First Step [Video; public]

[dogwalksyou]

Hello? Hello, yes.

[The dog comes into focus at an odd angle - the communicator is on the floor, between her forepaws as she peers down over it. Apparently satisfied that it's working, she yips in delight, rushing out of view in a close-up whirl of paws and tail and glimpses of an old timber ceiling as she spins in a circle. Then her face reappears, tongue hanging out slightly from her canine grin.]

Hello! I'm the Disreputable Dog. Or the Disreputable Bitch, if you want to be technical. Who wants to go for a walk?

Comments

[mattersverymuch]

And where exactly will you be walking?

[dogwalksyou]

Anywhere!

But probably the CES for a while. It smells different every time!

[mattersverymuch]

So it does.

Well, I'm not doing anything at the moment, if you still need a walking companion.

[dogwalksyou]

Get up on deck, then!

[mattersverymuch]

[He makes his way up on deck with some, but not a huge deal, of haste. He's interested in this talking dog, in that everyone else seems confused by her but she's not an incredibly confusing sight to him. It does help that she's easy to spot, though. He makes his way to her side with long, slow strides, hands locked behind his back.]

[dogwalksyou]

[She sniffs around him in circles a bit. He smells like the bit of London's tunnels that the Admiral carried over for quarters, which in turn means all sorts of interesting things. And magic, she thinks but not a kind she's at all familiar with. There's no hot acid whiff of Free Magic or rotting-sweet smell of the Dead, though, so she figures it's probably alright.]

What should I call you?

[mattersverymuch]

I am the marquis de Carabas.

[He does not bow, which, paradoxically, is a sign of some respect. His bows never mean anything. The look he is giving her is laden with meaning - curiosity, and the intent to satisfy it.]

Do you prefer your full title, or simply Dog?

[dogwalksyou]

I have no preference whatsoever between the two.

[mattersverymuch]

Dog, then.

And what is your purpose here, Dog? Beyond the commonplace and obvious.

[dogwalksyou]

[The obvious, she assumes, is bargains.]

I'm avoiding a relative.

[mattersverymuch]

[This is a new one.]

And what if they come here? How will you avoid them then? It's a small ship.

[dogwalksyou]

That's the beauty of it! He's already mostly redeemed himself at home without dying, and he's much too self-centered to accept responsibility for someone else's moral standing.

[mattersverymuch]

[He smirks.]

Clever.

Here forever, then, are you?

[dogwalksyou]

Oh, he just needs a little while to cool down.

[Like, a decade or two. She will probably not spend all of it here. But it seems like an interesting place to her.]

[mattersverymuch]

It is, I must admit, a more interesting reason to accept a deal than most wardens have.

[dogwalksyou]

Oh, I've got the boring ones too. Fond of travel, compelling sense of responsibility.

Well. Compelling might be overstating the case.

[mattersverymuch]

. . . Extant sense of responsibility. Of small to middling size.

Better?

[dogwalksyou]

A casual one. Since it's convenient, I really may as well.

[This is sort of, but also not really, a lie. Her sense of responsibility is strong, but strictly delimited. It does not extend to the impossible. In this particular case, it is convenient.]

[mattersverymuch]

Oh, well. There are worse reasons to do things than convenience. Or at least stupider ones.

[dogwalksyou]

An old hobby for befriending problem children, for example. Frankly idiotic.

[mattersverymuch]

Why would you ever?

[dogwalksyou]

[She laughs.]

I am a dog.

[mattersverymuch]

That's not a very good reason to take on a task so unpleasant.

[dogwalksyou]

It pleases me because it is my nature. I can't think of a much better reason than that.

[mattersverymuch]

I can. But I suppose one can't change one's nature.