@kingswitch
It's been a few weeks since Mox last had a real job- the kind that sees him deployed off-leash, armed, ready to draw blood and beat back his target with brute force and the street-smart wits that make him such a valuable dog in the first place. Were he less useful, less trainable, maybe this kindness wouldn't have been offered to him, but as it stands, Jay paid a pretty penny for him once Roddy had finished breaking him.
For a while, recovering from pushing himself to the limit and limping back when called, turning over weapons, accepting the leash with grace, he's largely been a guard dog. The bruises have faded. The scabs have begun to flake off. It's been careful rehab in the gym and taking care to regain lost mobility. He's no good severely injured, after all.
So here he is, guarding a door, waiting on the meeting inside- and his handler, who is part of it- to finish up whatever sensitive talks are happening. he scratches beneath his collar, setting the tags to jingle brightly. Oh, that's the good spot...extended scratch ensues.
He doesn't know who all is involved in whatever these talks are and has willed himself to not get curious. Not his place.
