snowblindrpg | [log] Storms don't come to teach us painful lessons [closed]

Characters: Dug and Death the Kid
Location: Building 124 (entry to the split tunnels)
Dates: Evening 203 to morning 204
Summary: A lonely teenager plus a cold dog meet in a house and hopefully some petting happens, because they both need it
Warnings: Psychological horror discussion, sickness, hopefully painful cuteness because Dug

124: This house, covered in snow, is dark and cold, but better than outside. The snow presses in on the windows and makes the roof creak and groan whenever it shifts, but it seems to be holding up alright. It's a standard, single-story house with a living room, single bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and dining room. The bedframe has been taken apart, and its pieces arranged neatly from largest to smallest on the floor. The house is sparsely furnished, unfortunately with mostly metal There's a back door leading off into darkness, but it isn't locked. There's a blue smear on the bathroom cabinet. There are large smears of black spraypaint on the front and back doors.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Kid at least thanks whatever lucky stars he has that he's dry--mostly--by the time he makes it inside before lockdown. His wool coat and suit jacket are still damp, though, as they're are the thickest articles of clothing he has. He'd chosen to wear them anyway, as well as the the thin black cloak he'd gotten from home. It doesn't keep him much warmer, but at least the exertion of moving helped.

There's no secret to his arrival. The teen is coughing hard when he slips into the snow-covered building, and he immediately puts his backpack on the floor to lose the extra weight. Scanning the room with one eye, Kid leans against the wall, searching for signs of others in the building. When he can finally get words out, he manages hoarsely:] Is anyone else here?

[Considering how certain he is that travel with him causes other people to meet a rather untoward fate, Kid is hoping there is not.]

[There's a dark shape on the floor in the next room, visible through the doorway where he's huddled against the wall. There's no sound from it at first, not while Kid is making all that noise, but when he speaks...that is different. Dug finally lifts his head, a little red light glowing at his throat when he speaks, sounding subdued.]

Hi there.

[Kid hadn't seen Dug at all, not with his limited vision, not so cold and so distracted. He's too dazed to have noticed, to have observed--so when the dog speaks Kid reacts as expected: jumping, a hand pressed to his chest, startled.

But the figure is small, and Kid wonders if he's run into a child. So he carefully steps into the kitchen, hesitant. He moves no further than the doorway, blinking his remaining golden eye and tilting his head.]

Ah...

[Not a child. Definitely no a child. Kid leans slightly closer, rubbing his eye. That most definitely looks like a dog...but did the dog just speak to him?]

...hello?

[Dug watches him come closer, tail thumping uneasily on the floor. Kid might be forgiven for not seeing in the darkness how patches of his fur are damp and dark with blood.

Again the collar lights up when a voice emerges from it, slightly tinny.]

Hello. My name is Dug.

[Kid hears the thumping tail before he sees it, turning his head slightly so his single eye can take in a full image of what is in front of him.]

He hesitantly comes closer. Kid is not particularly familiar with animals--his experience is limited primarily to Blair the cat, and he is certain she is an exception and not the rule. Kneeling on the floor next to Dug, Kid hesitates. His hands are shaking and he is wheezing, his breathing hard and labored; one badly scratched hand is digging through his pockets.]

My name is Kid. You look like you have been hurt, Dug. [So does Kid, with scrapes and cuts on every bit of visible skin, some bleeding slightly.] May--may I help you?

[The tail thumps faster.]

Hi Kid. There was noise and my skin hurt, and then I lost my master and the other good man but my master says they will come and find me tomorrow.

[He's forgotten to answer the question. Dug's injuries consist of innumerable tiny cuts, worst on his face and legs, where the fur is short. None of it is particularly dangerous, only painful.]

[Kid gently rests his hand on Dug's head. That is what you do with dogs, correct? He's seen photographs before. Read stories. That's how you dog.

He will dog correctly, of course. Even if he's still shivering, because he's still rather damp from the day before.]

I see. Your master and the other good man--good. They will find you tomorrow. [The anxiety that was curling in his stomach loosens. Finding Dug tomorrow means that Kid won't travel with the dog. Which means, in turn, that Kid won't be responsible for killing the dog.]

I am not sure I can do more than clean off your fur. Those cuts are small, too small for bandages. Do they still hurt you?

[log] Storms don't come to teach us painful lessons [closed]

no subject

no subject

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cw injured dog

No puppy ;____;

at least none of it is deep?

;__;