god_of_the_arena | dog park shenanigans

Even though the dogs had each other to socialize with, and even though there were plenty of places for them to run around on the farm, Gannicus saw some value in bringing them into the city to play at the dog park. First, it exposed them to other dogs, reinforced good manners (as Krem said), and let Gannicus intervene in any bad habits before they could get worse. That, and it gave Gannicus a chance to socialize, if other owners were willing.

At the moment, there was snow on the ground. Aster, Bran and Foha were all wearing winter gear of some kind or another. Aster, in particular, was in a ridiculous sweater, as he was the only dog that would tolerate them and Gannicus and Aggie amused themselves by buying them. The two former fighting dogs were in more dignified blankets.

Aster bolted around the park, apparently intent on annoying every dog present at least once. He bowled over a rather hefty looking bulldog and then turned a dime to go back and try to greet his victim. Gannicus was already on his way over, just in case, the bulldog, rightly, was not amused.

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Given the weather, Chuck had expected — hoped, maybe — that the dog park might be empty, or close to it. He probably should have known better. Just as the snow and below freezing temperatures don't stop him from having to take Max and Jeff out, the same must be true for others here, too. At least he doesn't mind it too much. It's fucking cold, sure, but he's had plenty of that before, and the dogs don't seem too bothered so far.

The first real exception to that seems to be not the weather, but a dog that runs straight into Max. Immediately, Chuck gets to his feet, not wanting there to be any trouble. Max mostly just seems stunned, though, which is a relief. "He's fine," he says to the man whom he assumes to be the other dog's owner. "Nothing to worry about."

"Apologies. I try to come when there are fewer dogs, but..." He trailed off and gestured. Apparently today had been a miscalculation. Aster bounded around and darted over to the new man, tail wagging like he might try to fly with it.

Bran approached Max curiously, a bit stiff but tail giving a cautious wag as the two dogs introduced themselves.

"Yeah, that's what I was trying to do, too," Chuck admits a little wryly. At least it still isn't as crowded as it might have been in better weather. The dogs are far more friendly than Chuck is himself, too. In Jeff's case, her former owners are probably to thank for that, but he's never understood it in Max. It could be worse, though. He really doesn't need either of the dogs causing or getting into any trouble.

"S'alright. Comes with the territory, yeah?"

"Apparently," he agreed with a wry look at the red dog looking for love. Foha stayed off to the side, watching and a bit uncertain as to what might be expected of him.

"I'm Gannicus," he said as he offered his hand. "That's Aster there, at your feet. A more ridiculous animal I never met."

"Chuck," he replies, reaching out to shake Gannicus's offered hand. "That's Max who got bowled over, and Jeff over there." He isn't generally much for smalltalk. When it comes to his dogs, though, it's a little easier, if only because it seems a little less pointless. Something about the man's face looks slightly familiar, anyway, Chuck's eyes narrowing just slightly for a moment before he thinks he's placed it. "Do you go to fight club? I think I might've seen you around."

He grinned at the mention of fight club. "Every time," he answers. "I was a gladiator before I came here. It is a life I know, a certainty I near miss. Fighting makes all things clear."

It narrowed his world down and nothing that existed outside the ring mattered.

Gannicus felt Aster butt against his hand and he realized he still had a ball in hand. He threw it and the red dog went tearing off after it.

"Yeah, I know that feeling," Chuck says with a huff of a laugh. It might not be the same circumstances, but he feels a little more comfortable hearing a sentiment like that, the sort of thing he could easily say himself. A lot of people here don't seem to understand that. He can't begrudge them the lives they came from, or the isolation of this place, but he still feels a little adrift here, a soldier in a world without war.

"Fought in a war from the time I was sixteen until I got here. Not much else I know how to do."

"War of any kind gives clarity. I am free when I fight."

He knew it was not a popular sentiment, and he was grateful that Krem understood, even if he did not always agree. Even Gannicus could not bring himself to fully believe it all the time, not with this kind of distance between himself and the life he led before Darrow.

A weight leaned into his leg and he glanced down to see Foha there, quiet and solemn. He reached down to rub the dog's boxy head and cropped ears.

"And here there is little need. Have you found other work?"

"Not really," Chuck admits, shrugging. On one hand, he knows having something more to do might help him somewhat. On the other, though, it all feels rather pointless. For so much of his life, he had a specific purpose, a drive. Losing that has, perhaps, been the most difficult thing about adjusting to Darrow. Though he talked a big game, he knows he never expected to see life after wartime, certainly not when he detonated that bomb in the moments before he washed up on Darrow's beach. It's an odd adjustment to say the absolute fucking least to be apart from all of that.

"I never really figured out how to do anything else with myself." It's an odd moment of frankness, uncommon for him in general, never mind when speaking to a stranger, but so few people here understand that life. It makes the words come a little easier to know he's in the company of someone who does. "What about you?"

Gannicus couldn't help but smile, if only because the story was familiar.

"Nor I," he conceded. "Once I gained freedom, I was lost. I found myself without purpose and no home to return to. Here felt much the same. Taken from the midst of war, I awoke here to find none."

He shrugged and wrestled a ball out of Aster's mouth so he could throw it.

"But I've found trade as a butcher. It fills the hours and gives mind focus. It is not the same as the clarity of the arena or battlefield, but... it is a life. One I would not have were I not here."

It's probably an odd thing to be relieved upon hearing something like that, but it's so similar to what he's thought about so often since he got here that Chuck can't quite help it. Few people he's met have seemed to understand that at all. Having it come from a stranger, someone he's only just met, is strange but not unwelcomely so. At least someone gets it. For that matter, at least he doesn't have to try to explain the sensation, something he knows he isn't good at, not used to having to articulate himself in that way.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it exactly," he admits. From the time he was a child, he knew what he was going to do with his life, and for years, he dedicated himself to that. The loss of that has been difficult to grapple with, to say the least. "And hey, whatever works, right? Least it's something."

dog park shenanigans

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