#a_room_at_firnost

(Woof.) Curled outside of a door just down the hallway - The Ice Cave? Is a round, furry lump.

Mostly quiet, and out of the way of hallway foot traffic - but every so often, just the faintest sound, a whimper, nearly inaudible.

(The door opens and a sluagh's head emerges, looking both ways. He is not good at kenning, but he regards the animal, trying to discern its nature. After a moment, he reaches up, readjusts his glasses, and then 'looks' again. A whisper...soft, this one, more pleasing to the ear than some) "Ah....good eve?"

The head doesn't rise at first from it's position nearly buried under a fluffy tail tip, doing a fairly good impression of a round, allergenic doorstop. At the sound of the whisper, nostrils flare and he DOES look up suddenly, but then head lowers again - disappointment? A solemn blink of mixed blue-and-brown eyes.

(The scent is different and yet familiar, both. The way dogs from a bloodline might share similarities. He notes the door, and whispers, with a sigh) "He is not coming back, to-night, I do not think. Sir....Miss?" (Unsure, and not quite willing to go checking, either)

Reaching over to press his nose against the crack underneath the door, snuffling, and then reaches a paw over to give it one light scratch.

(He is regarding the dog) "Neither of them, an' it is she, thou art seeking."

A faint whine, and his chin flops down onto the floor by the door once more. Tail built for proud waving instead flat, and ears low. Puppy-dog eyes blink sorrowfully.

"Art thou here, by thyself?" (Still mystified)

He stands, at this - pausing for an apparently involuntary flex - stretching forward, haunches up, and back, then giving a brief shake, the tag hanging loosely on a cord around his neck dancing. Padding over to the sluagh, his head is pressed unceremoniously toward the man's hand.

(He accepts the offer, scarred hand with its long, delicate fingers sinking into soft fur, and caressing the ears. He crouches....it is a slow, awkward movement, and he winces -- with the other hand reaching for the tag to turn it towards the reflected light, reading it)

The tag has a pawprint icon on it, and says, simply, "Buddy". It looks as though there may have once been another inscription on the back, but it's worn smooth.

(He runs his thumb over the worn inscription, thoughtfully) "Buddy."

The head presses up against his hand at the caress, and he whines faintly. glancing back towards the door once more. But, then falling silent, eyes flicking up at yet another door, one that has a higher frame, and wider entranceway. Hushed, but his tail flicks once at the name.

(He follows the pup's gaze. A slight nod, after a moment's thought) "Not alone. But why not, within?" (He is quiet, barely a breath of a murmur. The hand continues to rub. It's a hand that knows the best spots to rub; someone who knows dogs, perhaps) "Didst thou wish me to open a door....so thou may'st have a room, of thine own?"

His nose turns back towards Ice's door, unerringly. A sigh, whuff of breath on the sluagh's hand. Headbutt.

(He hesitates, then murmurs) "It is not my room, to open, sir. An' that what thou art asking." (not unkindly) "I am waiting for them, too."

His tail wags, and he turns around in a circle, rump plopping down on the floor - possibly on Jeremy's own foot. Leaning companionably against his leg, and watching hallway leading up to the Ice Cave. Waiting.

(A sigh, and a ghost of a smile. And without dislodging the pooka from his foot, he tuns, to ease his own door closed, then turns back, to lean against the wall, and slide to sitting in the hall. The pooka gets to keep his foot and leg, and the rest of the sluagh will keep vigil with him -- although eventually one or the other is apt to doze)

(Assuming, of course, Buddy welcomes or allows him to keep company, in the first place)

He gets a head flopped into his lap eventually, and perhaps even some soft doggy snores, depending on how long he remains. The ears are still up though, and every so often as a stair or door hinge creaks, he looks up again, expectantly. And, then, down again into a snooze, as he waits.

(Both are vigilant, and any observer might find it amusing, how both sluagh and dog wave at the creaks and groans of the Freehold, and lift their heads. But the lap is soon available, as he lowers legs to tailor-style. And Buddy might find a hand resting on him, long fingers sunk into thick fur of his ruff, as they sleep)

(dozes away - night!)