…Don't ask.
Disclaimer: Dunn belong to me, though I would sincerely like to have a Havoc or Fuery of my own.
Four hundred forty-seven words: Training
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"Oh, no, no, no, no, no!" Havoc picked up the small dog that was about to leave its mark by the scruff of its neck and danced around in a circle. "No, no, you don't piss in here, you stupid mutt, you do that outside!"
Stupid Fuery going out of town. Stupid Fuery leaving this stupid dog with him. Stupid dog trying to piss on the stupid wallpaper. Havoc carried the dog outside at arm's length – he hadn't gotten familiar enough with the damn thing to call it by its name yet – and crouched, letting it drop six inches or so to the ground. "You piss out here," he said. "Out here." He swept his arm over the lush green lawn that didn't belong to him, but belonged to his neighbor, tee hee, the one Havoc just couldn't stand. That kid had parties. Weird parties that kept him up all night. Neighbors could deal with a yellow patch on their lawn.
The dog just looked at him.
"Ugh." Havoc spat and lit up a cigarette – "Don't smoke around the dog," Fuery had said. Yeah, right. "Like this, you stupid mutt." He squatted by one of the neighbor's rose bushes and lifted his leg, pretending to take a gratifying piss, sigh and all. "See, now I feel better, and I did it in the right place. Now you try."
The dog tilted its head to the side, but otherwise it didn't move.
"All right, fine." Havoc looked up and took a long drag from his cigarette. "Don't be using my wallpaper as a toilet, though." He'd take a damn boot to the thing's head – "He's not house-trained yet, but that shouldn't be a problem," Fuery had said. Yeah, right.
"C'mon, mutt." He picked up the dog again and carried it inside. Then he lifted it to eye level. "If you have to do anything bladder- or colon-related, you scratch on the door, got me?" The dog sneezed when a drifting tail of smoke met its nose.
And it let out a bladder full of urine on his uniform.
That was it. This dog was going to run away. And Fuery would never, ever, ever find him.
Havoc yawned. "Tomorrow morning," he told it, "you're dead meat."
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The dog made that a hard thing to do when he woke the next morning with it curled up beside his ribs, small breaths and a quick heartbeat rubbing fur against his skin. He felt his face contort into a sleepy smile.
"Maybe we should just make Fuery piss outside," he grumbled to it, rolling over. It yipped and scampered over his side to snuggle against his chest, his own little space heater.