mesomer:
His eyes slide over to her with the mention of leaving – a luxury she had, but not him. He doesn’t pretend not to feel the pang of jealousy, which makes it easier. Luke rides out the emotion for as long as it lasts, which isn’t very long at all, and it fades with his next breath. He smiles – smiles at her, the story, and this stupid, dumb dog.
He shakes its paw like he’s seen some pet owners do.
‘I like this guy, myself.’ He lets the dog go; he points instead to the pug with its dour little face, already starting to fall asleep. ‘Or that one.’ His hand moves; it coasts over to the end of the pen they stand beside, all the way to a dog that nearly looks lost in its own fur. It waits obediently while a child tries to balance a teapot on its head, tail wagging leisurely. ‘But…’
‘I bet you like this guy, right?’
This one, the one right in front of them. It’s the antithesis, almost, to the image people think Natalia has: quiet, demure, polite and compliant in every respect. It’s barked in his face twice already, demanded his attention, and nudges his hand anxiously when he doesn’t go back to petting it. It doesn’t really fit her outward image, but…
‘He reminds me of you.’ Her? Her. It has to be a girl; he taps her on the head a couple times, earning another bark for his efforts. ‘But you’re not planning on getting one, right? I mean…’ He trails off, not out of objection, but for his wandering eyes.
The teapot has changed heads, now, and the pug wears it like a prize.
“Well-- I hadn’t planned on it.” The spotted dog wanders over to the pug, squinting at its makeshift helmet. It is quiet for once, and only for a moment, before it sneezes. The pug stands up with a jolt, and the teapot tumbles from its head.
The dalmatian barks, loud and rough like it’s laughing.
“Wouldn’t it be fun? And Guy wouldn’t mind..” He shouldn’t mind-- what with his “work experience” and Natalia’s patience for his special brand of “strays”.
The pug watches the larger dog sniff the spout of the teapot, with an expression that Natalia can only describe as dumb. It seems to be patiently lost, and she smiles despite herself.
“..Have you been doing well?” The question is sudden, but she speaks with a comfortable slowness, like this was always the natural flow of their conversation. She’s been waiting quite some time to ask.
“It’s been quite an...adjustment-- for all of us. And you and I.. we don’t speak about things like this as much anymore.”
Things like this-- themselves.
She knows why, but there is no other way to start.












