PA 3.5: End of a Tail

Chapter XXVI Part III

Without any further conversation, Patches began to close the door, silently letting the handle click shut alongside the turning of a lock. 

With a grimace, Dellanor turned her attention back to the flimsy weapon in her paws. The whole thing was lighter than before, and she was sure the bell's metal was thicker, as well as the seal against its handle was no longer so finely cut as before. As her suspicions bounded, it became more and more clear there was only one conclusion she could come to about the wand's state- the warping of the wood, the thinness of the metal, the shakiness of the bell, all of these were symptoms of it's make, not it's repair.

"This isn't the real wand." She gripped the thing hard enough to nearly split it in half. She was no expert, but cats had bells all over the place, combine that with carved wood and there was an easy way to form a mockery. She could only assume Patches had either found cloth that looked exactly like the ribbons on Mitt's wand, or he had just cannibalized the silk. "I can't believe he'd think I'd fall for something like this. That liar."

Dell's eyes furrowed as she cringed at the acting the dalmatian displayed, knowing everything he had just said was a hopeful lie. He sold his quivering self-disappointment and sadness quite well, she'd admit, but not well enough for her to ignore the poor craftsmanship. It wasn't like him to make a mistake like this, though- maybe he only meant to put up the act so as to convince the hostage he didn't have the wand? Why in the world would he need to do that?

As the voices downstairs picked up again, Dell turned her attention to them. Something welled in her chest as she heard Cujo's voice mingling with Coco's- probably bile. She had to stop it, she had to show Cujo just how terrible Coco was and put an end to their awful fraternization as soon as possible.

The terrier placed her paw against the left side wall, running her pads against the bumps and across the soft glass of the photos that adorned it. She clutched the fake wand in her right paw, taking her first shaky step down the staircase.

She saw the coziness of the room- the low table made from a slab of tree trunk, cushions sat around it somewhat haphazardly, a bunch of blankets rolled up or messily folded stacked in the leftmost corner of the room. The terrier stalked down the stairs more as her eyes finally tracked over to the small group huddled around the door, watching Coco put a sigil onto the frame as they all held some nonchalant small talk. 

Dell couldn't pay attention to the jumble of conversation; her eyes fixated past the red dog, towards Coco, who was laughing and rubbing the back of her head with a big blush on her cheeks.

Amidst the four dogs, Cujo was there, of course, smiling and laughing in a way Dell had only seen years ago. An instinctual pang of jealousy hit her stomach, but she pushed it away with the confidence that she could convince him- they just needed time alone. She could make him laugh- get him to be happy, she knew it.

The giggles died down, and meekly, Olive began to speak. "Coco..." they began, looking at the cat apprehensively, "Can we t-talk about Patchie now?"

There was an acute sigh from Coco, "I don't know what there is to talk about;" her exasperation turned towards the dog, "he's not normal. Even if he wanted to make up for what he did, someone would insult him and then he'd kill them."

"B-But we could do something different, and then he'd be happy!" Olive said with their voice full of strength, "He just needs somepu- somebody to help him with his p-purroblems, because I-"

Coco growled, causing Olive to retreat under the scrutiny of the glare.

"I-I-I j-just don't understand why P-Patchie would hurt us if he has no reason to," they stammered out.

The bombay sighed, "He doesn't need a reason." She gestured flippantly with the chalk in her paw. "He can't control it, he's just rotten."

Olive's eyes glanced around the room, clearly dejected at the remarks.

"Look, Olive, I'm just saying what I said before- he's a hazard, it's not that we didn't try hard enough, or he didn't, he's just not capable of it." She gripped her wand tightly. "I appreciate the optimism, you're a fantastic dog," the head of the magical implement grew a bright yellow, "but I'm not going to let your mood let you get hurt again, okay?"

"Euh..." Cujo began, looking around awkwardly after seeing how defeated Olive seemed, "Maybe we should talk about this some other time?"

"Yeah Coco don't be an ass," Brownie piped up, immediately catching the ire of the cat and the horror of both floppy-eared dogs. She smiled smugly at her, and after a moment of staring, Coco returned it, although her face seemed more vengeful than happy. Brownie looked away from the cat, blush growing on her face.

Dell now stood at the bottom of the staircase, her messy hair trailing down to her shoulder blades, feeling more than ever like a weight of hay that made her look disgusting. She wanted to peel her fur off and wear someone else's- she wanted to be anywhere else but near her, but would rather be dead than further away from him. Her heart pulled in opposite directions as her foot stumbled down onto the flat ground off of the staircase. 

She held her left paw against the wall still, leaning against it as every bit and piece of dirt on her body became visible, and she became hyper-aware of every tear of fabric or stained droplet of blood. She could smell the slight metallic tinge of it, and took a deep breath, trying to force the memories of Hachiko out of her head. Almost involuntarily, she began to stare at Coco, narrowing her baggy eyes and frowning as she fantasized about viscerally gouging the cat's eye, breaking her bones, and watching her brother die. She quickly snapped out of the thought, alarmed, and briefly wondered if Patches had been right about her all along.

Dellanor pried her eyes away from the cat, then at Olive- realizing they were staring right at the rat terrier. Their soft features were scrambled up in confusion and nervousness as their black pupils narrowed and their eyes widened. Sweat poured down the mutt's red face and past their pinkish cheeks; they were horrified of the potential for violence that they believed Dell posed.