"I hear you Senorita," Antonio said whilst working her back. "That sounds real rough, the place you've found yourself in. Rough enough that I can hear it in your bones."
"She's been driving me over the edge for weeks," Dizzy bemoaned. "First it was about the way I was taking care of myself, then it was the way I was carrying myself and if all that wasn't enough, she's trying to set me up with my own friends!"
"Family," he tsked. "Sometimes you love them, sometimes you despise them like they're your worst enemy."
"Is that what your family is like?" she carelessly asked.
"Eh," he pushed down onto her shoulder blades. "Mi familia isn't very notable, they never have been, not enough to talk about. My mama was sweet though."
"Oh?"
"Before she passed from cat flu."
"Oh."
"I don't know, maybe you should try giving her a chance," Antonio suggested offhandedly.
"What?!" Dizzy barked, hard enough that her heckles raised, disrupting the careful process which he usually undertook.
"Calm down Senorita," he quickly uttered, ushering her back into the same place and position as before. "I was just saying. Maybe, just maybe you'd get something out of it if you had a whole day to spend with her."
"I've had whole days to spend with her," she whined. "And I've hated them. I hate her."
"You don't hate her," Antonio insisted alongside his work in kneading the toughest muscles around her spine. "If you had a whole day where she's aware that she's on thin ice, I'm sure you'll both learn a little more about one another."
"Are you speaking from experience?"
"Nine different experiences," he said beneath his breath before popping the last few bones and easing the last of the tension away. "Alright your time is up."
Dizzy sighed in relief when she stood up, shaking out her with far less burden than she would have before, "Thanks Tony, you're a lifesaver."
"It's my pleasure," Antonio said with a light bow. "I would after all be disgracing the name of my family if I did not put our skills to good use."
"Well you put it to the best use," Dizzy praised once more. "Hey, do you think I could bring my friend Ward over some time? Not to sound like a dog with rabies or anything like that, but he came back from the dead a while ago and his body's still a little stiff."
"I hope you realize that I'm now convinced you must have rabies," he said, a bewildered look plastered across his face.
She easily laughed his feigned shock off, "Well?"
"Mmh, maybe sometime," he pondered, "but not today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or-"
"Okay I get it!" Dizzy chuckled. "You're so very busy and it'll be until at least next month that you have space in your schedule."
He scratched behind an ear nervously, "I think I might be a little full next month too."
"Sheesh. The massage is good and all, but I had no idea so many dogs wanted one."
"More like needed," Antonio said, unable to hide the smugness from his voice. "What?" he asked when she had no retort to his pride and instead simply stared at him.
"Your paw."
It took him a moment longer than it should have to realize what she was referring to and when he did, he tucked the ligament away self-consciously. "That? That happened a long time ago. An accident."
"Let me see," she said, stepping forward.
"It's really not anything to-"
"Let me see."
Though he may have been hesitant, Antonio soon relented, revealing his paw to her and trying not to shake too badly while she looked over it. The sight was not pleasant to most, of that he knew. The most common reaction to the jagged digit where claw had once been dominant was to recoil away, whether out of pity, disgust or fear depended on the animal.
"See?" he said with a scoff. "It's nothing, just an old wound I forgot about a long time ago."
"It looks like it was painful," Dizzy pointed out with a wince.
Antonio only shrugged, "As painful as a blacksmith's hammer striking it off. Word of advice: don't try sneaking off with a blacksmith's food."
"You need to take better care of yourself," Dizzy concluded, looking between him and his mangled digit in horror. "Have you ever considered giving yourself a massage?"
"As much as I would love to, even cats have limits I'm afraid," he said with another scoff.
"Mhm," she hummed in thought, a candle going off in her head, "what if I gave you a massage?"
"You? Sorry Senorita but even if I were up for letting you break my back, it is a strict rule within my family to never allow what we do for others to be done unto us. It's sacred," he added for good measure.
"Alright," Dizzy shrugged, enjoying the movement and it's lack of resistance. "If you say so. But at least promise me that you'll start taking better care of yourself."
"Promises are dangerous... but fine. I Antonio Guerrero the Fifth promise to take better care of myself... if you promise to give your mama a chance."
"Ugh," she groaned as soon as the words left his mouth. "Do I have to?"
"If you value our friendship."
"Fine," Dizzy huffed, making it clear that she was not happy with the deal. "But just because I care about you."
"Caring for others is dangerous too."
"Everything is dangerous to you," she chuckled, disregarding his words. "If it were up to you, a massage would be considered dangerous."
"... well-"
"Tony!" Dizzy laughed, the lightness in her ligaments making it all too easy to simply enjoy existence.
"C'mon Peg!" Toughy whined. "Just cause we're seniors now doesn't mean we have to act it."
"Yeah," Bull agreed, "let's make today the day we feel a little bit younger, one last time. Ain't no harm in it, is there?"
"I'm here aren't I?" Peg said sourly, head almost buried in the grass.
"Hardly. We'll never get a good game of catch the chicken in if you keep up wiv this attitude.."
"Bull," she sighed on her way up. "Just once in my life I'd like for you to understand that me keeping to myself, if even for just one afternoon, is not attitude. I just want to be left alone."
"Oh but what's the joy in being all alone?" Toughy asked with something of a sullen look. "It's never better alone."
"For some dogs, it just might be."
Though they still looked quite crestfallen by her stubborn refusal to play along, both Bull and Toughy backed off, enough so that Peg felt free to rest her head back down between her paws.
There was so much more to think of and consider than the silly games they would have her play. How and why they even intended to play such games was beyond her. At their ages, no longer quick and graceful and far-off from being able to cover great distances in a short manner of time, it made no sense to risk injury with the sort of thing that pups did to keep themselves entertained.
Briefly, as invasive as the thought made itself out to be, she could not help but wonder what Dizzy would have done to keep herself entertained. A part of her hoped that in spite of the circumstances she would have grown up in, that she would have been just as rambunctious and free spirited as Peg herself had been, giving her father more trouble than he could possibly have asked for. The other part prayed that Dizzy had been far more of a kindred soul growing up. That she had never put herself into the same reckless situations which she had wandered into with Randall on a near constant basis in the past.
The former being more likely than the latter only made the guilt on her shoulders feel heavier than it already was. To know that being alone, Dizzy did not so much as have a mama to run back to at the end of a day spent causing trouble struck her as both unfair and undeserved.
"Hey uh Peg?"
She heard the inquiring voice of Toughy and though his disobedience thoroughly annoyed her, she still did him the favor of rolling over so that he might be addressed.
"Yes?"
"I know you's said that you didn't want to play catch the chicken, but-"
"Knock it off already," Peg whined, "you're not gonna change my mind."
"It ain't that, it's just that well, me and Bull already got started with the game."
"And?"
"We might've brought some company over."
"What do you mean by-"
"'Ere 'e comes!" Bull yelled out ahead of his heavy steps, each leaving an imprint in the soft dust of the ground. "You lot might wanna start runnin'!"
"You darn rascals!" the 'he' in question yelled on his way around a corner. "I move from place to place trying to keep my hens happy and laying eggs and then if it ain't some gray mutt showing up to disturb the peace, it's you three!"
"Oh you had to bring him this way," Peg whined, standing as quickly as she could.
"Dems the rules," Toughy said with a grin before taking after the retreating Bull, Peg in close tow just behind him. "Keep up!"
"I'm trying... where are we even going?" she panted.
"Someplace real damp and wet!" he vaguely shouted over his shoulder.
"If I'd had rifle with me I woulda' shot the lot of you!" the man continued his tirade as he marched in heavy boots to keep up with them. "Now I'll just have to skin you alive!"
"I don't know about you," Peg gulped, "but this guy sounds pretty serious."
"They always do," Bull shrugged, having slowed down just enough for them to catch up to him. "And then the worst they do is give ya a kick in the ribs."
"Then I'll hang all three of your skins up to dry!" he said loudly, now brandishing a rather sharp hunting knife. "One'll be the rug, the other will be the tablecloth and one I'll keep just for decoration!"
"You still think he's just joking around?" Peg asked with a glare on her face.
"Oh c'mon Peg," Toughy moaned, "you're ruining the mood here. You're the last person who was ever ruining the mood."
"Forgive me for not wanting my hide off my back and on some stranger's table," she almost hissed.
"'Ere comes the bridge!" Bull pointed out.
"And what do we do once we get to that bridge?"
"Not quite sure, us getting there is where the plan ends."
Were she not running in desperate strides to keep away from the angry chicken owner behind her, Peg would have cuffed them both over the head. Instead she simply looked down with a baffled expression and muttered: "We're gonna die aren't we?"
"Ruining the mood again," Toughy remarked once they came to a stop, no where else to go save for the water below. "Here's an easy jump right here. Guy like him won't want to get his boots wet."
A moment of silence passed before Bull casually mentioned, "Now might be the time to bring up that I never did learn 'ow to swim."
"Four years?" Toughy expressed in disbelief. "I've know you four years and now is the time you tell me you don't know how to swim?"
"I was gonna learn... eventually."
"There we are," the man said through a heavy breath after finally having caught up with them. "No where go now."
"Oi! What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm doing what... oh," he straightened up, voice becoming noticeably more amicable. "Gentlemen, I was only looking for these dogs who are always disturbing the peace around my chickens and-"
"Dogs? I don't see no dogs. What about you fellas? See any dogs?"
When the gang gathered before expressed the affirmative in a wave of hums, he turned around to where the trio of Peg, Bull and Toughy had been seated just moments before.
"Now why don't we show you what happens to fellas who wave knives round our territory?"
It was quiet in his room.
Divorced enough from the rest of the old factory that he did not have to deal with the noise of those working in his name. Yet, a wave of restlessness overcame him all the same. It was one of the many things which had trailed him all of his life. Standing still was unbearable, sitting even more so. That had predictably made him quite the pain for his father to deal with during important meetings and so he'd often be left just outside the room with Roman to watch over him. If the senior dog ever felt (because he certainly would not show) any sympathy to his boredom, he might have been lucky enough to enjoy the outside world for a bit before inevitably being dragged back into the lineage.
Otto almost chuckled at the circumstances. Here was once more, years past puphood and immaturity, sitting restless in his room with no one but Roman to spare him company. He was half tempted to ask the older dog for permission to go roaming into the fields beyond their hideout simply for the sake of nostalgia. The decision would of course be his to make one way or another, but it would still have the effect of stirring up the old ways.
"Roman?"
"Boss."
He chewed his lip and pondered the question he intended on asking, several different versions of it forming in his head, before he ultimately decided to split it in two, "Do you think I've done a good job? In leading this family and living up to my father's legacy?"
"That is not for me to say," Roman answered much too quickly and much too shortly. It was how he answered nearly everything and for that alone Otto should not have been surprised. He was not, but that did not mean he could not feel frustrated.
"You were with my father when he rose to power," he tried again, "you were with him when he was strong and healthy. If anyone in this country has any semblance of insight into the work my father did, it's you."
When Roman did not answer, he supposed that he had spoken out of line. For someone like him that should not have been a concept and it almost wasn't. While no one, not even Roman would ever lash out at him no matter how unsavory his words, there was a sort of cold heat which he felt whenever Roman was even the slightest miffed at him. It was something between the two of them, lost on any others who may or may not have been present.
"Your father was a good dog," the older dog said at last. "But like any, he had more than a few biases and habits which dragged him down. It's ironic, the very same which he sought to instill in you was what he indulged in. There was so much that I suggested to him, so much which would have kept him strategically sound and yet he turned me down every time, insistent on his own ways."
He had said enough for Otto to be taken aback. Not into silence for he next asked: "Do you hold that against him?"
"I don't hold things against dead dogs, they already infest my dreams."
Before he could question the surprisingly talkative Roman any more, a pair of paws approached through the crack beneath a fallen tanker, the sole way into and out of his room.
"Sister," he said, acknowledging her presence.
"Brother," she returned, bowing in the same way which she had when she was younger and would insist on playing kings and queens with him.
"Tired of the savages already?" Otto asked, a grin adorning his lips. "I warned you when I said that you wouldn't last long."
"The boys are fine dear brother," Ainhoa said, her eyes rolling with her words. "They know better than to bother me."
"For more than one reason," Otto chuckled, stretching out from his place on the tiles. "Whatever brings you here? I hope it isn't just so that you could stop by to tell me that you've proven me wrong."
She steeled herself before making her request known, ignoring Roman's heavy gaze with an often practiced air of indifference, "Let me go to Chicago."
"Chicago?" he asked, biting down on the word. "I can't let you go to Chicago."
"Brother," Ainhoa began, the argument prepared long in advance, "you can't keep me here forever and I've trained for this. I need the chance to prove myself, why not give me this one?"
"Chicago is so rainy at this time of year," Otto said with a louder chuckle, giving away any sincerity to the matter. "You can go."
Her brow raised automatically at the easiness with which he had granted her wish.
"I don't even want to begin to know why you want to go to Chicago when we've already sent a spy, two spies! In fact."
"Two spies with very loose allegiances to you," she felt the need to point out.
"Potato, patatoe," Otto said dismissively, "it's all the same to me. Go, I can already tell that should I have said no, you would have been too upset to even spend dinner with me tonight."
Despite his words, Ainhoa hovered in place for more than a few moments, long enough that her brother cleared his throat to ask: "Is something wrong?"
"No," she said quickly, almost still too stunned to move. Her final act of loyalty to him was yet another small bow which he watched with an air of lazy satisfaction before she padded out of the room, out of the factory and toward Chicago.
Otto remained seated for a long time after that, waiting until the restlessness had come back to him. The wave of it prompting him to stand up and address Roman curtly.
"Follow her. Make sure she doesn't hurt herself."
"Boss."
He was gone quicker than Otto could blink, a dog too haunted by the dead to care for mortal rules.