Franza Sings a Song for Yvette

There had been a saying they’d had back in Ruffsport. Franza wished they could remember how it went. It probably didn’t have much to do with escaping prison cells guarded by the same people you were trying and failing to join, but it might have. More likely, it would have been something catchy that Franza could have put to music. That would have been even better. Then they would have something to sing in order to cheer themself up.

I guess I’ll have to sing something else.

Not having a song in mind had never and would never stop Franza from doing something they thought might cheer them up.

“I’m a doggo

Borf! Borf!

And I’m in this cell

Not sure how I got here

But I really miss Yvette

Borf!”

They reached for their instrument to play an accompaniment to their improvised little number. Then they remembered that the elf had taken their bag.

I’m so sad without my things.

And so they went ahead and sang a second verse to express themself.

“I miss my things

‘Cause I like my things

Please bring me things

Especially my own

Borf!”

They were actually feeling a little better at this point. They liked singing and were proud of themself because they’d managed to rhyme the first three lines on the spot. They were cheered by the thought they could use their time waiting in the cell to fine tune their creation.

If it gets good enough, maybe I can even sing it to Yvette when I get home.

“I’m a doggo

Borf! Borf -”

“Borf!” Franza borfed in surprise, interrupting their first verse. They hadn’t realized they had an audience. Two men were standing just outside the bars of the cell, watching them sing. The first was the elf Franza had spoken to earlier, who stood there grinning.

He probably liked my song, Franza thought and it made sense. It was a pretty good song, honestly.

Standing next to him was a short man in patchwork armor who Franza did not know, and who looked absolutely mortified by what he was seeing.

Maybe I should sing more.

They had opened their mouth to do just that, but he only looked more upset. So Franza tried to do the talks instead, on the grounds that they might be better. “How long have you been standing there?”

The elf started to laugh and his friend just looked furious. “We were here before you started singing!”

“Oh. Yeah?”

Franza didn’t know why he was mad about it, but he seemed to be.

“Yes!”

“Cool. So, uh…” they hesitated before jumping right in. “Could you guys maybe let me out then? I would like to not be in here.”

“No! My friend tells me that a dog has broken into our base, I get down here, ask what the hell you’re doing, and you just zoned out for a few minutes, burst into a weird song, and I still don’t know who the hell you are or how you found us!”

He seemed tense.

“It would have sounded better with my trumpet,” Franza told him defensively.

“Who. Are. You.”

The dog stuck a paw through the bars for a shake, but no one took it. They introduced themself anyway. “My name is Franza.”

“And what are you doing down here, Franza?”

“Well, I asked to get out but you said no, and now you’re asking me questions. Also,” they added. “I don’t think my song was that weird.”

The short one looked like he might explode. Franza withdrew their paw and took a few steps back just in case. The tall one stepped forward. “I think what Irolt means is how did you get down here?”

Franza used their front paws to point down at their back paws, since they were balanced on their hind legs. Yvette had said that was the most civilized way to walk outside of the village where they’d always lived. “With my feet-paws.”

The short man, Irolt, resumed his interrogation. “What were you looking for?”

“The Resistance place and or people.”

“For what reason?”

“I’m a Resistance fighter,” they announced proudly. Then they had to amend their statement. “Only, I’m not really. Because I haven’t joined The Resistance yet. Also, I don’t really fight that good. So I guess when I do join I’ll be more of like a Resistance, uhm, you know, person? I guess? Do you have a word for Resistance not-fighters?” Their eyes lit up. “Do you have Resistance singers?”

He ignored all this. “Did Zazeezy send you?”

“Zazwhwo?”

“Who sent you here?”

“Yvette.”

The two men exchanged a glance, and then Irolt continued. “Who?”

“Yvette. You know, like from the song. Borf borf.”

“Is she one of the other base leaders or…?”

“She’s my friend. I’d like her to be more than that. She’s smart, guys, like really smart. Paws down, she’s the smartest dog I know.”

“And what did this... Yvette… person say, exactly?”

“She said I should join The Resistance. Well, her exact words were a little different.”

“What were they?”

“Uhm… she said something like that she thinks The Parliamentary policies have been becoming increasingly authoritarian with a steady incline in experimental incidents since the turn of the century. She wonders how many generations until we reach a full on dystopian state, and whether the economic and environmental damage will be too far gone to salvage sixty years from now.”

Both of the men stared at Franza in bewilderment.

“I didn’t understand some of it,” Franza confessed. “But I didn’t ask because I wanted to impress her. But I think the gist is that The Parliamentary is bad.”

“But no one sent you?”

“Yvette did! If she thinks they’re bad, then they’re bad. And so I started a quest to join The Resistance and get rid of them for being bad guys so I can surprise her. Because I love her and I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Silence.

“So that’s my story! Here I am!” Franza put out their arms and did a little hop, but nobody applauded.

Rude.

When a minute had passed and no one said anything, Franza attempted to clarify in the simplest way they could think of. “Borf!”

“Stop. That.” Irolt looked frustrated, but not nearly as red as he had been before. “Just… tell me how you found us.”

“Well, I walked in and you actually found me.”

Everyone exchanged confused glances with everyone else.

I should wait to talk so he doesn’t get mad at me again.

But in the silence each minute felt like an hour, and each of those hours felt longer somehow. Franza hated silence, and in the end, they had to be the one to break it. “So, could I get out of the cell now please? I would like to not be in a cell.”

He didn’t look angry as they had feared, just tired. “How do we know you’re not from The Parliamentary?”

“Oh. Because they’re bad. I’m not bad.”

Just as he was starting to get worked up again, his friend stepped in. “Does he really look like he’s from The Parliamentary?”

“Thanks, friend!” They said, eager to jump back into the conversation now that they had another person on their side. “I mean, dogs don’t really have genders so I’m more of a ‘they’ than a ‘he’, but I appreciate you trusting me.”

Irolt still didn’t look convinced. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird they showed up at the same time that Gold Guard was distracting me in the forge? Asking me all those questions?”

“If they already knew there was a base down here, why spy at all? And why send one of their own people into our cell?”

Franza was confused. They resisted the urge to sing. Their tail waggled in excitement as Irolt turned to them with a sigh. “So… you want to join The Resistance?”

“Yes! Is there like, a signup sheet or something?”

“No. We try not to leave a paper trail. You said you don’t fight?”

“Nope, not yet. But I can learn, maybe, and I have other skills.”

“Like playing the trumpet?” He asked skeptically.

“Well,” Franza confessed. “I can pretend to play my plastic trumpet if that helps.”

“I can’t see how it would.”

“Hey,” said his tall friend. “I think he is, they, is, are, harmless.” He stumbled through the sentence before landing on “see?”

Franza helped out as best they could by giving Irolt a dose of their most charming doggo eyes.

“Fine,” he said and reluctantly reached forward to finally open the cell door.

It had not been locked.

Franza hopped out enthusiastically. “Thank you! So did I do the thing? Am I a Resistance Person now?”

It was obvious that Irolt wanted to deny the request, but he didn’t. “I don’t know how much I can trust you, but it might be best to keep you close. And we do need more people.”

“Cool! So do I get like, a crown or a uniform or something?”

“Resistance business is all secret, so no. We don’t wear a uniform or, did you say crown?”

Franza shrugged. “We don’t have a lot of secret projects at home in my dog village. And I’ve never met a Resistance member before you guys.”

“Well, you don’t really get anything for joining.”

Franza nodded slowly before offering their most valuable bit of insight. “Maybe if you guys did wear crowns more people would want to join.” Irolt looked pretty pissed off, so they added a quick “just saying.”

“You get a badge,” the elf pointed out.

Irolt sighed. “You do get a badge.”

“Nice! Is it shiny?” Franza remembered suddenly, and with discomfort, that it had been almost a full week since someone had given them anything shiny.

“If it were shiny, Belthor would have stolen it by now.”

Franza could tell by the proud grin on the elf’s face that he must be Belthor and that the statement must be true.

If he likes shiny things too, we’ll have something in common and we’ll get along just fine.

They were a little disappointed their signup didn’t come with something as pretty as a crown or as impressive as a uniform shirt. “I’ll take one anyway. To show Yvette.”

“We’ll have to make you one, then. I’ve got the molds down here, and can cast one up for you in bronze.”

Their ears perked up. “Is bronze nice?”

“Not as nice as gold,” Belthor quipped.

Irolt was about to say something, but there was a loud crash from the floor above and they all tensed. “Belthor, do you -”

“On it,” he answered before ducking into the shadows. Franza could barely make out the shape of his black cloak disappearing up the ladder in the corner.

Irolt handed them their bag. His eyes lingered a moment on the handle of their weapon, which was sticking out. “Is that yours?”

“Yeah, that’s mine.”

“Can I have it? I’ll trade you.”

“Huh?”

Franza was familiar with the concept of trading, but didn’t know what he was offering or why he’d like to have the club. It was a terrible and unattractive weapon.

Irolt fumbled in his pockets a moment before producing what appeared to be a metal toothpick. He offered it to the dog for inspection. Franza couldn’t imagine they could defend themself with it, but they couldn’t imagine defending themself with the club either. It was too heavy for them to swing well and they got tired even carrying it around.

Plus, the toothpick is shiny.

“You said you weren’t much of a fighter,” Irolt explained. “And my weapon is still upstairs.”

Seeing an opportunity to spark a pleasant, lifelong friendship with no trouble, Franza took the toothpick and offered him the club. He looked relieved to be armed as he gave it a few test swings.

“I’m sure it won’t come to fighting though, right?”

And just then, the trap door swung open with a loud crash.