Title: "Wake up"
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current, appr. 3 months ago
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Not-so-subtly implied sexual and violent themes
He's been awake in the semi-dark for a while. Propped up on one arm and, not so much watching her in her sleep as sensing her in her sleep, the curve of her back against his stomach, the feeling of her skin on his, the sound of her breathing, her scent mixed with the accent in the air of their previous lovemaking. Looking at the line of her neck he lowers his head to kiss her shoulder and neck. She tastes like he remembers but each time is like experiencing it for the first time. Holding his breath so as not to disturb her, not until it's the right time, he slides his hand over the curve of her hip, and upwards, flat on her stomach. His other arm she uses like a pillow and he bends his wrist, fingertips tracing downward along her neck. Exhaling slowly he kisses her skin again and lets himself cup one of her breasts from behind.
She awakens with a choked gasp. He wears her out, there's no denying it, and for the past week or so, however much time has passed since that very first time (she can't remember, because somehow it feels like an instant and forever at the same time), she has slept soundly, contently, nearly every night. This one is no different, and it makes the sudden switch from asleep to awake all the more violent. Her belt, her guns, are on the corner of the bed, where they were discarded the previous night in the heat of the moment. She is all instinct, all adrenaline, and she tears away from the embrace. The motion is fluid, rattle-snake fast; she snatches a gun from its holster, rolls back and over him, pinning him down with her left hand. Her right hand presses the muzzle of the gun against his temple, her knuckles whitening. Her body is rigid and she is breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide open, wild, and for a moment there is no recognition in them, none at all.
To say she turns him about is an understatement; and understated as he generally is, it still doesn't come close. For a long while now her turn of phrase, images of her smiling in that way she sometimes does, the line of her neck, the way she moves have all come to his mind. Always unbidden and welcome in equal measure. However this, this was something new. She might not care to admit it, but she's an alpha, her wild, free passion one of things that commanded his inevitable and complete desire and attraction for her; and now, now he sees it in it's purest, most vibrant form. He lies beneath her, his gaze not leaving hers for even a heartbeat. All it would take, the slightest displacement of pressure, a squeeze a fraction of what he expends when he holds her in his arms or when she rises up over him during their coupling. That tiniest exertion from her and his life would be snuffed out right here in their bed. He breathes steadily, slowly his hands drawn up over the cotton sheet beneath, fingertips tracing her toned thighs as he settles his grasp on her hips; he's not entirely submissive to her, not even in this situation. Finally he speaks, eyes still locked with hers, his arctic blue eyes taking on that warm quality reserved for her and a single word fills the silence between them. "Gabe."
It takes a second, maybe two, but they are as long as eternity itself. Her eyes remain open wide but the tension, the expression in them goes from sharp and feral to confused, and then, as she sees him, to something resembling horror. Her right hand sinks down to the bed and she releases her vice-like grip on the gun. Her right arm supports her weight as she lowers her head, her hair falling in her face. She covers her face with her left hand, still breathing heavily, her shoulders trembling. That was close. That was much, much too close.
Quietly, one hand travels effortlessly up along her ribs, only losing contact with her for as long as it takes to sweep her hair away from her face, his fingers curling at the nape of her neck. He knows she's confused, phantom troubles nipping at her. Slowly he lifts himself up to meet her, his other arm crossing her lower back, as his eyes search for hers again. And in the space of a breath he's cradling her in his arms as if protecting her from some unseen shadow. The gravel in his voice soothing and with a warm tone. "You with me?" he asks, barely above a murmur.
She nods her head quickly, unwilling to lower her hand and look at him. Her breathing is starting to slow but her heart is beating a quick staccato in her chest still, and she shivers. "... yes," she replies, her voice hoarse. Yes, she's with him. She's present now, but she feels like screaming, and her right hand tightens for a moment around the muzzle of the gun, squeezing so hard the edges threaten to cut into her hand. She is still tense, unwilling to yield to his embrace.
Despite her assurance, she's not, not really. He doesn't pull her to him, just stays there, well within her reach. His head lowers a little, quirked a little to the side. "You're not alone any more..." His voice is still quiet, constant, immovable like the rocks of the earth beneath them. "Not any more..." he says again. "Wherever you find yourself, whatever the distance or the difficulty, you speak the word and I'll always be there for you..." He knows his words are possibility not getting through to her but it's all he can do to give her something to think on other than the dark edge she was teetering over.
She looks at him then, her eyes big and wide and almost a little sad. She nods again, quickly, and touches the sides of his face. Gently at first, fingertips barely brushing his skin, then with more purpose, more intent, until her touch is almost frantic. It's like she needs to know he's there, feel him, really feel him, and her dipping her head and kissing his mouth hard is merely an extension of that, a natural progression.
There's no reluctance, no need for him to dissect the course of events, to draw out what was plaguing her. When she was ready, wanted to, would allow herself to realise that he would be constant and steadfast for her, then she would. His trust for her is implicit, he'd follow her to hell and kick in the devil's door. Without thought or reservation he's altogether comfortable, more than that, he feels reassured, maybe even protected by her. There's no question in his mind about putting his life in her hands. As he eases into her embrace at first, developing into kissing her as desperately as she does him. Each time his lips are crushed to hers it is like the first time and yet having that indefinable familiarity.
She won't apologize with words, never been one for that, not even way back when, but the way she kisses him, the way her hands touch his skin and her thighs hug his waist might as well be an apology. Her muscles are aching from the previous, sudden tension, and she wants, no, craves his hands on her, working out the kinks, and eventually rendering her limbs soft and pliant. Not right now, though, right now she's like a predator, coiled up for the leap, and the kiss is ungentle, urgent, her teeth nipping his lip more than once. It's a kiss with a purpose, and as he sinks back down against the mattress, she follows, all too eager to forget and lose herself in him.
Monday, March 15, 2010
"Fella tried to make dinner outta him." Pause, page-turn. "I didn't like that."
Title: "Dog"
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan, Dog
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: None
Gabe was reading a book. While this might be cause for alarm for anyone who knew her, that was what she was doing. Being dirt-side, the ship was quiet, save for the little noises, the little signs that the ship was, in its own way, a living, breathing thing. The occasional puff of air from a vent. The metallic creak from the catwalk around the cargo hold. The ticking of a clock.
Gabe turned to the next page. Lots of pictures in this book, not so much with the text. The pictures were of guns, old ones, antiques. She acquired the book during a trade the week before, it was included in the bargain. Or, it bloody well should have been, which is why she liberated it from the shelf it had been laying on in the buyer's office, dusty and forgotten.
Duncan was out making some sort of deal on fuel, and she'd been there for the initial haggling, but when Duncan and the supplier started swapping war stories, she left to wander about the docks for a bit. And now she was home, reading her new book. She was in the galley, sitting at the short end of the table, a cup of green tea in a chipped cup next to her. She was leaned back in the chair, one foot propped up against the table, the other resting on the chair next to her. She turned another page, smiling to herself. Under the table, the big dog, that looked like a shepherd but probably just by sheer chance and a fortunate roll of the dice of genetics, shifted from laying on one haunch over to the other, put his head down and sighed a deep doggie-sigh.
Duncan's hands were thrust into his pockets as his legs carried him over the dirty sidetracks from the fuel merchants bazaar. The bustle of downtown Eavesdown was always one he enjoyed. Street sellers, desperately out-shouting the one next to them, peddling their wares. A wide variety of people, from all walks and places. The incongruously well dressed standing out just as much as the people travelling with every belonging they own in the 'Verse carried along with them and moving from berth to berth exchanging disappointed and concerned looks when the prices posted on the terminal for each docked ship are clearly more than they expected and, most like, more than they had. And at that point, prices were foremost in his mind.
The agent had given him a good price, no doubt about that. The man had taken one look at the, in places, threadbare coat he wore and had come right out and asked where he'd fought, under who, how long was he locked up in the camps. Normally, while he made no secret about serving, he didn't discuss it too much. But it seemed that on this occasion the shared history secured a favourable rate for the 30 tonnes of fuel he'd paid for. He pushed away his annoyance about how the price was better on Whittier, or how Jai Raghilda had promised a full 60 tonnes as payment for a forthcoming job, but that was the thing about forthcoming. It wasn't here and now and in order to get out of the world to where they needed to be to actually do said job, required refuelling.
The deal was done and the money spent. He made his way through the traders, passengers, merchants, pan handlers and the associated mix of streetwalkers, pick pockets and hired muscle bustling and going about their business on the street level. As soon as the bridge of Raivenn hovered into view towering above them all, his mood was better, he was even whistling that same tune, albeit tunelessly, that he long ago forgot all the words to.
The main ramp was lowered and as he crossed the threshold of the hatchway he considered calling out to her, to see if she was home from her own morning's trading. Grills and deckplates rattled under him as he climbed the stairs past the empty passenger dorm to the galley. When he entered he couldn't help smile a little seeing the tea bowl on the table beside her, he head bowed over the book. Slowly he took a step forward and as he was about to ask about the book she was so intently following his lips betrayed him as soon as out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the dog, who in its turn sat upright, ears perked up in front of him.
"Gabe.." The dog sat up fully, front legs straight. "Care to shed some light as to your friend here?"
She looked up for a moment, giving him one of her Looks. "It's a dog," she said in an obvious tone of voice, and looked down at her book again. Under the table, the dog began to growl deep in his throat, the hackles on his back slowly rising.
"That's a fact." It wasn't a question. With thumbs hooked in his belt he continued in the same tone she'd given him. "An' is this a payin' dog, or is he here for some other reason I ain't havin' the wherewithall to grasp as yet?" Before she had a chance to answer he jerked his head in the direction of the animal. "An' you can stow that, with a quickness," he offered in response to its still present low-growling greeting.
The dog stopped growling, but its hackles were still standing on end, and it didn't take its eyes off the large human. Gabe just shrugged a little and turned a page in her book.
"Fella tried to make dinner outta him." Pause, page-turn. "I didn't like that."
If 'shrugging' a chin was the correct term, then that was how best to describe the characteristic way Duncan gestured in that 'fair enough' way. He'd eaten dog, of course, and just about a whole range of different meats and what was supposed to pass for it at one stage or another. That said there was a big difference when you've had occasion to make the acquaintance of your dinner. "Can't say as I blame you, so where's he going?"
Gabe folded in one corner of the current page, closed the book, then looked up at Duncan's face.
"He's comin' with us," she said brightly, flashing him a wide smile. "Can't let him run out there again, that fella'll only find him and eat him up, well, once his mouth heals up, anyway."
She took her feet off the table and leaned forward, reaching down to roughly pet the dog's side. The dog turned his head towards her, his tail thumping against the floor. "Ain't that right, boy?" she said in what could most accurately be described as a tone best suited for nurserys. "That big mean man had to pick his teeth up off'a the ground, didn't he?"
In the morning, or some other future point, Duncan Cooperstone would look back and admit from the moment he walked into the galley, and laid eyes on the dog, her saying that they'd be taking the dog in was an absolute certainty. Not that he minded, far from it, just never really considered it before.
"Uh hmmm." He took a step closer, and without realising it mirrored the way the dog quirked its head to one side as it looked back at him.
"Yep," she said and leaned back in her seat again, grinning up at him. "So, did you get a good deal or did you forget about it, reminiscing about old times?"
After a moment longer Duncan looked away from the dog. "Weren't hardly like we were heftin' beers an' exchangin' stories about spillin' the same blood in the same mud... but yeah, we got us fuel enough to get out of the world an' hop across Al Raqis ways 'fore headin' on toward Hale's Moon and MacLaren's." He caught sight of her grin and fought hard to the urge to do the same as he rested a hip against the table top.
"Shiny." She nodded and reached out to pick up the tea bowl, taking a sip before setting it down again. The tea had gone cold and she made a slight face. "And nothin' on the Cortex 'bout no crate marked '16' or nothin'? No bulletins?"
Under the table, the dog had lay down again, his head resting on his paws, his eyebrows twitching this way and that as he followed their voices. Duncan shook his head, admittedly surprised and glad in equal measure there had been no mention on local or broad wave nets of their recent cargo hauling job.
"Seems for one time Podwangler was right, a milk run's a milk run an' I ain't about to question it none too closely." He glanced toward the lockers. "You get everythign you were after?"
She nodded again. "Yep. All stocked up and good to go." She smiled and nodded towards the kitchenette. "There's more tea in the kettle if you want some."
As always he picked up her tea bowl and discarded the almost cold remainder of her tea before drawing a fresh bowl for both of them and as he returned to the table caught sight of the dog again who for his part had followed Duncan's movement to and fro intently.
"Canny lookin' fella," he said from behind the steam rising from his bowl.
"I know," she said, adding a short 'thanks' as she took her refilled bowl in both hands and set it down on the table. "Listens good, too. S'a good dog."
"Mayhaps he can be put to work," he stated simply. The irony was that over the years he'd taken in more than his fair share of waifs and strays. The two legged variety. Who at first inspection would have no real value or skillset to offer towards the overall running of the ship. He never did, nor would have, turned them out for that fact and a good number of them learned fast and became invaluable. Still, he was the captain and a captain's got to maintain a veneer of being stern even if those who know better realised in his case that veneer didn't run too deeply.
"Maybe," she agreed with a shrug and picked up her book, flipping it open to the marked page. She was silent for a goodish while, then, "Had a dog when I was a kid. Used to chase off the bully lived in the next house up the road. And kill off our chickens. Lord, my daddy was so mad..." She chuckled and smiled to herself, her eyes not leaving the open book.
Duncan reclined a little and the wooden cheair creaked slowly, tired of being abused in the same way over the years. Having set the bowl down he laced his fingers behind his head and listened to her. It was the first time, to his memory, that she'd ever spoken about her home and her family. He sat and listened quietly as she painted this picture for him, his eyes warm.
Pausing, she flipped the page, running the tips of her fingers over one of the illustrations. "He bit that bèn zhuō Lawry boy one time, right in the asscheek as he was runnin' away." She grinned widely to herself at the memory. "Lǎo tiān yě, I loved that dog."
He found himself smiling too, not that whenever those grey and hazel eyes of hers sparkled they way the did, like they were right at that moment, he could really help himself. This time, however, there was something different about her and he knew he was seeing a side of her no one else, except those who knew her and loved her in that world she was describing, had ever seen.
"Guess he was more of cat person," he gravelled a little quietly, still smiling that smile that was hers alone before tapping his hand on his thigh. In response the sound of the dog's paws on the deckplate seemed to eclipse the sound of the ship as it got up and padded toward him and as soon as it was close enough he scratched behind the animal's ears.
She looked up as she heard the click of claws on metal and watched him pet the dog. Watching him when he wasn't watching her was one of her favourite things to do, she'd discovered... the shape of his face, the lines and minute movements of it, all capable of expressing a thousand and one different emotions, emotions sometimes she was sure only she could see. "You ever have a dog?" she asked.
He nodded, smiling a little and still looking down at the dark eyes below him. He was already thinking about it before she asked, so as soon as the question reached him a short laugh escaped him.
"Well.. " he began, glancing over toward her, stopping for a second as he thought he caught a look in her eye, but if it was there it eluded him as quickly as he thought he detected it.
"...you know, I grew up in Libertia, well 'course on a ranch there's always dogs... but there was one day I was 'bout maybe ten or eleven, my old man..." At that point his brows knitted together as he looked over to her and added, "He weren't a rancher though." As if that made any difference to the recollection. "But this one day he let me go into town 'long with one of the hands on the big ranch we lived on..."
As he began to take his hand back from the dog it laid its chin against his thigh, as if urging him to continue with the attention, which in return without thinking about it, he did.
"Well, Colby, he was off doing whatever an' I was in the main street when this kid appears... right in front of me, little grey pup in her hands and askes me to hold onto it for her, so I figure she maybe wanted to take her coat off or somesuch." He looked down, his fingertips digging through the dogs fur.
"And gorramnit if she didn't just lit on outta there like she stole somethin' expensive. When Colby came back he laughed all the way back to ranch, said he'd pay cash money to be there when I told my old man 'bout it all." He laughed again, then trailed off a little quietly, sniffed and cleared his throat. "This boy here needs a name."
She laughed as he told the story, already chuckling a little before he came to the punchline, anticipating the outcome. The smile kinda melted off her face, though, as he trailed off, her expression matching his. She glanced at the dog and shrugged a little. "You think so?" She squinted a little. "Then I name him Dog. Easy enough to remember."
"Dog," he nodded in agreement. "Leastways he'll not get confused hisownself." He looked back over toward her. "Dog's good."
"Dog is it, then." She grinned. "Come here, Dog," she said and snapped her fingers. Dog, previously known as the dog, padded over to her and sat down in front of her, long pink tongue lolling out. She grinned again and scratched the underside of his snout.
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan, Dog
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: None
Gabe was reading a book. While this might be cause for alarm for anyone who knew her, that was what she was doing. Being dirt-side, the ship was quiet, save for the little noises, the little signs that the ship was, in its own way, a living, breathing thing. The occasional puff of air from a vent. The metallic creak from the catwalk around the cargo hold. The ticking of a clock.
Gabe turned to the next page. Lots of pictures in this book, not so much with the text. The pictures were of guns, old ones, antiques. She acquired the book during a trade the week before, it was included in the bargain. Or, it bloody well should have been, which is why she liberated it from the shelf it had been laying on in the buyer's office, dusty and forgotten.
Duncan was out making some sort of deal on fuel, and she'd been there for the initial haggling, but when Duncan and the supplier started swapping war stories, she left to wander about the docks for a bit. And now she was home, reading her new book. She was in the galley, sitting at the short end of the table, a cup of green tea in a chipped cup next to her. She was leaned back in the chair, one foot propped up against the table, the other resting on the chair next to her. She turned another page, smiling to herself. Under the table, the big dog, that looked like a shepherd but probably just by sheer chance and a fortunate roll of the dice of genetics, shifted from laying on one haunch over to the other, put his head down and sighed a deep doggie-sigh.
Duncan's hands were thrust into his pockets as his legs carried him over the dirty sidetracks from the fuel merchants bazaar. The bustle of downtown Eavesdown was always one he enjoyed. Street sellers, desperately out-shouting the one next to them, peddling their wares. A wide variety of people, from all walks and places. The incongruously well dressed standing out just as much as the people travelling with every belonging they own in the 'Verse carried along with them and moving from berth to berth exchanging disappointed and concerned looks when the prices posted on the terminal for each docked ship are clearly more than they expected and, most like, more than they had. And at that point, prices were foremost in his mind.
The agent had given him a good price, no doubt about that. The man had taken one look at the, in places, threadbare coat he wore and had come right out and asked where he'd fought, under who, how long was he locked up in the camps. Normally, while he made no secret about serving, he didn't discuss it too much. But it seemed that on this occasion the shared history secured a favourable rate for the 30 tonnes of fuel he'd paid for. He pushed away his annoyance about how the price was better on Whittier, or how Jai Raghilda had promised a full 60 tonnes as payment for a forthcoming job, but that was the thing about forthcoming. It wasn't here and now and in order to get out of the world to where they needed to be to actually do said job, required refuelling.
The deal was done and the money spent. He made his way through the traders, passengers, merchants, pan handlers and the associated mix of streetwalkers, pick pockets and hired muscle bustling and going about their business on the street level. As soon as the bridge of Raivenn hovered into view towering above them all, his mood was better, he was even whistling that same tune, albeit tunelessly, that he long ago forgot all the words to.
The main ramp was lowered and as he crossed the threshold of the hatchway he considered calling out to her, to see if she was home from her own morning's trading. Grills and deckplates rattled under him as he climbed the stairs past the empty passenger dorm to the galley. When he entered he couldn't help smile a little seeing the tea bowl on the table beside her, he head bowed over the book. Slowly he took a step forward and as he was about to ask about the book she was so intently following his lips betrayed him as soon as out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the dog, who in its turn sat upright, ears perked up in front of him.
"Gabe.." The dog sat up fully, front legs straight. "Care to shed some light as to your friend here?"
She looked up for a moment, giving him one of her Looks. "It's a dog," she said in an obvious tone of voice, and looked down at her book again. Under the table, the dog began to growl deep in his throat, the hackles on his back slowly rising.
"That's a fact." It wasn't a question. With thumbs hooked in his belt he continued in the same tone she'd given him. "An' is this a payin' dog, or is he here for some other reason I ain't havin' the wherewithall to grasp as yet?" Before she had a chance to answer he jerked his head in the direction of the animal. "An' you can stow that, with a quickness," he offered in response to its still present low-growling greeting.
The dog stopped growling, but its hackles were still standing on end, and it didn't take its eyes off the large human. Gabe just shrugged a little and turned a page in her book.
"Fella tried to make dinner outta him." Pause, page-turn. "I didn't like that."
If 'shrugging' a chin was the correct term, then that was how best to describe the characteristic way Duncan gestured in that 'fair enough' way. He'd eaten dog, of course, and just about a whole range of different meats and what was supposed to pass for it at one stage or another. That said there was a big difference when you've had occasion to make the acquaintance of your dinner. "Can't say as I blame you, so where's he going?"
Gabe folded in one corner of the current page, closed the book, then looked up at Duncan's face.
"He's comin' with us," she said brightly, flashing him a wide smile. "Can't let him run out there again, that fella'll only find him and eat him up, well, once his mouth heals up, anyway."
She took her feet off the table and leaned forward, reaching down to roughly pet the dog's side. The dog turned his head towards her, his tail thumping against the floor. "Ain't that right, boy?" she said in what could most accurately be described as a tone best suited for nurserys. "That big mean man had to pick his teeth up off'a the ground, didn't he?"
In the morning, or some other future point, Duncan Cooperstone would look back and admit from the moment he walked into the galley, and laid eyes on the dog, her saying that they'd be taking the dog in was an absolute certainty. Not that he minded, far from it, just never really considered it before.
"Uh hmmm." He took a step closer, and without realising it mirrored the way the dog quirked its head to one side as it looked back at him.
"Yep," she said and leaned back in her seat again, grinning up at him. "So, did you get a good deal or did you forget about it, reminiscing about old times?"
After a moment longer Duncan looked away from the dog. "Weren't hardly like we were heftin' beers an' exchangin' stories about spillin' the same blood in the same mud... but yeah, we got us fuel enough to get out of the world an' hop across Al Raqis ways 'fore headin' on toward Hale's Moon and MacLaren's." He caught sight of her grin and fought hard to the urge to do the same as he rested a hip against the table top.
"Shiny." She nodded and reached out to pick up the tea bowl, taking a sip before setting it down again. The tea had gone cold and she made a slight face. "And nothin' on the Cortex 'bout no crate marked '16' or nothin'? No bulletins?"
Under the table, the dog had lay down again, his head resting on his paws, his eyebrows twitching this way and that as he followed their voices. Duncan shook his head, admittedly surprised and glad in equal measure there had been no mention on local or broad wave nets of their recent cargo hauling job.
"Seems for one time Podwangler was right, a milk run's a milk run an' I ain't about to question it none too closely." He glanced toward the lockers. "You get everythign you were after?"
She nodded again. "Yep. All stocked up and good to go." She smiled and nodded towards the kitchenette. "There's more tea in the kettle if you want some."
As always he picked up her tea bowl and discarded the almost cold remainder of her tea before drawing a fresh bowl for both of them and as he returned to the table caught sight of the dog again who for his part had followed Duncan's movement to and fro intently.
"Canny lookin' fella," he said from behind the steam rising from his bowl.
"I know," she said, adding a short 'thanks' as she took her refilled bowl in both hands and set it down on the table. "Listens good, too. S'a good dog."
"Mayhaps he can be put to work," he stated simply. The irony was that over the years he'd taken in more than his fair share of waifs and strays. The two legged variety. Who at first inspection would have no real value or skillset to offer towards the overall running of the ship. He never did, nor would have, turned them out for that fact and a good number of them learned fast and became invaluable. Still, he was the captain and a captain's got to maintain a veneer of being stern even if those who know better realised in his case that veneer didn't run too deeply.
"Maybe," she agreed with a shrug and picked up her book, flipping it open to the marked page. She was silent for a goodish while, then, "Had a dog when I was a kid. Used to chase off the bully lived in the next house up the road. And kill off our chickens. Lord, my daddy was so mad..." She chuckled and smiled to herself, her eyes not leaving the open book.
Duncan reclined a little and the wooden cheair creaked slowly, tired of being abused in the same way over the years. Having set the bowl down he laced his fingers behind his head and listened to her. It was the first time, to his memory, that she'd ever spoken about her home and her family. He sat and listened quietly as she painted this picture for him, his eyes warm.
Pausing, she flipped the page, running the tips of her fingers over one of the illustrations. "He bit that bèn zhuō Lawry boy one time, right in the asscheek as he was runnin' away." She grinned widely to herself at the memory. "Lǎo tiān yě, I loved that dog."
He found himself smiling too, not that whenever those grey and hazel eyes of hers sparkled they way the did, like they were right at that moment, he could really help himself. This time, however, there was something different about her and he knew he was seeing a side of her no one else, except those who knew her and loved her in that world she was describing, had ever seen.
"Guess he was more of cat person," he gravelled a little quietly, still smiling that smile that was hers alone before tapping his hand on his thigh. In response the sound of the dog's paws on the deckplate seemed to eclipse the sound of the ship as it got up and padded toward him and as soon as it was close enough he scratched behind the animal's ears.
She looked up as she heard the click of claws on metal and watched him pet the dog. Watching him when he wasn't watching her was one of her favourite things to do, she'd discovered... the shape of his face, the lines and minute movements of it, all capable of expressing a thousand and one different emotions, emotions sometimes she was sure only she could see. "You ever have a dog?" she asked.
He nodded, smiling a little and still looking down at the dark eyes below him. He was already thinking about it before she asked, so as soon as the question reached him a short laugh escaped him.
"Well.. " he began, glancing over toward her, stopping for a second as he thought he caught a look in her eye, but if it was there it eluded him as quickly as he thought he detected it.
"...you know, I grew up in Libertia, well 'course on a ranch there's always dogs... but there was one day I was 'bout maybe ten or eleven, my old man..." At that point his brows knitted together as he looked over to her and added, "He weren't a rancher though." As if that made any difference to the recollection. "But this one day he let me go into town 'long with one of the hands on the big ranch we lived on..."
As he began to take his hand back from the dog it laid its chin against his thigh, as if urging him to continue with the attention, which in return without thinking about it, he did.
"Well, Colby, he was off doing whatever an' I was in the main street when this kid appears... right in front of me, little grey pup in her hands and askes me to hold onto it for her, so I figure she maybe wanted to take her coat off or somesuch." He looked down, his fingertips digging through the dogs fur.
"And gorramnit if she didn't just lit on outta there like she stole somethin' expensive. When Colby came back he laughed all the way back to ranch, said he'd pay cash money to be there when I told my old man 'bout it all." He laughed again, then trailed off a little quietly, sniffed and cleared his throat. "This boy here needs a name."
She laughed as he told the story, already chuckling a little before he came to the punchline, anticipating the outcome. The smile kinda melted off her face, though, as he trailed off, her expression matching his. She glanced at the dog and shrugged a little. "You think so?" She squinted a little. "Then I name him Dog. Easy enough to remember."
"Dog," he nodded in agreement. "Leastways he'll not get confused hisownself." He looked back over toward her. "Dog's good."
"Dog is it, then." She grinned. "Come here, Dog," she said and snapped her fingers. Dog, previously known as the dog, padded over to her and sat down in front of her, long pink tongue lolling out. She grinned again and scratched the underside of his snout.
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