Garrison, Sharon: Not a dog
Aug. 11th, 2023 07:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsSharon finally encounters a resident whose authority she will respect. It does not happen to be Garrison.
The trail was still fresh. Sharon kept her search methodical: floor by floor, from the right side of the hallway to the left. Her first day had revealed the mansion contained its fair share of domestic animals. She'd scented dogs, cats, and even some sort of rodent. As she became more accustomed to the various odorants, however, she had noticed something strange about one in particular. Other than identifying it as a male canid she had no other information. Someone's dog, she imagined, but the strange undercurrent eluded her. Genetic engineering seemed strangely common in this place. Perhaps it was a science experiment, like April.
If was on the third floor that she found the location of her target: one of the residential suites. Sharon's tail twitched thoughtfully as she regarded the door. The scent was fresh, so the dog must just have been walked. That meant the owner might still be inside. On the other hand, if they didn't want to be disturbed the door should be locked.
The knob turned under her hand. That decided, Sharon let herself in.
As the door opened, a wash of cheering hit her. A short haired man was sitting on a couch with his back turned to her, clapping and saying 'PLAKATA Vladdy!" along with the sounds of cheers from the television. The baseball game was in fun swing as one of the players rounded third and touched home to another swell of cheering. "Geez, that was a monster." He said to himself, reaching for his beer.
The question came from directly behind the armrest.
"Where is your dog?"
"Jesus fuck!" Kane jumped at the question, unending his beer on to his shoulder, the couch, and her purple fur. "What the- what- geez..." He burbled as he shook off the sudden jump, finally putting the beer down and getting up to grab a roll of paper towels. "I know you're a cat-whatever but knocking is a good thing." He'd gotten the memo that a new Sharon had been brought into the mansion, which is the only reason he wasn't off-put by the strange hybrid form.
Sharon responded to this perfectly reasonable request the same way she responded to everything else that didn't suit her: by ignoring it completely.
"I want to see your dog," she said as the man returned with the paper towels. She raised her nose to sniff the air, tilting back on her haunches for a better view of the suite.
He pulled off a couple of handfuls to mop off the couch and his shirt before holding it out for her. "He's not a dog. So I can't really make him come when I call." Kane explained, although he did have one trick. He walked over to the kitchenette and picked up a bag of dill pickle chips with a distinctive crinkle. At the sound, the wolf padded out from the bedroom.
It was difficult to trace the ensuing flurry of movement. One moment Sharon had been sitting in the middle of the floor with an air of polite expectation. The next moment over one hundred pounds of flailing purple fur was violently rocketing through the suite to briefly but destructively occupy first a kitchen chair, then the stove top, and finally, the top of Garrison's refrigerator. Sharon's legs scrabbled along the top of the fridge as she tried to jam her body further against the back wall.
"What is that!" she shrieked, every hair on her body standing on end. "Why do you have that! That is not a dog!"
"I said he wasn't a dog." Although the wolf nudging his leg and making eyes at the chips was surprisingly domesticated in nature. "No. No more chips for you. Sharon, you ok? I can put him back in the bedroom if you need."
The cat's tail had poofed to the size of a wiffle bat, but the wolf was paying her no attention. That piqued her curiosity. She peered over the edge of the refrigerator cautiously.
"Why do you have a wolf?" she asked, suspicious.
"No idea. I had someone else's powers, got real drunk, and then he saved me from drowning. Funny story. Or not funny story. Just, well, story."
The wolf still wasn't looking at her. Slowly, the hair on Sharon's spine began to settle back. Feeling a little bolder, the cat leapt down to the counter, then the floor. She crouched low and stared at the wolf from a respectable distance away. Her tail lashed anxiously.
"Timber wolf?" she muttered. "No. Ears too small. Body smaller also. Wolfdog hybrid?"
"Arctic wolf. A friend thinks there's some timber in there, but in that range, there's a lot of cross breeding." He reached down and scritched him behind the ears. "He's... just decided this is where he belongs. Who am I to argue, eh?"
"Arctic wolf. More habituated to human presence." She took another sniff. "Strange scent on him. Can't describe it. Is he also a science experiment?"
"Nope. Just a wolf, as far as I know. That might be the chips he keeps stealing from me. Dill pickle. Or ketchup." Kane shook his head. "I have some venison jerky if you want to share with him."
"No sharing," Sharon said vaguely. She inched a little closer, but every line of her body announced she was ready to run at the slightest sign of aggression.
"I've never seen a wolf," she said. Her tone held a trace of longing. "I want to smell."
"He isn't aggressive... or at least hasn't been around me. If he shies away, I'll get him to the other end of the suite."
Sharon crept closer, her attention on the wolf's reactions. Its coat was a shaggy muddle of brown, black, and grey. If it really were an arctic hybrid the winter might see it turn almost white. Its tail was low and relaxed. Tellingly, it was paying her little attention. Confident animals could afford to turn their backs on others. Whether it felt so because of the environment or the man Sharon could not say.
Stopping halfway across the floor, the cat made a soft chrrt to get the wolf's attention.
The wolf made a 'murugh' noise and Kane fed him a bit of the jerky. The wolf treated it like the junk food that wasn't good for him. He chomped on the piece and then settled in at his feet, snurlfing his feet. After a moment, his muzzle raised and he viewed the cat with a measured glance.
Sharon sat up and lifted her nose in the universal posture of scenting. The tip of her tail twitched nervously, but she kept her body language open. Animals didn't converse in the way humans thought of it. Instead hundreds of small signals were conveyed through scent and posture. The signals one put forth and how the other respected, ignored, or rejected them was a science of its own. Sharon sat back and waited to see how the wolf would respond.
The wolf looked over and finally padded over. He smelled her head and neck, from a distance but close enough to push a reaction if she wanted. Finally, he settled down in front before her.
Sharon leaned over cautiously, whiskers quivering as she brought her nose close to the scent glands by his eyes. Beneath that odd scent she sensed he was calm, attentive. She lingered there for a few seconds, taking in his scent and letting him acclimate to hers. Then, tentatively, she nudged her head beneath his jaw and nuzzled.
"I- uh. I don't know what is going on here and should I be here?" Kane said, as the wolf leaned into her nuzzle. "OK, this is too weird for me right now. I'm going to- oh fuck it, just going to get drunk because... weird." Kane left, leaving them the apartment.
Sharon watched him leave out of one slitted eye and flicked her tail as the wolf gave her ear an affectionate sniff. Humans found a way to make everything weird.
Although probably she should have asked who he was.
The wolf leaned forward and muzzled her gently. When she didn't run, he retreated back to his own space, which was his. He settled down on his paws and huffed at her.
The cat rumbled at him in return. They had reached an understanding, and that was enough. Sharon stretched long, yawning to relieve the last of her tension, and met the wolf's gaze. She held it for a long moment, then returned it with a slow blink. Her head dipped in satisfaction.
"I will leave you to your prudish friend. But first . . ." Sharon reached onto the countertop and claimed the bag Garrison had left there.
"More chips for you."
The trail was still fresh. Sharon kept her search methodical: floor by floor, from the right side of the hallway to the left. Her first day had revealed the mansion contained its fair share of domestic animals. She'd scented dogs, cats, and even some sort of rodent. As she became more accustomed to the various odorants, however, she had noticed something strange about one in particular. Other than identifying it as a male canid she had no other information. Someone's dog, she imagined, but the strange undercurrent eluded her. Genetic engineering seemed strangely common in this place. Perhaps it was a science experiment, like April.
If was on the third floor that she found the location of her target: one of the residential suites. Sharon's tail twitched thoughtfully as she regarded the door. The scent was fresh, so the dog must just have been walked. That meant the owner might still be inside. On the other hand, if they didn't want to be disturbed the door should be locked.
The knob turned under her hand. That decided, Sharon let herself in.
As the door opened, a wash of cheering hit her. A short haired man was sitting on a couch with his back turned to her, clapping and saying 'PLAKATA Vladdy!" along with the sounds of cheers from the television. The baseball game was in fun swing as one of the players rounded third and touched home to another swell of cheering. "Geez, that was a monster." He said to himself, reaching for his beer.
The question came from directly behind the armrest.
"Where is your dog?"
"Jesus fuck!" Kane jumped at the question, unending his beer on to his shoulder, the couch, and her purple fur. "What the- what- geez..." He burbled as he shook off the sudden jump, finally putting the beer down and getting up to grab a roll of paper towels. "I know you're a cat-whatever but knocking is a good thing." He'd gotten the memo that a new Sharon had been brought into the mansion, which is the only reason he wasn't off-put by the strange hybrid form.
Sharon responded to this perfectly reasonable request the same way she responded to everything else that didn't suit her: by ignoring it completely.
"I want to see your dog," she said as the man returned with the paper towels. She raised her nose to sniff the air, tilting back on her haunches for a better view of the suite.
He pulled off a couple of handfuls to mop off the couch and his shirt before holding it out for her. "He's not a dog. So I can't really make him come when I call." Kane explained, although he did have one trick. He walked over to the kitchenette and picked up a bag of dill pickle chips with a distinctive crinkle. At the sound, the wolf padded out from the bedroom.
It was difficult to trace the ensuing flurry of movement. One moment Sharon had been sitting in the middle of the floor with an air of polite expectation. The next moment over one hundred pounds of flailing purple fur was violently rocketing through the suite to briefly but destructively occupy first a kitchen chair, then the stove top, and finally, the top of Garrison's refrigerator. Sharon's legs scrabbled along the top of the fridge as she tried to jam her body further against the back wall.
"What is that!" she shrieked, every hair on her body standing on end. "Why do you have that! That is not a dog!"
"I said he wasn't a dog." Although the wolf nudging his leg and making eyes at the chips was surprisingly domesticated in nature. "No. No more chips for you. Sharon, you ok? I can put him back in the bedroom if you need."
The cat's tail had poofed to the size of a wiffle bat, but the wolf was paying her no attention. That piqued her curiosity. She peered over the edge of the refrigerator cautiously.
"Why do you have a wolf?" she asked, suspicious.
"No idea. I had someone else's powers, got real drunk, and then he saved me from drowning. Funny story. Or not funny story. Just, well, story."
The wolf still wasn't looking at her. Slowly, the hair on Sharon's spine began to settle back. Feeling a little bolder, the cat leapt down to the counter, then the floor. She crouched low and stared at the wolf from a respectable distance away. Her tail lashed anxiously.
"Timber wolf?" she muttered. "No. Ears too small. Body smaller also. Wolfdog hybrid?"
"Arctic wolf. A friend thinks there's some timber in there, but in that range, there's a lot of cross breeding." He reached down and scritched him behind the ears. "He's... just decided this is where he belongs. Who am I to argue, eh?"
"Arctic wolf. More habituated to human presence." She took another sniff. "Strange scent on him. Can't describe it. Is he also a science experiment?"
"Nope. Just a wolf, as far as I know. That might be the chips he keeps stealing from me. Dill pickle. Or ketchup." Kane shook his head. "I have some venison jerky if you want to share with him."
"No sharing," Sharon said vaguely. She inched a little closer, but every line of her body announced she was ready to run at the slightest sign of aggression.
"I've never seen a wolf," she said. Her tone held a trace of longing. "I want to smell."
"He isn't aggressive... or at least hasn't been around me. If he shies away, I'll get him to the other end of the suite."
Sharon crept closer, her attention on the wolf's reactions. Its coat was a shaggy muddle of brown, black, and grey. If it really were an arctic hybrid the winter might see it turn almost white. Its tail was low and relaxed. Tellingly, it was paying her little attention. Confident animals could afford to turn their backs on others. Whether it felt so because of the environment or the man Sharon could not say.
Stopping halfway across the floor, the cat made a soft chrrt to get the wolf's attention.
The wolf made a 'murugh' noise and Kane fed him a bit of the jerky. The wolf treated it like the junk food that wasn't good for him. He chomped on the piece and then settled in at his feet, snurlfing his feet. After a moment, his muzzle raised and he viewed the cat with a measured glance.
Sharon sat up and lifted her nose in the universal posture of scenting. The tip of her tail twitched nervously, but she kept her body language open. Animals didn't converse in the way humans thought of it. Instead hundreds of small signals were conveyed through scent and posture. The signals one put forth and how the other respected, ignored, or rejected them was a science of its own. Sharon sat back and waited to see how the wolf would respond.
The wolf looked over and finally padded over. He smelled her head and neck, from a distance but close enough to push a reaction if she wanted. Finally, he settled down in front before her.
Sharon leaned over cautiously, whiskers quivering as she brought her nose close to the scent glands by his eyes. Beneath that odd scent she sensed he was calm, attentive. She lingered there for a few seconds, taking in his scent and letting him acclimate to hers. Then, tentatively, she nudged her head beneath his jaw and nuzzled.
"I- uh. I don't know what is going on here and should I be here?" Kane said, as the wolf leaned into her nuzzle. "OK, this is too weird for me right now. I'm going to- oh fuck it, just going to get drunk because... weird." Kane left, leaving them the apartment.
Sharon watched him leave out of one slitted eye and flicked her tail as the wolf gave her ear an affectionate sniff. Humans found a way to make everything weird.
Although probably she should have asked who he was.
The wolf leaned forward and muzzled her gently. When she didn't run, he retreated back to his own space, which was his. He settled down on his paws and huffed at her.
The cat rumbled at him in return. They had reached an understanding, and that was enough. Sharon stretched long, yawning to relieve the last of her tension, and met the wolf's gaze. She held it for a long moment, then returned it with a slow blink. Her head dipped in satisfaction.
"I will leave you to your prudish friend. But first . . ." Sharon reached onto the countertop and claimed the bag Garrison had left there.
"More chips for you."
