tunnel as he took a good sniff of the chilly fresh air. "Come on, youse guys, whatchu waitin' for?" he followed as he made his way back inside.
"Uh, ladies and children first." said Bull sighting Peg and the other two small-sized dogs, struggling to sound like his good manners hadn't left him yet.
"Gee, thanks." Peg addressed the bulldog as she squeezed her way through the hole.
"But, amigos, what about long Boris here?" asked the chihuahua as he effortlessly passed through the iron bars separating his cell from his friends'.
"Ah, I knew there was a catch!" Toughy muttered through his mustache.
Dachsie stepped in for the wolfhound, proposing an idea. "Nein, we cannot leave him here! Pedro, gimme a paw."
"Relax, my friends!" Boris assured them, magically slipping through with barely any effort. "See?"
Everyone gazed in surprise, remaining silent. How could a dog like him get through the grates with such ease?
"Color me surprised, matey! You sure look paper-thin now that I look you harder." said Bull as he approached the wolfhound.
"I prefer the term... slim. Rare amount of food we are given, proven helpful in the end!" Boris joked.
"Hey, guys, ya' coming?" Peg shouted from outside.
"No time for chit-chattin'! Scram!" said Toughy as he pushed his friends towards the tunnel, urging them to move faster.
And so they went without a second thought. Pedro and Dachsie quickly flew through the hole followed by Bull who almost got stuck midway through. But just as the other two attempted to cross the underground passage, a voice from behind stopped them in their path.
"Boys, boys... it's the third time since y'all came here." said a white-colored long-haired dog, that appeared to be a bearded collie, with an old voice and a slight tremble in his tone from a nearby cell. "You boys never learn. They'll fetch your tails back in no time."
"You know, there is a saying... Third time is charm!" replied Boris before making his way to the outside world.
"Clueless youth... At least, here you get a roof over your heads." the overly fluffy dog added.
"Zip it, Carpet. You can rot here all day long, but I'm going. Catch ya' later." Toughy ended.
At long last, the six-dog band, yet again, made it outside safely. Hopefully, Boris did not jinx it. This time, however, the difficulty drastically increased as they were out in broad daylight, unlike other times when they'd usually make their move at night.
The reddish escapee spoke softly as soon as his body completely exited the tunnel, eye-counting his friends. "We're all here? Good. Now... how do we hit the streets..."
"Oh, oh!' Bull came in with a solution, talking loudly, 'Through the-"
"Shhh!" the dogs expressed in unison, urging the bulldog to hush.
"Pipe down, you meathead! Wanna get us caught?!" Toughy whispered.
"So-sorry, matey, I-"
"Shhhh!" they went again irritated as the bulldog wasn't keeping it down.
"...sorry!" Bull quietly laughed, embarrassed of his actions.
Soon after the spirits have calmed themselves, Toughy, now the self-proclaimed leader of the canine runaways, slowly tip-toed along the wall to check the corners for any sign of humans.
"Youse guys, it's clear." he reported, returning to his friends.
"H-how about we go to the-the... through the broken fence?" the nervous dachshund suggested.
"Through the back, yes!" Pedro agreed. "Like the last time! And... and the other last time...!"
"Wise. Then, it's settled. Follow me one by one. And don't make a sound, I'm looking at you, fella!" the reddish leader ordered, intensely gazing at the bulldog.
"Aye, aye, captain!" Bull complied, putting on the most innocent smile his mug could portray.
Between the dogs and the fence in question, a reasonable chunk of distance played the biggest obstacle in their escape strategy. However, the long, always left untrimmed, bushy yellow grass that covered the area served as the perfect means of camouflage for them. But they had to watch their step, who knows what might creep under it?
Moments later, they set off. The grass rustled as their bodies advanced through. Good thing the morning's breeze masked the sound, otherwise, they would have risked getting caught. But with Toughy as the lead, what could possibly go wrong?
"Become water, my friends." Boris suddenly broke the silence.
Nobody gave it much importance, only the wolfhound knew what he meant by that. Just as they let the borzoi's saying pass by, a sharp, loud sound cut through their ears; it came from behind. Everybody froze in place, not one dog dared turn its head. However, the pekingese was the last at the end of the doggy train, she must've had an idea of what was going on.
"Guys...?" Peg addressed her crew in whispers
"What was that, Peg?" Toughy asked, still frozen in time.
"Stepped on a branch... my bad." she chuckled.
Everyone sighed in relief. Nothing major, just a branch... just a branch. Carry on.
"Woman, watch your step, I say!" exclaimed the lead as he resumed the march.
"Blimey, my ticker stopped tickin' for a sec'! followed Bull, relaxing his tense muscles.
After a brief moment of silence and another dozen steps through the sea of vegetation, Pedro got swallowed by a sense of doubt, "Sure we go the right way, amigo?"
"'Course! Probably... Not sure... no. Boris?"
"Yes?"
"Cast an eyeball over this yellow mess, will you? Can't see a thing."
The wolfhound quickly cooperated. Good thing for his long, tall body. From the outside, it looked like a goat stuck its head out to look for its herd that it got separated from. However, Boris was no goat. His eyes quickly scouted the surroundings, aiming to spot those few rotten and broken wooden planks the dog catchers always leave unpatched.
"Your two o'clock, friend." he addressed Toughy as soon as his eyes revealed their target.
"Distance?"
"Distance? Well, uh... around... uh..."
"Sheesh... forget it. Stay close."
Meanwhile, inside the building, Bill and Al were casually relaxing their sleepy selves at the main room's table, enjoying an amical game of poker. They had no idea that a pack of six dogs just escaped without making the slightest sound. However, the storm was just about to unleash itself because in just a few minutes someone had to go water the bowls of every cell. But who was gonna go do it?
"Gee, I'm on a roll today!" Al exclaimed, grabbing the cards from the top of the table.
"Pft, one more round and I'm out." Bill sighed glancing at his wristwatch, slightly irritated that he kept on losing to his coworker. "Need to fill those mutts' dishes."
"Aw, don't be like that, pal. Wanna make it more entertaining?" said Al, trying to convince his friend for a few more games.
"...I'm listening."
"Whoever loses this one has to feed them for the rest of the week."
"...the rest of the week, huh?" Bill repeated while rubbing his chin, intrigued by the little bet.
"Mm-hmm. So? You in?" Al asked for his confirmation, already rearranging the cards.
"Shuffle 'em."
The man was almost certain he was gonna win. He sniggered at Bill, shuffling the cards with great dexterity in his fingers. Al must've been playing it for quite a long time, unlike Bill who just picked it up a few months ago.
As Al evenly shared the cards on the table, Bill felt the need to take a quick smoke. He dragged his hand inside his lateral pocket to grab a cigar from his pack along with the lighter. Strangely, the lighter was nowhere to be found. Bill put the blunt between his teeth and attempted to search again more thoroughly.
"Smokin' Highcleres now?" he addressed his opponent, peeking at his mug.
"Mm-hmm... Say, have you seen my lighter?" asked Bill as he brushed his hands over all the pockets of his jumpsuit.
"Maybe you dropped it."
"Huh... Think I dropped it back there when I searched for the keys." he added, getting up from the chair.
"Don't take too long."
Moments later, Bill finds himself back inside the dogs' prison. The sharp creak of that metallic door, yet again, raised questions inside the dogs' heads. What is it this time? Who's it gonna be? No matter how many times they heard that sound, it felt equally as horrifying. The man instantly spotted his missing belonging lying on the floor in front of the, now vacant, eighth cell, and, with quick steps, he walked towards it. However, something was off. By the time the man noticed it, it was already too late.
His lighter served him no importance anymore. The scene that caught his attention was far more alarming than that. Bill grabbed his own hair in distress and called his coworker for help.
"Al?! Drop what you're doing and come here!" he shouted, sounding very troubled.
"Why? What's the matter?" Al replied as he made his way inside.
Bill pointed at the empty fourth cell. "Look!"
The man sprinted towards his mate very concerned. What could have happened so early in the morning?
"What the-?!' Al expressed dumbfounded, 'What's with that hole? Was it there when you came here earlier?"
"I... don't know. Wasn't paying attention...! Maybe they didn't go far."
"Forget it. First, we fix this mess, then we feed the dogs. We'll catch 'em later. Come on."
Back outside the pound, the runaway mutts had reached their objective and are now out on the street. To execute the next part of the plan, Toughy had to escort his crew to a more secluded place so the humans wouldn't spot them. A couple of streets away, the dogs find themselves hidden inside a building that's under construction. It seemed like nobody was in there, for now. But the hard part had just begun. The dog catchers have learned about their absence. There's no time to rest.
"We oughta be good here for a bit." the leader stated.
The cream-colored pekingese shook off her dusty coat before asking the reddish mutt, "Was this so nerve-racking before? Gee... So, what's next, redhead?"
"What you said earlier, Peg, we lay low. Split in pairs and hide 'till sunset."
"A-and then?" Bull asked.
"You know, the Tramp once told us about this place where the dog catcher don't stick his nose in. The old train yard. We rendez-vous there."
"Who takes who?" Boris questioned the lead.
"The usual. You take Pedro, I go with the badger, and Bull teams up with the singer."
"Pardon me, amigo, what is this rende-"
"No time for this, fella! Now go! Catch y'all there. Come on, Dachsie."
A few clocks have passed since the dogs separated. Wise choice dividing the crew into three teams, this way, moving throughout the town would be much easier and more subtle. Each group, eventually, found a place to spend the time in. Some were luckier than others. Now, they were left one simple task; stay hidden until the sun sets, then find the way to the old train yard. Piece o' cake, right? Well... not exactly. Each group had to overcome their own sets of obstacles and dangers, more or less.
The redhead and his sausage-like companion were the most fortunate of the six. They ended up in a commercial neighborhood where food was relatively easy to get. Thanks to the "so adorable" dachshund, they were lucky enough to get food from quite a few street restaurants. Shelter wasn't difficult to find either. A nearby left-alone boarded up hardware store would fit them perfectly.
What about the charming, fluffy singer and her english bulldog? They were not as blessed as Toughy and Dachsie, but they got by... alive, to say the least. Bull knew the whereabouts of a butchery shop not too far away from the work-in-progress building, but their way of getting edibles from it wasn't quite appropriate. The massive grey dog felt confident enough to sneak in and steal a chunk of meat only to quickly storm outside pursued by the angry owner with a cleaver in his hand; a straight-forward approach, though, quite risky. In time, Peg and Bull would lose the doggone butcher inside a packed alleyway where they'd later be accompanied by a motley cat that Peg would get along with very well.
Now, Pedro and Boris... It could be said they were the luckiest of the bunch, but not in a good way, no. They were lucky to see the end of the day because quite a handful of things have happened. The borzoi almost got run over by a chariot and Pedro was close to becoming dog food. But how did it all happen? Well, Boris had the bright idea of scouting around that one place many people come by daily, the zoo. Very good idea considering only middle-class people and above could afford spending in that area, and that could mean plenty of quality leftovers inside the bins. However, Boris overlooked the fact that maybe, just maybe, other dogs might've had the same idea, and because of this, Pedro, who tasked himself with snooping around said bins, unwillingly caught the attention of a massive black Dane which chased him out of there with the intent of having him for lunch. The wolfhound, hearing the turbulent barking of his comrade, rushed there at once. Unfortunately, the streets were getting quite crowded. Boris, in his effort to cross them, almost got trampled by the horses of a moving carriage. By the time, he reached the other end, thankfully unharmed, the two were already far gone. Though, Pedro's lucky star was still shining bright. Later on, he'd be rescued by no one other than Tramp and miss Park Avenue who just happened to be around, enjoying a walk. Boris, sooner or later, would find a place to spend the day in, praying that he'd see his friend again.
The sun was no more. It has come the time for the gang to reunite. Guided by the distant whistles and the rising steam, Toughy and Dachsie were the first to reach the meeting point. The place was so quiet, so... left alone by the rest of the world. No wonder why the Tramp spent most of his nights here.
"We're the first here." said the dachshund.
Toughy remained silent. He was busy sniffing around his surroundings, a familiar scent was tingling his senses. It was Tramp's scent, although faint, it was still present.
"You was here before. Always one step ahead, aren't ya'?" he asked the long-gone dog.
"Who you talkin' to, freund?"
"Doesn't matter. Let's wait for the rest. Should be here any moment."
Half a clock later, three other dogs have made their way to the train yard. Peg and Bull, along with Pedro, made it safe and sound.
"Hey, youse guys, you made it!" Toughy welcomed them.
"Yeah, barely, amigo. So much has happened..." said Pedro, looking very upset.
"You can say that again, shorty. But what about Boris, weren't he with you?" Peg followed.
"He were. We got separated. Some... perro grande almost ate me, but lucky me, Tramp and senorita Lady saved my tail."
"Huh, no way, that Tramp! Wait a sec', who's senorita Lady?" she threw another question.
"You know her. She's... miss Avenue... something."
Bull laughed as soon as he heard that nickname. "Oh, miss Park Avenue herself! Told ya', matey."
"Lady... if that ain't a fitting name I dunno what is." the reddish dog mumbled.
"But Boris... What about Boris?" Dachsie questioned the chihuahua.
Pedro was about to tell them the whole story but, just as he opened his mouth, a rustling in the nearby bushes interrupted him.
"What about me, friends?"
"Boris!" everyone exclaimed in unison.
"Amigo! I thought they got you!" Pedro, very happy, addressed his friend.
"Way to go, philosopher! added Peg.
"Don't scare us like that, borzoi." Toughy chuckled. "We're all here. We made it. From now on, freedom's ours to taste!"
"About that, friend... You see...' Boris interrupted him, 'I will leave. This life... is not for me. I have owner waiting home. I do not wish to see end of days here on street. You should not, uh, either. But it was fun, I am happy to meet big friends like you!"
No one said anything. Nobody expected it. A suffocating silence cast upon the dogs. After all they went through, Toughy would be very mad at him, but that line... "I do not wish to see end of days here on street." really took him by surprise. He was right. A born-runagate shouldn't die a runagate.
Toughy sighed before responding to his comrade, "Guess this is it... Can't blame ya'."
"I, too, will follow my road, amigos. Rositta is out there, alone. I miss her."
"Not you too..." the reddish dog said, saddened about his gang disbanding. "What about youse guys, what's your plan?" he, then, questioned the other three.
"I'll stick around, nowhere to go. We're too washed-up to please the eyes of humans, right?" said Peg glancing at them.
"Couldn't say it better meself." Bull giggled.
"Very well. Guess this is where we say our goodbyes. At least, come say hi once in a while, yeah?" Toughy, smiling, said to his, now former, crewmates.
Until we next meet, runaways!