The Home Front

[January 31-Open to Scamp and Trusty]

The past week had been a restless one for Trusty. The talk with Scamp, and their clandestine escapade inside the Dear home, had left him unsettled. The war, for so long a distant event across the ocean that had drawn the rest of his family, to a tragic end as far as Lady was concerned, and no small amount of heartache for the rest of them, seemed to be on its way to spread its misery into the small town. And it seemed like Jim Dear was not completely opposed to the idea, even if he might not know what he was getting the town into.

It reminded the old hound in no small way of the night the Tramp had saved Junior from that rat. The night where Jim, together with Darling and Aunt Sarah, had erred, consigning the mongrel to death. If not for himself, the grey-furred rogue would have died. While he wasn't normally one to have doubts, he sometimes wondered if it wouldn't have been better if he'd just let the dog be put down. But it always came down to one simple fact. Tramp had been innocent.

The old hound snorted irritably as he lay stretched out on his porch. There was no reason to dwell on what might have been. Not only was it a waste of time, it simply wouldn't do any good. Especially not when he had to look to the future. He'd been reluctant to once more act while cutting any humans out of the loop, but it had been his experience that where money was concerned, many humans didn't always think straight. In the end, he'd decided he had no choice but to act. Both for the good of the town, and his master.

Now, he just had to wait for Scamp to come by. He dozed lightly, weathering the bitter cold of winter stoically. He would have sought Scamp out, but he didn't want to give Jim any cause for suspicion, and he couldn't let the man know he was being deceived. He knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to actually lie to Jim Dear's face.

It was finished.

Jim Dear had sealed his message for Shang, and presented it to Scamp that morning. While he knew what it read, it's meanings where still unclear to the canine's mind. However good, bad, or otherwise, it was to become, it was in his trust to deliver it safely. He had debated just setting off then and there with it. But he couldn't seem to find the inclination to start his long journy. A hesitation to leave the town he had grown up in. While his puppy-hood days where long gone and buried, the Victorian home in the old New England town was a far cry from Priderock.

Perhaps it was a fear of what would happen where he to leave that kept the mongrel pacing around the backyard. Paws crunching int he snow. While he reassured himself that it was "too late to travel" and he would have to wait till tomorrow morning to set off, he knew in his heart that was just another excuse to stay behind just a little bit longer.

Finally, giving a deep sigh of reluctance, he kicked his forepaw in the snow. Spraying a small wave of slush in the opposite direction. Trusty had asked him to pay visit before he left. There was no better time then the present, and it would be one more thing to distract him from the coming voyage.

Passing through the gap in the fence, and padding around the front yard on the sidewalk, he looked up at the stately home he had lived the first half of his life in. At one point, he felt it was a prison...then it became a oasis away from the loss of Angel, his mother's death, and the horrors of war...now he wasn't sure what it was. Putting the warm home to his back, he sloshed through Trusty's front yard. Leaving deep troughs in his wake.

"Uncle Trusty?" He barked as he started up the wooden stairs of the house. "Are you home?"

The old bloodhound caught Scamp's scent, and heard his approach through the slush before the young mutt eve made it to the foot of the stairs. He lifted his head, thankful that the deep folds of skin around his face masked the weariness he felt. He'd never really liked being fawned over when he wasn't feeling well, and he didn't want Scamp to worry about him. It was bad enough when Jock fretted about him, be it a broken leg on the mend, or Lyme disease. But it would have been bad manners to display any umbrage at his friend's behavior.

"Where, uh, where else would I be?" he queried, grinning a bit as Scamp approached. He levered himself up on his front legs, scratching at a pendulous ear, causing the better portion of his head to become obscured by the folds of his hide for a moment. Scratching in front of others might not be the best manners, but he'd allowed himself some leeway since he was old. And this was far from being in public.

"So, I reckon it's, uh, about time you'll be getting back to Africa, then," he stated, a bit of melancholy leaking into his voice. Even if things had been rather tense, and their discussions about troublesome things more than not, Trusty would miss having Scamp around. Knowing the young mutt might drop by for a visit at any time had been stimulating. And, while he suspected Scamp would be returning before too long, having the house next door once more stand empty of all canine presences was rather depressing.

Scamp only nodded his head, before plopping down on his hunches atop the wooden floorboards of the wrap around porch. His tianguler ears folded back as he did so.

"Yah, Jim packed my bag himself...I get the distinct feeling he may not trust me. I don't think he suspects we did anything...but just the way he has been lately. He has something eating at him."

He smirked as the bloodhound raised a leg to attack a scratch. As much as his mother insisted that such activity was impolite to do in front of others, his father seemed to not care. A trait that, along with his distinctive scratching pattern, the grey furred mongrel seemed to inherent. He held a paw to his chest, and gently thumbed his collar with the side of his paw. The green collar was something new. Not long after his and Trusty's misadventure in the parlor, Jim had appeared with another collar. At first it brought Scamp mostly confusion. But upon seeing it, he noticed that it was an exact copy of the original one he had lost long ago, with the addition of some extra writing on the back. Which turned out to be some essential basic medical information, such as the pup's blood type.

"You said you wanted to see me before I got out of here. I'm thinking about leaving tomorrow morning, or afternoon. "

Trusty nodded a bit grimly as the folds of his flesh slid back into place. He couldn't say he blamed Jim for being reluctant to tell Scamp much. After all, before the war broke out, men and dogs didn't talk to each other. Well, men spoke, but they didn't expect to hear their dogs answer. He gazed down at the young dog's collar for a moment, drawn to it when Scamp pawed at it, but he was snapped out of his thoughts when Scamp spoke again.

"Oh, yes, of course. Uh, I've been deliberating over the past week, and I've arrived, uh, rather reluctantly, at a conclusion," he stated, his words a bit slow and drawn out. He was still reluctant to involve anyone else in the town's problems, but he honestly saw no other choice.

"You said, uh, you had some friends you could, uh, you could rely on to help you. Well, it's time you see if they're willing to stand beside you now," he intoned solemnly. What he was a bout to ask of Scamp, and by proxy, of Scamp's friends, was going to be dangerous, and likely against what was expected of them as soldiers. But he was set on this trail now, and there was no going back, just as their would be no going back for Scamp and his friends if they agreed to help.

"Now, this must be done with the utmost, uh, secrecy. If they're willing to, I want you to bring them here," he instructed grimly. He lowered his head to gaze, eye to eye, at Scamp to impress upon him how serious he was, and how severe the consequences of what he was going to ask of them could be. "But you must make it, uh, absolutely clear to them that this is going to be dangerous."

They might be leaving the war-front, but they would be put in harm's way by coming to Marceline, even if the war didn't reach the town in a major way. That was what Trusty hated most. He would have to ask more oft hem than he could honestly do himself as long as his master lived.

Scamp whimpered slightly as he thought of his companions and allies. Sure, there was Mooch, maybe Gurri....Mooch he would trust with his life! Even though he had a feeling the shaggy sheepdog may have a few not so choice words for the mongrel upon their next meeting. He trsuted 'Tani, and he was sure she truted him to some extent. Afterall they had spent time in London together. But at that moment he couldn't bare to put her through anymore pain. Uncle Jock he could trust. Then there where his three sisters.

"What about the rest of the family?" He mused, almost as much to himself as to Trusty.

Dani wouldn't care. He was sure of that. Hell, he wasn't even totally sure that his youngest sibling was even still alive. Perhaps he could talk to Annie and Cole. But he knew they weren't on the best of terms. Perhaps they would find enough loyalty to their own home to put aside their differences. But he just didn't know.

His father...only Mufasa knew about that one. Mufasa, and his mother.

Angel...? I'm so stupid, I can't even bare to face her.

Finally, he looked up at his uncle. "Okay, I think I have an idea on who I can ask. I just hope they still trust me enough to listen. But well..." His trianguler ears flopped again. "I havn't been much with the rest of the family. Since mom died, we all sorta split. I'll talk to my sisters. See if they even care."

He gave a soft snort, wrinkling his maw in the process.

"Why do I have a feeling Shang isn't going to like this."

Trusty grimaced when Scamp mentioned the rest of their family. He'd have preferred for Lady's daughters to stay in the Pridelands under Jock's protection if Marceline were to become a war-zone. But he reckoned that was rather selfish of him since he was already recruiting Scamp into his plans. And they had just as much right to know what was happening in their hometown as any of them.

He nodded in agreement when Scamp mentioned talking to Annette and Collette. Then he frowned slightly, the expression almost lost in the folds of his face, when the young dog mentioned the general, Shang.

"Shang can't know. Not yet," he declared firmly, hiding how much even that deceit bothered him. Deception had never been in his nature, not even as a pup. And yet, here he was, putting a conspiracy together behind the backs of both Jim Dear and General Shang. Even if he didn't know the man, it didn't feel right to deceive the general.

"If anyone agrees to come here, they must keep their departure a secret if at all possible," he stated. He frowned for a moment, wishing he knew more about the camp the Heroes were staying in. But, even without that knowledge, he could still give some advice due to his long experience with folks who didn't want to be caught.

"They must leave the camp in pairs at most, and set off in different directions until they are clear of the camp. Then they can make their way here," he instructed evenly. That way, there was less chance of them being noticed when they departed.

"That's assuming if they will go..." Scamp mumbled.

He shuffled himself around so that he was laying on his stomach, forepaws crossed before him. The resemblance to how his mother would sit was uncanny. Another trait passed down one could assume.

"Annie and Cole I think are having some sort of feud, and I don't think I could get close to Dani without ending up a guest of the Outlands. I'll talk to them and see if they have any interest. But I have a few friends who may be willing to help out as well. Maybe being the key word there."

He knew of a way to quickly find out. There was the twilight bark, a system of communication that had been shown off by the many Dalmatians that resided in the encampment. Perhaps he could quietly find out what was going on at Priderock without having to leave the backyard. That's assuming Mooch would even talk to him after finding out that Scamp was still pinning for Angel.

The mongrel's tail thudded against the wooden floorboards of the porch. There was still his father. The last time he had seen the Tramp, the latter seemed more entrenched then ever with finding some way to make up for his past deeds. If the others had the same attitude that Scamp had, there was doubt if his self imposed mission would have been successful. Still....he was the best street dog there ever was.

"What about pop?" The pup mused.

Trusty's already pendulous features drooped even more as a wave of nostalgia swept over him. There was so much of Lady in even Scamp to remind the old hound of the graceful Cocker Spaniel. It still seemed wrong for her to have died, while older dogs like himself lived on. He supposed it always would.

He grimaced as Scamp described the state of the rest of the family. Well, maybe it would be for the best if they stayed away when their was trouble stirring. Perhaps Jock would agree to stay in Africa to look after them. But as Scamp spoke up again, he tensed up, hackles raising for a moment, the hint of a snarl tugging at his lips. He'd avoided even thinking of the Tramp as much as he could, ever since Jock had told him about Lady. The mere thought of seeing him again was almost too much.

But he was still Scamp's father. And he'd certainly have his uses, if he could be relied upon.

"That's your decision," he stated, a bit curtly. If Scamp, who had more reason than most to have ill feelings towards the older mongrel, felt the Tramp could be trusted, then Trusty could wait until after the town's safety was assured before he settled his own issues with the mongrel. He hoped.

"Oh, uh, one more thing. If your sisters do not return with you, please ask Jock to stay and look after them, as a personal favor to me," he directed more calmly. He knew he could depend on Jock to look after them as well as he was able.

"Yah, sure...Uncle Jock."

While he recognized his Uncle's wish to have the Scottie keep an eye on his sisters, Scamp mind was still buzzing about his father. His decision...right. Because Scamp was nothing but an expert and making good decisions. Over the course of the year, when it came to his family at least, it had seemed that all he was capable at was pouring petrol over the fire. However, over the course of his stay in Marceline, the thought of his pop and how he would handle things had more then once crossed his mind. (In the place of his puppyhood, surrounded by distant memories, it was hard not to drift back to happier times)

When it came to the Tramp, the waters where deep and murky at best. As much as he wanted to trust him, Scamp found that he just couldn't. Still, in light of the ongoing tensions the former street dog would make an excellent ally.

His decision...he would have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Still, there remand much ground to cover. With his mother's grave standing between them, the gulf between father and son was wider then ever.

The young dog's tail continued to thump against the wooden floorboards. Not quick enough to be wagging, more akin to pensive contemplation.

"You know, I was hoping that by coming home I would be able to get away from that stupid war. So much has happened out there...life can never be the same. But instead, I feel like this is my fault. I brought it with me. I can't escape."

It was fairly obvious to Trusty that Scamp wasn't firm on any one opinion of his father. And, truth was, that was one reason why the old hound had deferred to the young mutt about the Tramp. If Scamp didn't feel like he would be able to work alongside his father, then it would be best for him not to be forced to by someone else's decision. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if the older mongrel simply faded into memory, and never returned.

But all thought of the Tramp faded from his mind when Scamp spoke again. The old hound grimaced when he heard the pain in the young dog's words. Scamp, and his sisters, had all been too young when they'd marched off to war. They should never have been exposed to so much pain and suffering.

"Listen to me, son. It's not your fault, so you can stop blaming yourself. If it hadn't been you carrying that message, then it would have been somebody else. And, uh, whoever it had been would not have cared so much about this town, like as not. It was fortunate you were the one to carry it," he stated firmly, and a bit sternly. Then he sighed, and shook his head, pendulous ears and droopy face swaying gently with the motion.

"No, life will never be the same. The moment you set foot outside of this town, you left your old life behind. Whether it be, uh, whether it be a war, or uh, or being forced into early retirement when a sudden illness, uh, makes you unfit for duty, well, things happen that...that we just can't help but be unprepared for. But, just because we don't have the lives we may have, uh, desired, even planned on having, doesn't mean we can't still live full, uh, I mean, well..." he trailed off when he realized he was starting to talk about himself more than he was about Scamp, and he snorted softly as he stretched out on the porch again, shaking his head briefly to gather his thoughts.

"The point is, for the time being, the war isn't here. Not yet, and you have given us a chance to head it off before it is," he concluded. It wouldn't be easy, not when they were set to go up against humans, but they would give it their best effort. Hard work and determination had made all the difference, many times in his past. "Once we get through this, uh, this whole ordeal, then we can, uh, discuss your commitment to the war. That collar, that license, says you still belong to Jim Dear, just as I belong to my master. It means nobody can force you to stay in Africa and fight if you feel you should return to Jim. We are dogs. Our duty to our masters runs deeper than anything else."

In no small part, it was his duty to his ailing master that drove his actions. If the war came to Marceline, his master's life would be in danger. The man could barely even leave his bed, let alone defend himself, or flee from danger. And, as far as he was concerned, if Scamp decided to leave the army he was a part of, and return to Jim, that was the end of it. He was equally certain Jim would agree with him about that. Just because dogs, and other animals, could now speak to humans and be understood, didn't change the relationship between men and dogs.

The young mongrel shuffled his forepaws slightly, bowing his head to cast his gaze downward. Triangular ears flopping forward. He gave a quick snort upwards in order to blow the fur of his bangs out from in front of his eyes. Despite his uncle's reassurance, Scamp still felt more then a little guilty. For reasons in which he couldn't fully explain to Trusty. Not without reveling the issues that led to his departure from the Pridelands, the months of sleepless nights, nightmare, broken hearts, and painful memories. The battles he had been in, the one he had lost his life within, and the hearts he had broken, and been broken too. No...some blame did lie with him. Even if the simple act of delivering a message had fallen on someone else's shoulders.

He brought a paw up, and gently touched the brass tag. How long had Jim had these? No doubt he had extras in case anything happened to one of his dogs, and he needed to prove ownership. But the war was a far cry from simply getting tossed in the slammer. Scamp doubted Scar or Jafar would treat the tag as anything more then a bit of decoration. But there was the symbolism, sure. After-all, he had himself gone to great lengths to restore Angel's collar and tag. Even if it's legality as a dog tag was in question. No one could force him back...but thinking about Mooch, Gurri, and his friends. There was a loyalty that drew him back.

"No...some things are my fault. You right that there are things I can't change. But that doesn't mean I don't want too."

He looked up at the bloodhound, chocolaty eyes seemingly full of exhaustion. As if they belonged to a dog twice his age.

"You remember when I ran away? While you and Uncle Jock where helping my folks try and find me, I tried to join this pack of stray dogs. I met Angel there. One night, while we where on the streets...she offered me the chance to join her and run away. Leave this town together and leave the Junkyard dogs, my family....all of it."

His ears flopped back, his gaze falling back down to his forepaws.

"I should have taken it. Then, I never would have returned, I never would have been involved in my family going to war. Hell, with Angel never joining our family, she and I would have stayed together, my sisters would have never left for war, and my father's secret would not have been exposed. Mom would still be alive...and none of this would have happened.

    But I didn't. I chose the path that led to this. Sure, your right,  it's not my fault that my pop was an idiot. Sure, I didn't start that war, and sure I didn't kill my mom. But I did some pretty bad things out there Uncle Trusty, and I've regretted so much. It's haunting me. Eating at me. I can't sleep, and when I do sleep I keep having nightmares. Sometimes about things that I wish could have happened differently, other times stuff that went utterly wrong.

What do you do when your family hates itself, when the girl you know you love is sleeping with the bastard that mur...uh...hurt you? When all you have left is your home, empty as it is, and even that is under threat by this fuckin' war. I know I shouldn't blame myself for this, but it's just too much. I have no one else to blame."

Scamp gave a hard snort, his eyebrows furrowed and a soft snarl placed onto his maw. He stood up to his forepaws, sitting on his hunches.

"But I'm not letting them take this away from me. Not my home, Not the friends that I have left. Even if it means having to go back to Africa, and face my demons. I'll do it. I have a few friends left, and maybe my sisters will listen. I have to try."

Trusty listened without commenting as Scamp spoke, although he did open his mouth a couple of times before shutting it. The longer Scamp spoke, the more apparent it became that Scamp had a lot to get off his chest. Even if much of it seemed to be Scamp holding onto a whole lot of guilt about things he really had no control over. Obsessing over what could have been would only weigh him down, if it didn't completely destroy him.

While the old hound couldn't answer every worry Scamp had, he felt he could help Scamp to move forward instead of clinging to the past. But it would mean discussing his own past, something he'd never done even with Jock. Even now, it was a delicate topic for him. Yes, he'd long ago stopped dwelling on it, but that didn't mean it didn't still hurt to think about.

But, for Scamp's sake, and for Lady, he'd swallow his pride, and the bitter feelings the past held for him.

"Maybe, if you had left, things would have been different. I know some things that would have certainly been very different. The rest of us would have never stopped wondering where you were, not knowing if you were alive or dead. Perhaps lying injured somewhere, waiting for us to come help you. Wondering what we could have done differently to keep you from leaving in the first place. Living with the thought that, in some way or another, we'd failed you," he retorted sternly, but not harshly.

Seeing how sorrowful Lady had been when Scamp had been missing had been hard for Trusty to bear. He'd been so determined to help find Scamp that he'd set out, with only Jock for company, to try to find the young mutt. And now, even if he didn't know it, Scamp was starting to fall into the same trap Trusty himself had fallen into a long time ago, shortly after arriving in Marceline. "I have things I wish I could change, myself. Things I still dream about. Circumstances I'd never dreamed would befall me. I'm gonna tell you something I've never told anybody else. Not even your Uncle Jock."

"Back in Louisiana, back when I used to hunt down criminals with my grand-pappy, Ol' Reliable, I got sick, and for a time, I...I, uh, I lost my sense of smell. Couldn't catch a whiff of anything. I wasn't any use at hunting anybody down, so I was retired. After a time, I recovered. I was tempted to leave this town, to head back to my grand-pappy's side. But I had a master here, and a close friend. I couldn't bring myself to leave them."

"I was supposed to continue Ol' Reliable's line, and one day pass my knowledge on to my own offspring. I could've found my way back to Louisiana, but I decided to stay here instead. So, maybe if I had gone, you would have never even met your father, or even met Angel. She would have never even been born," he stated, shaking his head a bit, setting his ears and jowls to swaying with the motion, sorrow and regret evident his eyes and voice. Then he sighed.

"The only things you can do when you make decisions you regret is to deal with them and move on, or falter under all of the guilt and fall apart. Live your life, or just give up and quit. If you can't stop blaming yourself for what's happened, even if, uh, it wasn't any fault of yours, then live for your mother, and your sisters. Make something of yourself," he challenged firmly, but calmly. "And for the friends you would never have met if you'd left with Angel."

"One more, uh, one more thing to keep in mind. Something my mother once told me. She likened dark thoughts and doubts to birds. There's no shame in having them fly over head, she'd say, but don't you let them sty and roost," he quoted. "It won't be easy, but I'll be right here beside you, standing between this town and anyone who would cause it harm. No matter what."

Scamp stood still, for one in his life, and listened to his Uncle's story with interest. Even his tail lay flat against the floorboards. If not for the rise and fall of his chest, one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a stuffed plush. Perhaps it was childhood perspective, but he had never given much thought to the bloodhound's history. Like he had thought of his father as nothing more then a house dog, he had assumed the same for Jock and Trusty. Sure the story of how the two friends had once saved the Tramp was impending doom in the back of the dog cetcher's wagon had been a bedtime story when he was growing up. But that was all he really knew about his Uncle's past, and his abilities.

"I guess your right. I doesn't make it any less difficult, and in the past few months it feels like it's only gotten worse. Like, at one point I thought things where evening out."

His gaze dropped to the wooden floorboards again. It was a lot to digest. But somehow, it made him feel a little more secure about how things where going. A little more confident in returning back to Priderock. he turned his head to look out into the yard. Already patches of green where poking through the dirty slush of winter. Dispite this sign of warmer times, they still had a few more months of winter to last, and it was only a matter of when, not if, it would snow again.

Winter in New England after-all.

"When you loose so much, you become a little protective of what you have left. I feel a bit better on returning back to the Pridelands. Perhaps I can make a change after-all."

He turned his head to bring his eyes back up at the older hound. The hint of relaxation returned to his face. Ears flopping forward confidently.

"I will be back, and I not let you or anyone else down Uncle Trusty."

Trusty nodded in agreement when Scamp mentioned that things would still be difficult. How well he knew how difficult things could be. But, at least Scamp seemed to be taking his words to heart. At least some of the burden he had seemed to be carrying was starting to fade. And the young dog didn't look so beaten down as he had before, even though he'd barely moved a muscle.

"I don't reckon there's anything that, uh, will make things any easier. Truth is, uh, it may very well get even worse before it gets any better. But, uh, as my grand-pappy, Ol' Reliable, used to say, 'the night is always darkest before the dawn'. That was, uh, the last thing he ever said to me, as a matter of fact," he revealed, momentarily sinking into nostalgic memories from the past.

He'd been somewhat reckless in his youth, always ready to race into even the most dangerous situations with no real considerations about his own safety. Of course, he was still as ready as he ever was to leap into action if need be, and to hell with his own safety. But he was also more prudent about judging when such action was necessary. He attributed much of his acquired wisdom and patience to his dearly departed grandfather. He was grateful he'd been there when the great hound passed away, even though it had been painful to say goodbye.

Well, soon enough, he'd be seeing Ol' Reliable again.

"Well, of course you can make a change. You are your mother's son, and uh, well, for all of, uh, his faults, your father did have his merits," he said, a bit begrudgingly, and reluctantly, when he mentioned the Tramp. As much as he detested the grey-furred mongrel, if not for him, there was no telling what would have become of Lady, or the baby. And he was honest enough to admit the Tramp did have his good qualities.

"Now don't you worry about what's goin' on back here while you're away. I'll be keeping my eyes open, and my nose to the ground," he promised, a bit of his old fire lighting up his eyes, as if the years had rolled back for him. Old he may be, but there was still plenty of fight left in him.