Я вернулся в деревню

[balancedlight]

Who: Svetlana and Open + a prompt for Fraser
What: Venturing forth and also dealing with April shenanigans!
When: April catch-all!
Where: Milton, then the path up to and including Lakeside. See prompts in post!

Content Warnings: Nothing as of yet; will update!

Comments

[eighteenhalflives]

"I won't tattle if she shows up."

There's an almost comical immediacy to the way his entire demeanor perks up when she grabs the bowl, straightening out of the slight slouch in his posture with all the attentiveness of a sighthound. Not that he's necessarily expecting her to offer it to him, but a guy can clearly hope.

In the meantime he drops his bag aside and makes his hands busy pulling off the scarf he's been using to shield himself from the cold and the fog, lately. Some still-healing burns mar the skin of his face, but he's managed them well enough that he hardly thinks about that.

If Svetlana looks down to the dog beside him, she might notice traces of similar burns on its exposed muzzle — a few days old, at least, and not untreated.

[balancedlight]

The bowl is indeed for him and she holds it out to him along with a spoon that she actually scrubbed a little clean.

"Does he bite?" she wonders, cautious of the dog but only because wild dogs are generally not the sort to approach. And out here, it can be anything.

[eighteenhalflives]

He accepts them both with a flash of a broad grin before he answers easily, "Only if you're gonna try and kill me. He's sweet as pie otherwise."

Something in that comparison has the sound of a phrase picked up from someone else, a not-quite-natural way of rolling off his tongue that nonetheless doesn't seem disingenuous. The dog watches the exchange with keen eyes, but everything in its posture is relaxed and content.

"I can't promise he won't try to lick your hand if you pet him, though. I'm not the one that raised him."

Like that completely absolves him of any responsibility for the dog's behavior.

[balancedlight]

"Oh, I'm certainly not planning on that."

She smiles and presses her luck, kneeling down to pet the dog gently between his ears. "What's his name?" she asks, not looking up from the dog's very calm face. Sveta doesn't fear dogs at all, but there are all sorts of creatures around here.

[eighteenhalflives]

"I've always called him Dogmeat." Which isn't quite the answer to that question, but it's the most honest one he's got. Tobi is, however, immediately occupying his mouth with beet soup in lieu of dwelling on it.

Dogmeat simply melts into the attention. His ears perk and swivel as her hand strokes between them, and his tail begins to swish behind him as he leans forward into the petting and heaves a big sigh of contentment, still staring up at her with those clear mismatched eyes.

Perhaps the oddity of the difference in color contributes to it, but there's an uncommon intelligence in that gaze; especially for a wasteland mutt.

[balancedlight]

"Dogmeat," she repeats and turns her attention to the dog so she can continue to shower him with attention and affection. He deserves it for being a good boy, after all. She looks over to Tobi with a tilt of her head, but lets him enjoy the soup as much as he likes.

"What is your name?" she asks him instead.