PART 5: Shores Apart
"Be patient, Scoob," he said as he added a layer of ham to each of the yet incomplete sandwiches.
The Great Dane's attention was fully dedicated to the table and the items on its surface. If anybody had looked the dog in the eyes that moment, he would have gotten an impression that Scooby Doo was under hypnosis, so deeply mesmerized his stare was. He kept his mouth wide open, revealing his canine tongue. Shaggy just hoped his pet would not leave any drool on the table.
The young man continued with his engineering project, and slices of bacon fell on the two culinary monuments.
"Do you think we'd need ketchup with that?" he asked as he tried to evaluate his creation. Truly, making snacks was an art, so much passion one had to devote to it and the techniques that needed to be worked on until polished to perfection.
"Aga-aga-aga," Scooby gave his opinion, likely an expert one, as he frantically nodded his head an unknown number of times.
"I think you're right," he concluded and walked to the fridge. He took a tube of the required topping and returned to his place.
The dog returned to watching his favorite performance as Shaggy squirted ketchup on the two gastronomic brothers. A slice of bread was added to cover each, and with that, the workshop was complete.
"Here's yours," he said as he passed the Great Dane his sandwich; naturally, it was accepted.
Shaggy took his own sample and bit into it, the meaty taste making his mouth water even more. He wondered if it took him even a minute to consume the whole home-made product. The speed he did it with could only be rivaled by Scooby.
"Nothing better than a good snack to keep the day going, right Scoob?"
"You raid it, Raggy."
He quickly cleaned the table, and washed and dried his hands.
He exited the kitchen, his canine companion behind him. The living room was next on their way, and after, the entrance hall with a staircase that led to the next form.
"No! It's not gonna happen!" they heard a panic-filled but loud voice.
Its infantile features, familiar to the last note, immediately pointed out its carrier. He appeared in person just several moments later. Scrappy Doo did not come down the stairs—he raced down in such a hasty style that would have left anybody going the opposite way off their feet.
"Out of my way, guys!" he shouted as if he was frightened to the point of hysteria, and making a turn by the pair disappeared in a room opposite to the one they had just walked out.
Man and dog gave each other a look due to the strangeness of the situation. It really felt like a right time for a question.
"Scrappy, come back here!" sounded a voice that was both demanding and soft, a voice that belonged to neither the young man nor the bigger dog.
Then the duo saw Daphne carefully descending the stairs. She looked at the pair near the staircase's foundation and gave them a warm, genuine smile. Shaggy noticed that the redhead kept a hand behind her back.
"Scrappy, I am not playing games with you!" she called out to the pooch, still on the stairway.
No reply was given; the pup was definitely not eager to come across her.
"So that's how it's gonna be?" she asked the pup loud enough for him to hear, sparks of sarcasm dancing in her voice, "very well then."
With a few more steps, she ended up on ground level.
Shaggy really wanted to get an explanation. He opened his mouth but the redhead was quicker even though racing him was not her intention.
"Hey Scooby," Daphne addressed the pet, "Three Scooby snacks after we return if you fetch Scrappy for me…"
Scooby's enthusiastic look implied that he saw nothing unfair with the bargain's terms.
"…as long as you don't break anything," she quickly added just in case.
"Rokay," the Great Dane confirmed his interest in the deal.
He took a readying stance and flew into the same room Scrappy had fled just moments before.
"No, Uncle Scooby, don't! You are being deceived!" sounded Scrappy's desperate voice.
They heard the sound of a stool as it fell to the floor having been flipped over. The echoes of paws clanking against floor, an indication of running, reached out of the room.
"Please snap out of it!" the pup continued his pleas. Another sound indicated that one of them had leaped onto the bed via big jump.
"No!" the pooch cried out after several more moments of chaos, "Please don't! You don't know what fate you're dooming me to!"
Scooby Doo walked out of the room carrying his nephew like a newborn pup. Even then Scrappy attempted to get free but being gripped by the back of the neck made escape impossible.
"Like what gives, Daph," Shaggy asked his partner.
With one gesture she revealed the hand she kept behind her back all this time…and the item clutched in it, a leash. It was obvious now.
"No!" Scrappy yelled as he saw the serpentine form.
"Could you please hold him for me, Scooby," Daphne asked in her ever gentle tone.
A couple of steps, and she was besides the dogs.
"Stay away, Daphne, or I'll report you to a wildlife defense organization!" still struggling, he made a desperate attempt at a threat.
"Sure, go for it," she said, sarcasm to the fullest extent, as she kneeled before him to get the thing on him, "only there's one problem—you're not a wolf, nor a coyote, nor a dingo."
"I'm a representative of a rare type of endangered species! So I too am a dog of the wilderness!" the pup continued his zoological fables.
"Keep talking," she nodded.
She let out a sigh of annoyance as she failed to strap him due to his constant twitching.
"Oh, c'mon Scrappy, hold still!"
In spite of Scrappy's best efforts, Daphne ultimately achieved her aim.
The late spring weather was friendly and fresh. The sun in its zenith in the heavens above spread out its warm rays for an embrace with the earth. Several clouds served as additional decorations to the skies. The trees and leafs performed their quiet melodies all around them.
He walked by Daphne's side down a footpath as they talked about trivial domestic matters. The Great Dane had separated from their company a bit and ran around the park's green setting, exercising his paws. There were other dogs out there, and they came across their owners.
A man and his beagle passed them, a degree of attention for several seconds given to them…or one of them. He found it a somewhat, maybe just slightly, but an awkward site; a puppy was walking next to them, constantly mumbling something in annoyance. He was moving using only his back paws, but was nevertheless kept on a leash, the other end of which rested in the young lady's gentle hand. The pup threw the man and his dog a look that managed to unite a 'what-are-you-looking-at' notion and request to pity him, and turned away again.
"I look ridiculous with this nose around my neck," the pup made a complaint to his owners.
"Nonsense, Scrappy, you're as adorable as always," his guide tried to cheer him up but to no avail.
"Hey, stop staring at me!" he made a break at complaining in order to give a warning to a young collie.
"Remind me again why I am wearing this crummy leash?" he continued.
"So that I can keep an eye on you," Daphne said in her gently critical tone and turned to him.
"Because last time you tried to pick a fight with that nice old lady's Weenie-dog," she added a slight reminder.
"But he was laughing at my collar!" Scrappy said as he raised the metallic brooch with the 'S.D.' initials.
"But that doesn't justify you punching him!"
"He deserved it!"
"And then I had to search the park's width and breadth in order to find you two because you and Rupert had ran off to continue your quarrel!"
"You know his name!" Scrappy proclaimed in shock at what seemed like betrayal to him.
"Yes. That lady mentioned it when she asked me to also find him for her."
Shaggy shook his head lightly, biting his lower lip in order not to laugh. He had not witnessed the described events—he was outside of town that day, on a visit to an old pal of his; as often, Scooby accompanied him. Only when he returned that evening, did he find out about that incident from a still angry Daphne and a self-defensive Scrappy.
"But that doesn't justify you punishing me in such a manner!" the pup continued the debate.
"Believe me, you'll thank me for this when you're older," she said, "you need to learn, Scrappy. Imagine what might have happened to you if it was a German Shepard rather than a Weenie-dog you had picked a fight with?"
Shaggy had to admit she had a point. They continued their walk for a bit until they decided to sit down on the nearest bench. Scooby Doo very soon joined them, a stick in his mouth. He put it next to Shaggy and sat in an average canine position.
"You wanna play fetch?" Shaggy commented, and picking up the stick, threw it, Scooby in pursuit.
"If I let you go, do you promise not to get into any trouble?" he turned around when he heard the compassionate vice.
"Yes," the pooch replied, his expression now lighter.
Without a further question, the redhead unstapled the leash.
"Now go play with Scooby," she said.
Daphne might have been quite strict at times, but nevertheless she was always ready for a compromise. Moreover, Shaggy could see right through this trait of hers. In the basis of this strictness was not an attempt to impose her view of perfection…only care, genuine and unconditional. Daphne was deeply fond of Scrappy, just as much as she was of Scooby. She cared about their well-being, and ultimately the lesson she tried to teach the pup in this awkward manner was for his own good. Even Scrappy understood it somewhere deep inside, and never truly doubted their bond.
By the time they returned home the two were on good terms yet again. The pup was sitting in Daphne's lap; the redhead kept her hand on his tiny head, occasionally rubbing him behind the ear.
Shaggy smiled at the sight as he unfastened his seatbelt; the pattern was too evident. Both dogs easily accepted Daphne as their co-owner when she moved in with him. But if Scooby was undoubtedly Shaggy's dog, so much the duo in a range from panic to eating, then Scrappy, if one followed the same pattern, was Daphne's, their eagerness for mystery-solving as one of the examples. This was a continuation of a tendency that arose during their earlier adventures as a quartet, and a logical one, it had to be admitted.
Their dance in life continued. Days, like drops of rain, would come one by one and months would line up, eventually merging into years.
Shaggy staggered into the room and accommodated himself in a sofa. From his position he could see how Daphne was carried away by work. The redhead sat behind a desk, her back to him. Upon the wooden surface lay scattered several sheets, each full from top to bottom on both sides with notes she scribed on during her visit to the records office the day before. Daphne picked up one of the papers, the complete lack of motion hinting on the degree of attention to its contents. She then let go of it, and the sheet rejoined its companions on the table, making a rustling sound as it did.
Shaggy knew she was dedicated to her project. She was now working on another installment of her article series on criminality in different locations across America. He wondered why she had not chosen a series on a different, though this one did seem somewhat logical, taking their adventures into account. Still, he thought that a different theme seemed more suitable for her, like entertainment or youth culture.
Beyond doubt in those very moments another area was being added to the literary geography of her series. This was primary purpose of their coming to this Southern Californian town. They did not need to stay in a hotel, conveniently for them, the Blake family owned a nice two-story villa on the outskirts. In another display of the convenience, the population of the house these few days consisted of five: him, her, the dogs, and the caretaker. The atmosphere was serene, and a view of the charming Californian coast opened up through the windows. Original objective aside, it felt almost like a vacation.
"No, out of context," he heard her speak, maybe to herself, or perhaps to her notebook, as she heavily crossed out a statement.
Her right elbow on the desk, she held the pen in her hand, playing with it with her thin fingers. He had learned to decipher the meanings behind her gesticulations.
The redhead scrolled down another statement but made it null with another stripe of ink. The game with an instrument of writing continued. Shaggy knew Daphne, though skilled in journalism, tended to descend into fruitless writing attempt moments. Such cases were rare, but it was evident that these click outs were somewhat stressful to her, a person who usually wanted to follow a self-imposed schedule.
He stood up and made his way towards her in a journey of several seconds. Shaggy put his hands on her shoulders; he could feel their softness and warmth through the purple fabric of the elegant dress.
"Having another of those moments?" he asked, releasing a short chuckle, as he began to massage her shoulders.
He felt her ease up, and the young woman left her hand rest on the desk, freeing the pen from her grasp. For this moment she was not a reporter—she was just Daphne, gentle and playful.
"Yes," she replied to his question. Shaggy wondered if her eyes were closed.
"So how goes the therapy I'm performing?" he asked.
"Feels great."
"You know, Daph, perhaps you should call it for today, you can continue your project tomorrow," he made a suggestion.
"I don't think so…"she tried to disagree but did not have a chance to finish her quote.
"Oh, c'mon, Daph. I think I've figured out where the problem lies. It's a beautiful afternoon, and here you're sitting cramped in this room…or fancy office…or whatever it is," he looked left and right, trying to find the best term for the part of the dwelling they were in.
"Well excuse me, but that's my job, I am a reporter." Daphne turned to face him, her voice sounding both cheerful and annoyed.
"And I'm your personal assistant. That's my job, remember?" he satirized.
"Your role is to assist me in work—the opposite to what you're trying now."
"True," he acknowledged, "but I'm more than just your assistant," he brought his hand to her chin and cupped it delicately in a teasing reminder, "that's how I'm sure I know what's good for you."
"Very well, perhaps I really need to lighten up," she gave him a hand.
It was a beautiful day. There were so many options to choose from: go to the beach, stroll in the countryside, have lunch and ice-cream at a restaurant with an open terrace. But Daphne had another idea…
"It just had to be shopping," Shaggy commented, since he knew he had no reason to complain, being an instigator of this trip.
The store's numerous halls were open to them, each with its own paths and turns.
"Don't tell me you never experienced the feel of the magical lure of a mall?" the redhead asked as she gave him an arm-hug.
"You already know the answer."
"Well, your opinion might have changed since last time."
Shaggy wondered if he could be even more far from the point she described.
"But as long as it makes her ease up, it's worth it," he concluded.
"When I was talking about an alternative to being cramped in that office, I was implying the outdoors, not another four-walled space," he explained.
"The day is far from being over. There still time for that."
Shaggy did not have to be an oracle in order to know what the first stop in their excursion in this temple of trade would be. Predictably, it was the clothes section. Dresses, skirts, blouses and other items were hanging like decorations all around them. Different colors, different styles, and different prices on the tags—the diversity was certainly amazing.
He was standing next to her as she kept examining the outfits.
"Do you think that would look good on me?" she asked as she directed his attention to the attire. Shaggy tried analyzing…
"You'd look good in anything," he complimented her, "but since when did you start wearing jumpsuits?" the outfit was purple— her favorite color—but her choice was somewhat unusual.
"I haven't, but who knows, it might come in handy."
"Ok, go try it on."
Daphne was right on time management. Shaggy admitted it as he walked with her by the seashore near the villa later on. Her feet submerged in the refreshing sea water to ankle level, Daphne carried her shoes in her hand. He kept a tiny distance from her in order to avoid getting his feet and footwear by the maneuvering waves.
"So how's the water?" he asked.
"Nice and pleasant," she praised in an advise to join her, "C'mon, Shaggy, try it!"
The young man found himself unable to turn down her request but that did not bother him.
The wind gently stroke Daphne's red hair, the tresses waving lightly in the breeze. Her blue-green eyes were shining, to him their gleam that moment rivaling that of the sun. The maritime background revealed new facets of her allure.
He thought even the best painter would fail to depict the whole beauty of this scene. He again acknowledged how lucky he was—for him she was perfect in looks and persona.
Still, there was one issue he did not know in those blissful moments. He would have probably not thought it possible that his future self could envy him.