milliways_bar | (no subject)

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So there is pretty much only one thing that makes Dug happy. And that is - well, okay, two things.

Three.

Four. No, five. Six. Seven - and you know what, it's probably easier to say that there aren't a lot of things that don't make him happy. But high up on that list is food, especially food he doesn't have to do anything except for a little begging to get. And it just so happens that this place, this interesting magical place, well...it's got something pretty special. And that something would be a magical bar that gives Dug whatever food he asks for, at least until he gets cut off because he's already devoured roughly three times his own bodyweight in assorted raw meats.

Do you know what that means, Milliways? It means that Dug is one very, very happy dog. He's also very asleep at the moment, sprawled on his back in front of the fire with all four paws in the air, snoring and occasionally passing wind as his legs twitch with exciting dreams of chasing and capturing birds. Occasionally, his collar picks up a stray thought and translates it quietly, the Dug version of sleep-talking.

It seems like it'd be a shame to wake him. After all, it's not like he's completely blocking several armchairs, not to mention the route to the fire...oh, he is?

Well.

Maybe someone should wake him up. But nicely, of course. With plenty of tummy scritches.

[ooc: I sense a sleep coming on - slowtimes for all, new tags always welcome and always picked up! *mwah*]

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Dug is luckily not shy about asking for things.

"I have eaten! And I have slept! Would you like to play ball with me?" Dug's mind: home to some very peculiar if surprisingly logical logic. "Oh! I could find a stick! And you could throw it and I could bring it back!"

It's a dog. It would be more illogical if Dug decided that quoting Shakespeare should come after a nap.

"Well. If you want a ball—"

"—Or a stick, it would be—"
"—Better to do it—"

"—Outside where there is—"

"—More room."

Dug's enthusiasm and fat layers would be a traffic hazard inside the bar.

But clearly every bar wants to be remodeled courtesy of a massive bouncing dog and his somewhat destructive tail.

"Can we go outside?" Cue puppy-eyes. "Please? And then we could play! I would like that very much!"

Don't worry, twins, he probably won't do much before it's time for another nap.

Thing about Dug is, once he gets bouncing the effect would be the same as that of one of those little rubber balls you get from vending machines, except that now it's the size of a beach ball.

Xamot and Tomax would not like having to pay off that tab, even if they make enough to cover several Dugs.

"Certainly. We'll—"

"—Go outside—

"—After we get our coats and your ball."

Because it is cold out. You don't mind cold, do you Dug?

Edited 2010-02-20 05:46 (UTC)

Dug has blubber to rival a whale. He's not worried about cold.

"Oh!" He's already vibrating with excitement. "I will get the ball! I will get it!"

Without waiting for an answer, he dives off towards Bar, scattering chairs in his wake. A quick moment with the sentient wood and he's bouncing back, a particularly obnoxious rainbow-colored ball clenched firmly in his jaws.

"I am ready! Please throw it for me!" Forgetting that they, of course, aren't outside.

Or just vibrating in general.

"We need our coats."

"One moment, please."
It does not take long since Dug has cleared a path for them.

"Now we can—"

"—Go outside."

Dug continues to be helpful by clearing a path to the door, which he sadly cannot open due to the lack of useful thumbs.

Naturally, this doesn't stop him from leaping up on it, trying to figure out some way to push it open.

Lack of thumbs on Dug's part is made up for with two pairs of thumbs on the twins' part.

Step one: open the door.

Step two: get out of the way of a very enthusiastic dog.

Dug pretty much explodes out the door the second it's opened, zooming around the open area with the ball clenched in his jaws. He skids over, almost falls, drops it, and gleefully bounds after it, snatching it up moments before it hits the lake before trotting back to the twins and spitting it at their feet.

"Throw it! Oh please throw it! I will catch it and bring it back!"

Ew yuck dog drool.

Five seconds are devoted to arguing over who picks up the ball.

Please don't make the doggy wait. :(

Finally, Tomax picks it up. With his fingertips. Ew ew ew.

And gives it a good toss—mostly to not have to hold it any longer than he should.

The five seconds, to Dug's mind, are about five hours and he spends them dancing frantically back and forth, waiting for the ball. But then it is being picked up and it is in the air and oh it is going! It is flying! And he is chasing it!

He's not particularly graceful when he runs, but he can get up a surprising turn of speed, and - even more surprisingly - manages to catch the ball in midair, leaping upwards and landing hard with it clenched in his jaws.

This time he trots back to them slow and smug, clearly looking for praise about his acrobatic feat.

You know, that actually was impressive. Moreso that it was performed by a baby walrus stuffed into a dog skin.

"Good boy!" Xamot says, patting Dug on the head.

Your turn with the ball.
Eurgh.

"Go get it!" he says as he takes his turn, throwing it just that little bit further.

This time he's a little slower after it, and it bounces a couple of times before he manages to snatch it off the ground. In retaliation, he chews it violently, coating it not only with dogslime but with dirt and bits of twig.

Ball thoroughly beaten, he returns it to the twins, leaping up on his hind paws to try and dump it in Xamot's hand.

"Again?"

The idea of getting a dog post-retirement has been replaced with "get a cat post-retirement". Cats do not slobber.

The twins are exchanging looks. It may be that they will not have to do this long before Dug's being very out-of-shape catches up with him.

"Of course."

And there goes the ball!

But cats are so much less fun, especially compared to Dug.

He goes after it once more, although it has enough time to come to a gentle halt at the base of a tree before it gets scooped up by his jaws. He walks back, too, and dumps it at the twin's feet before flopping down himself, panting hard.

"That was fun," he informs them. "You are good at throwing!"

Sure, they're not as fun as Dug is, but they tend to be quieter and less inclined to slobber. And the Paoli brothers do not like mess. At all.

"We've had—"

"—Practise,"
they say obscurely.

It is amazing they tolerate Dug, in that case.

"Practice?" Dug rolls over, absent-mindedly gnawing the ball into further submission. It squeaks defeat.

"Do you have a dog? Does it talk?"

They tolerate Dug the way they tolerate everyone else: to act belligerently around the patronage would not help with their benign image.

You can't fool most of the people most of the time when you act like what you really are.

"No. No dog."

"We don't have the time for one."

"Even a talking one."

Luckily Dug is just a dog, with zero grasp of subterfuge (or even of the word subterfuge)

"Then how have you had practice playing fetch?"

:O!

"Some of our clients—"

"—Have dogs. But they do not—"

"—Talk."

All of this is true.

What's also true is the number of grenades they've thrown during their time in the Foreign Legion and in Cobra, but shush. Dug's not supposed to know that.

"Oh." That makes sense. It is sad how many dogs do not talk.

He brightens up a bit, though. "You could bring them collars!"

Very sad to any dog who can talk.

"You know, Dug?"

"We probably could."
Pause.

"If we had some."

Poor Dug may get a lesson in the word subterfuge yet.

This is some pretty hard thinking, here, but Dug gives it his all. The ball in his jaws that is steadily being crushed probably helps too.

At least, until he leaps up, spitting the ball out so he can pant joyfully at them. "You could ask the Bar for a collar! She can do anything!"

That poor ball! D:!

"She could do that."

"Bar has been good at giving us things."
God, if they do get one of those collars things will get Ultra Weird in Joeverse.

"Bar is so nice! She gives me food!" Dug bounces in a little circle, clearly feeling his second wind.

Then something occurs to him, and he pauses.

"Or you could borrow mine! Just for a bit! If she could not give one to you!"