Comfort found Velma in that Newfoundland's corpse. He kicked snow, dragging Janardan by his wrist like a child. Velma's heart begged to peak out of his ribcage as his feet sat in the front seat to the mongrel’s jaw. He threw the pistol to the side and threw his knees on the cold. Janardan cupped his cold leather over his ears.

"Oh," Saliva ran down Velma’s cheek, warm melded into cold. "I wanna touch it, I wanna touch it!"

"Hm?"

Velma jerked his head to Janardan, and knocked both ears with his fists. It served as a cue of utmost importance to Janardan, but it could’ve just been another fit or quirk to Janardan. Either way, it served its purpose.

Lips, flesh and fat formed into a smile and his hands fell to his side. Janardan cooed, "Oh, I bet you… bet you like that one, dude!"

Doing away with Janardan’s approval, "Mama likes this one," the fur, spotted with red, mesmerized Velma. He hit the dog with both palms, earning Janardan’s machete.

"This’ll be the last one, right? Then I can go home?" Janardan whispered into Velma’s ear as he freed the jugular.

With a blithe of a child, Velma turned back and simpered. Janardan returned the favor, then turned back and gamboled against the weight of the snow.

"Janar…?"

He stops. "What’s up, Velma?"

"What’s this…? It feels weird. It’s pointy, too."

Janardan’s eyes comb over to snow to excuse himself from the conversation. He didn’t even want to come an inch close to realizing what that meant. But Velma called again.

"Okay, okay, dude I’ll check it out," He peeked over and immediately turned back to the snow. "There’s no way you don’t...just stop the act, you're a grown man, it’s not cool."

Velma pulled a whine. "It’s not acting…! It feels really, really weird!"

"Just...tug and pull at it until it goes away!"

"Are you really, really, really  sure…?"

"Yes! Yes! Just do it, and don’t tell me about it! Here, lemme hold the head, I’ll put it in a bag or something."

Velma does so, still crouching on the ground, in front of the dead Newfoundland.

Seconds that felt like minutes passed and the splinter uncorked from his skin. Velma even showed him the end result. Janardan nearly vomited.

They kick through the snow, the mongrel’s head in the bag, hitting both their thighs, lest they forget. Velma skipped across the snowfall. The more the house drew near, the more he got hopped up on adrenaline.

"So, just go to the shed, right? And then after, I meet you back inside for pay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"...Dude, why are you acting like that again? You’re making me put a bunch of...dog parts together, and you’re hopping and skipping, and stuff like that! Why?"

Like the motion of a wipe, Velma’s entire demeanor changed. He continued walking, but he no longer skipped, and his face now holding a slight gape. Janardan dropped the subject entirely.

"Well, I guess, uh...your, like, friend know?"

Velma responded, "Not in the slightest, not in the slightest! No! And, and I’d like to keep it that way." His childish uttering retired. It’s now replaced by a voice, jumping up and down the throat. Janardan learned not to question it.

They drew close enough to spot the friend they were talking about. Dejected look, frolicing around his house, beating the sides of it with a rake. Again, Janardan learned not to question it. But he did notice the trail of blood dripping from the bag. 

And now he hoped Hasso would learn not to question it. "You all...finally came back from the hound! Cute. I’ve been waiting." Hasso nodded, face still dejected, chin on the rake.

Janardan flashed Velma as if to say, "But, dude, didn’t you say…?" without speaking. Velma pacified it with a shaking hand.

"Yeah! Yes, the hunt, you know, there wasn’t a lot, but...even when there wasn’t...a lot, we got something." 

"Job well done, Velma." Hasso gestured over to Janardan. "Who’s the man with you? And, no hostility, just curious."

"Oh, um, hey, man! I’m… Janardan, I live, like in...not far, is where I live."

Nice, Hasso mouthed.

"Speaking of, uh, which, I’m gonna like," Janardan raised the bag. "Take this." 

"You don’t mind that, right, Velma?"

"No, no, no! No! No. It’s fine, it’s fine."

"Alright, Janardan, I think this is...where we depart. I hope I see you later, you know where to look."

As Hasso hearded Velma inside, Janardan nodded and made his way to the shed, a trail of vermilion following after.

"What’s first, buddy? The television...or food?"

Velma blinked, staring at the ground. His jaw clenched when he heard him approaching, but something persuaded his chin up. He fixed on Hasso’s blank stare.

"You alright? He didn’t hurt you?"

Velma tensed his head into shaking. Velma turned to the staircase.

"Good. Go sit at the table, buddy. Your Dad’s coming, too."

He watched Hasso disappear up the stairs. "I want you and Dad to meet...Mama."

The door freed a garland of odors and flies. Janardan pushed through them while using the thought of the pay to keep him sane. Now, his buckling knees stood at the Mother. Dog parts, both new and decaying. Dog legs to form the shoulders, multiple dog bodies to form her chest and her waist, all gauchely stitched into one. The only thing that wasn't dog were her two deer legs, standing hind. Hands mincing along his pockets, he found the needle and thread and got to work.

A thump for each stair on the staircase lead to Hasso bursting into the kitchen. Velma’s face twisted and churned, and then relaxed into a slight smile. Hasso sways. "I kinda like it. I’m like...a Broadway actress."

"That’s...that’s mother’s. That’s mother’s."

Hasso stops. "...Is that a problem?

The dress presented itself as a sack adorned in wallpaper from a grandmother’s bathroom, but to Velma, it might as well have been designer. He almost drools. 

"No... there isn’t! There isn’t."

"I’m glad," Hasso galloped towards the stove and then turned his attention back to him. "I knew you’d like it."

Velma simpered and nodded, wiping the sides of his face. Then came the father, waddling in. His grunts followed him all the way to the table. 

"Seeing you, you haven’t been doing any better at all, son," He began.

Hasso spun to him. "Hey, Dad." 

"Afternoon, Hasso, will we be having some more eggs?"

"No, sir. Boring, right? ...This dinner’s a secret this afternoon." 

Even with Hasso’s back turned to him, Velma didn’t stop eyeing him. His father notices.

"Hasso, the hell do you think you have on? You know how Velma feels about that!"

Hasso looked to Velma to find an answer. They exchanged glances and got nothing in return.

"That’s his mother’s dress, Hasso, and I’m fuckin’ sure he told you that. What’s a boy like you doing wearing fuckin’ women’s nightgowns, anyways? You’re just gonna trigger another incident."

"...Incident?"

"Yes, Hasso, an incident, you ever… seen anyone when they’re mourning? They do crazy things, say crazy things—my son isn’t...suddenly immune, he’s already crazy, as you can see."

"Sir, calling him crazy is unfair."

"...Look. Of course I’m gonna let you stay, be around my son, help us around the house, and I’ll continue to pay you, but don’t do…" The father jerked an outstretched arm up and down. "...All of this shit….take that off."

The wood squealed against the tiles, "I...like it on! I like it on." Velma yelled.

Hasso and her father gape at him. A smile formed across the former’s face.

Another shade of red dragged through the snow. Much thicker and prominent than the last. The adrenaline both muddy his judgement, yet blind him. There laid a large, unmendable gnawing on his thigh. He led the wound and the trail of blood to that same house.

A fork hauled a piece of tomato around the plate, painting the porcelin’s white in a salmon pink.

"...Janardan...I fuckin’ know Janardan and his family’s poor lot. I’ve seen their faces, used to be involved with some big wigs until something was exposed...about some family member, maybe the mother was a...you know…"

"He seems like a nice man."

"He is...he is...and I know him from, the...uh, the…"

"Marketplace, you know him from the marketplace, and I’ve seen him, too."

Hasso turned to Velma. "What do you two do again…?"

"Duck...duck hunting! Yes, duck hunting, duck...hunting and… you know, Hasso, just...like you take care of me...he does the same, too. Except...you know, he’s just a bit poorer. Poorer."

He lumbered, now at the face at the house. Janardan knew entering the house was no inherent safe haven, but he still needed to fill his "obligation." Whatever that obligation was. His hand hovered over the doorknob.