The Event Horizon

Using a combination of claw and pawpad, Scamp was able to replace the sheaves of paper back into the envelope. Hopefully in the right order. His ears perked as he heard the sound of the upstairs bedroom door opening, squeaking on it's hinges. Jim Dear's footsteps could be heard on the soft carpet of the upstairs balcony. Thankfully a minor revelation. Scamp did not hear him move to the stairs.

Oh thank god. The mongrel thought. He is going to the bathroom first.

Sure enough, the sound of the upstairs bathroom door opening and closing could be heard. Scamp could then hear the sound of running water. It seemed his master had decided to run the sink, possibly taking his time to wash his face before coming downstairs. Giving the two dogs a small reprieve. Taking the missive in his maw, Scamp quickly moved it over to radiator, unsure of how exactly to reseal it. He held it near the bank of heat for a few seconds, before dropping it down and using the very tip of his claw to pin the flap closed, and allow the seal to stick.

When it looked like the wax was not sealing due to a lack of pressure, the gray mutt took the bullet in the teeth...and pined the seal directly with his claw. The result being that his claw sank into the warm wax slightly. Adding a new indention. Thankfully, Scamp had chosen a deep downward relief in the seal pattern to stick his claw. Hopefully Shang would not see it as anything more then a part of the original design, and Jim wouldn't notice it.

Heart in throat, and adrenaline running through his vans, Scamp practically galloped across the parlor to the writing desk, missive clinched between his teeth. With a good whip of his head he tossed the package into the air, it flipped end over end before landing on the writing desk. With a spot of complete dumb luck. It somehow landed right side up as Jim had originally left it. Just as Trusty entered the room.

“Sealed, and delivered!” Scamp's trail was wagging stupidly as he felt a surge of victory splash through his heart. Looking back upstairs as the water was cut off, it felt like they had just dodged a massive bullet. “C'mon. Let's get out of here before he comes downstairs.”

Trusty, trying to hide his wheezy breathing, sighed in relief. He looked up briefly as the running water upstairs shut off, then set off swiftly but carefully for the kitchen. He couldn't bring himself to share Scamp's enthusiasm since their actions were so close to being dishonest. No, he would take no pleasure in this venture, but he would see it through to the very best of his abilities.

He paused briefly before the doggie door, glancing back at Scamp. "You'll have to cover our trail. Jim knows I never come in through the back door," he stated before ducking through the low-hanging doggie door, grunting once more as he lowered his body to fit under it. Once he was outside, he leaped down the stairs with a single bound, shot across the yard, and cleared the fence with a mighty leap. Stressful as their endeavor had been, he felt the need to get his blood feeling to clear his head, and help him steady his nerves.

He crossed the distance between the Dear house, and his own, in seconds, then settled himself onto his haunches to wait for Scamp to get finished covering their tracks, and rejoin him. Then they'd discuss what they'd learned, safely away from human ears. And in the meantime, he'd have the chance to relax for a moment, and catch his breath.

As much as he hated to admit it, being inside Lady's house, so full of memories, and lingering scents, reminders of happier times, had been hard for him to bear. Out here, in the clear, brisk, fresh air, he felt himself starting to relax. But he couldn't let himself sink into his grief and sorrow just yet. And certainly not in front of Scamp. Later, when he was alone, he could deal with his grief.

Scamp stayed behind to let Trusty make one last set of tracks as the bloodhound moved towards the gap in the fence. As soon as his slender tail vanished through the wooden slats, Scamp made a flying leap from the top of the back porch down into the snow. Landing with his legs splayed in a doggie "snow angel". He couldn't help but smile as the mushy snow suddenly flew ahead of him. With a twist of his body he rolled over onto his back and began steamrolling the tracks at the base of the steps. Once his body came around to where his legs where underneath him and his back was the right way up, the mongrel hopped to all four feet.

Then came the fun part. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Scamp began to run in large circuits around the backyard. Kicking up snow and making sliding gouges as he did. Joyful laughter rolled from his maw as his ears flapped and bounced atop his head. His tail wagging happily. Not since his puppy-hood had he done this. The "wild dog" of childhood, long since suppressed by the war, was emerging in the simple action.

As he came around on one of his closing circuits, Scamp lowered his maw and plowed the surface with his muzzle like the snowplow on the front of a locomotive. A bad decision he quickly found out as mushy snow filled his mouth and nose, causing his legs to kick out and his body to to a headstand, flipping himself over to land on his back with a "plop"

Emerging from his self made snowbank, his face, back, and legs had white powder caught in all manner of fur. Scamp looked up in tome to see Jim Dear open the kitchen window, a look of confusion on his face upon seeing the dog in the backyard. Scamp gave off a goofy grin, tongue out and painting, tail wagging. Nothing to see here, just a silly puppy having fun in the snow!

Jim gave a happy chuckle, shaking his head before closing the window. As soon as the window latched and his master's silhouette vanished into the house. Scamp shot through the gap in the fence, slipping slightly on a patch of icy sidewalk before flying up the drive to Trusty's house.

"Who hoo! I can't believe we did that!" He barked as he hopped up each wooden step to the antebellum porch. "We are so super slick! Yeah!."

A small grin crossed Trusty's saggy features when he caught sight of a snow-powdered Scamp making his way towards th porch of his home. If the circumstances had been different, he might even been tempted to allow himself to be cajoled into joining the young dog in a good romp. But his good humor slipped away, and was replaced by a more somber look when Scamp voiced his opinion of their endeavor's success.

"We did what we had to do. Nothing more," he stated, a hint of mild reproof in his voice. A dishonest plot should never be celebrated. Especially not when it involved being dishonest to a friend or loved one. "And we have, uh, good fortune to thank uh, just as much as quick wits and, uh, and, uh...slickness," he said, fumbling a bit with the unfamiliar word. Slick? What kind of vernacular colloquialism was that?

"Now, uh, we really should be focusing on what we've learned. Uh, hmm. That whole 'lucrative opportunities' phrase is indeed, uh, frightening. I figure it means, uh, that, uh, that Rourke offered some kind of, uh, agreement that would bring more money to this town. Probably for Jim personally, as well," he explained, hoping he was being clear. He really didn't understand how money worked between humans. He'd never really had to give it much thought before.

What he did know was Jim was a businessman, of a kind known as an industrialist. Which, to his limited understanding of such distinctions, meant Jim's job was making money, as opposed to a soldier who fought in wars, or a railroad man who operated trains. That alone was enough to make him uneasy about Jim's possible decision. Especially since his letter made it clear that Marcaline wouldn't stop any members of the warring armies from entering the town. Only that they would fight against anyone trying to invade.

Scamp plopped down onto his haunches, creating a small ring of fallen snow around him. Like Trusty, the concept of money, monetary gain, and the complications of neutrality where above his level of traditional thought. He knew that Jim Dear and Darling where well off. That Jim was "new money", that being someone who was not born into wealth. There where richer families out there, sure, but they had always seemed to never require more then they already had. Because of that, Scamp had given very little thought to his master's finical situation. or how he did business.

"I dunno...I guess. I never really put much thought into it to be honest."

He shook his head before raising a paw and placing it, pads down, atop his forehead, just under his bang. The way Rourke had spoken, it had sounded like he was more then confident that whatever plan he had would succeed. But what was her planning? The H/Vs couldn't invade Marceline. Not like the town would be able to put up much of a fight if they did...but if the same rules applied to Rourke that Jim outlined for Shang, then...it was just once big jumble of puzzle pieces.

"Wait, wait-wait-wait...." The mongrel held a paw out toward his uncle, the expression on his face one of pensive reflection. Suddenly....it clicked. It was the only theory that made sense.

"Maybe Rourke is trying to strike a deal with Jim. Get him to join his side...but then that makes Jim outright breaking his promise of neutrality. So, instead, Rourke must be trying to strike some deal. Jim agrees to deals that Rourke can then use to get the town to willingly drop it's neutrality! Then, then...Simba's army won't be here to protected it, and the town won't be able to protect itself! Those are his lubricated opportunities. "

Scamp grimaced. Not sure, even that made sense. His tail thumped against the wooden floorboards. There where just too many missing peaces, and he didn't understand a good lot of it. No doubt Rourke was up to something bad, and no doubt he had Jim playing the fool. He finally sighed, dropping his gaze down to his own paws.

"But that doesn't make sense...Jim is smarter then that. Oh, I wish Annette was here. She would know more about this diplomat crap then I would..."

Trusty sat in contemplative silence as Scamp sat down, and tried to think like a human. How could Rourke convince Jim to go along with Marcaline actually dropping its neutrality? And what might tempt Jim into such a deal? But, try as he might, he couldn't come up with anything, and from the looks of it, neither could Scamp. He was about to suggest they try something else when Scamp spoke up again.

As he listened to his nephew lay out his theory, he stretched himself out on the porch, facing the younger dog, turning everything Scamp was saying over and over in his head. After a moment, he found himself nodding grimly in agreement. And, once started down the right trail, a few other possibilities sprang up in his mind. "Rourke doesn't even have to go that far. He could, uh, offer some kind of, uh, deal that would benefit the Human Villains, and, uh, give them an advantage over Simba's army."

He fell silent for a moment, thinking over how best to explain what was on his mind so Scamp could understand. After a moment, he spoke up again, rising to his feet to pace back and forth. "If Jim agrees to give supplies from Marcaline to the Human Villains, Simba might, uh, that is, it wouldn't, uh, make sense for him to let such an agreement continue. But, uh, if he can't offer Jim, uh, a better deal, then, well, he might send soldiers here. If, uh, if Marcaline can't fight them off alone, it might drive tis town to, uh, to ally themselves with the Human Villains."

Exactly what kind of deal Rourke might have offered, or exactly what kind of agreements might be made, Trusty had no idea. But, more and more, he was getting the impression that Rourke currently had the upper hand. He was a man like Jim, and he understood money and everything as a man would. While Scamp and himself were simply two dogs. And the phrase 'lucrative opportunities' seemed to suggest Rourke had made an enticing offer to Jim.

Scamp groaned, before dropping down to his belly, resting his head atop his crossed forepaws. From his position, it seemed hopeless. As Trusty put it, it looked as if both Shang and Rourke where determined to open the Pandora's box that would lead to the war being not only brought to the Americas, but right to his little New England town. The mutt tilted his head slightly, mouth pursed, to cast his sight down the drive and out into the peaceful streets. It was as silent as a snowflake on a winter's eve, the only motion in the winter's afternoon being the sight of the Dog Catcher's Ford sliding uncontrollably down a back street on the slushy road. Scamp felt a shiver pass through his body.

"This war, it's absolutely horrible. You should see what it did to our family. Mom's dead, Annie's all beat up, Angel is...." He caught himself, feeling a lump in his throat. "And look at me...look at this!"

His head rose, so that he could flick at the tip of his torn ear with a paw. While the war had done much worse to him, attempting to explain his own death and resurrection was far too much to handle at the moment.

"Where do we go from here?" Scamp's question was a mere whisper. "Sooner or later I'm going to have to deliver that message. Then, what? Shang sends me back with something even worse. Never mind this Rourke guy is hanging around..."

The pup growled, snapping his jaws in the air.

"What I wouldn't do to just end the lot of them! This stupid town couldn't survive what that war does."

Scamp's words about what happened to their family pierced Trusty's heart, and he grimaced in grief and the renewed feelings of helpless failure that filled his soul. He'd been torn between two loyalties, two separate duties, ever since the rest of his family left for war. He, on the other hand, was too devoted to his master to consider leaving him. The thought that he might have been able to do something to prevent Lady's death tore at him whenever he thought of her.

"I'll tell you where we go from here. You deliver that message when Jim gives it to you, but you tell me when you're leaving," he instructed firmly, his voice filled with resolve. If it wasn't going to be a straight fight, then they'd have to catch themselves a crook. He loomed over Scamp as he spoke. "But, before you leave, find out everything you can about Rourke from Jim. We'd best learn everything we can about our adversary."

He sat down once again, a grim look crossing his face once again, lamenting the ties that bound him to the town. He hated to ask someone else to head into danger in his stead, but, for the moment, he saw no alternative. "If Rourke and Shang won't eave this town alone, then we'll have to prove to Jim they can't be trusted," he stated. He felt Shang couldn't offer much incentive to Jim as far as involving Marcaline in the war went. But Rourke and the Human Villains he represented were a different story.

He hesitated for a moment, his resolve wavering into momentary indecision, as he pondered over whether or not to even mention his next idea. It would be risky. Very risky. But, in its own way, this was a part of the war. "Now, uh, is there anyone in, uh, in Africa you could trust with anything? Someone who would keep this secret?" he asked, still a bit reluctant to go through with what he had in mind.

Scamp lay on his stomach, straddle legged, forepaws crossed ahead of him, tail thumping against the wooden porch beams as his uncle spoke. His head was raised at attention, triangular ears flopping back as he nodded his head gently at his Uncle's words. Laying there, he was unaware of how much like his father he looked.

"Yah, there is one..." He gave a sharp nod of his head, his mouth curling into a charming smile. "He stood by me when it really mattered...and sure we've done some stupidity together, but he is about as honest as they come. His name is Mooch. If I told him too, he would keep a secret"

He is already keeping a few as it is...including my situation with Angel. 

From somewhere far off, the sound of church bells could be heard ringing. Scamp whipped his head over and raised an eyebrow. It was noon. Right on schedule he also heard the sound of a train rolling into the yard. Funny how on cold days like this, sound becomes more distinctive, and travels greater distances. To the mongrel, it all meant more reason to get back to the house. Jim Dear would be awake, and it would do him good to be seen frolicking around innocently.

Scamp slowly stood to his four paws, and gave a quick shake of his body to remove any snow that had yet to melt from his fur.

"I better get back to the house. Jim saw me in the backyard so hopefully he will just think I've been out playing in the snow. I'll keep an eye on things in case anything changes." He started to move for the steps. "And I'll be sure to see you before I leave! Thanks Uncle Trusty, you are the best!"

Trusty had to conceal a glower when Scamp sprawled on the porch, looking for all the world like a younger version of his father, aside from his shorter, fluffier legs. For the Tramp's sake, Trusty hoped the mongrel never showed his hide in Marcaline again. The old hound didn't know if he'd be able to let the rogue live if he did return.

He forced himself to focus, and put all thought of the Tramp out of his mind so he could focus on what Scamp was telling him. He nodded slowly, pursing his lips as he thought over what he was planning. As much as he didn't want to involve anyone else in the risk Scamp and himself were taking, he simply saw no alternative. And, while he wouldn't have placed much trust in someone with a name like that, well, if he was as dependable as Scamp said, then that was good enough for Trusty.

He glanced up when he heard the bells ringing noon, and shortly after, the sound of a train whistle. He straightened up when Scamp rose to his feet, and watched as the young mutt made to leave. "You're welcome. I'm glad I could be of help to you. Now, uh, before you go, I'll have, uh, more to say to you. Best run along now. Don't keep him waiting," he said, a small smile pulling at the folds of his mouth.

Until Scamp dropped by to announce he was leaving, Trusty would be giving plenty of thought as to whether or not what he had planned would be worth the risk. But, for the time being, there didn't seem to be much else he and Scamp could do. As much as he hated to admit it, they'd have to wait for Shang or Rourke to make the next move.