#the_ice_cave

"So don't. Put it in the closet, give it to her later."

"Sorry, right. Yeah."

"Sorry for what?" (He scowls, eyes still shut)

"I drifted. Right. I'll listen for the mouse."

"You're acting weird, Ghost. You don't want to ride, want to sleep? Go downstairs, get mobbed? You want, I'll let them know I'm here, just kind of nice, you know, people thinking you're not around."

"Too noisy downstairs. But might go down, later. So he'd know, if I did."

"Guess so. I'll ask him to keep it quiet, if he sees you."

"Least, the shop won't be expecting me."

"You're the one wants to hide from him. Easier to avoid the Dragon."

"Yeah, but you're right. Can't hide from the damn woo woo."

(An irritable huff) "Yeah, at least, the Dragon, spends all her time at the shop."

"Nockers, yeah."

"Yeah." (His eyes slit open, moodily)

"Don't like them."

(He shrugs, then, bonelessly) "But, they're here, nothing can do about it."

"Maybe you should see Miriam now, while she's sick, might not get to see her when she's well enough to stand up and hold a wrench."

"Easier, maybe."

"Yeah." (A huff of breath, and leans forward, kicking his boots away and standing) "Gotta shower this dust off. Gonna ask you to push over when I get back, so hog the bed while you can."

Zara nods, pulling the blanket towards her.

(And he grabs a pair of pants to take with him into the bathroom, to change when he is out of the shower without flashing Zara. And in he goes) (Fade for now?)

When he returns, Zara has pretzeled in "her" corner of the bed, fitfully asleep. ((Fade))

((noooooo))

(too laaaaate)

((Well, I did say "fitfully asleep"))

((Is Ice still there?))

((What, she wanted to see Ice shower?))

((Yeah, he's in the bathroom, rinsing off the wall-dust.))

There is a scratching at the door.

Scratch, scratch. Whuff - snuffle, snuffle.

(Zara is more likely to hear it, than Ice with the water running. He doesn't sing in the shower, but he does grumble)

No response? Scratch, scratch. More insistent now, accompanied by a faint whine.

Scratch... scratch... scratchScratchScratch - thump-thump-thump.....

Zara stirs, slipping over to the door. A whisper "Buddy, hush."

A creak - weight pressing against the door. Another whine, quieter, low, down in the throat. OOoooooooo.

(This may be audible, to the sharper eared downstairs... ;) )

"No. Shhhhhh...."

"AOoooo. Ooooo." Is that voice rising in pitch? The forewarnings of a drawn out howl.

The door unlatches, and a pale hand snakes out. "Shush."

A gentle ear scruff, more reassurance than admonishment.

The pup is pressing against the door as though he might be able to will his way through the solid wood with enough effort, and tumbles towards her when the door cracks. A soft, insistent whining, as he tries to push his muzzle past her into the room, snuffling audibly.

"Shush, please?"

As he moves, there is a metallic "tink!" of a can falling over, and starting to roll away..,

Familiar blue and silver, with a splash of red.

She loses her hold of the door, reaching to grab the can before it can roll beyond reach... giving the dog an opening...

And he takes it, a very NAUGHTY boy, feet scrabbling and slipping, claws clattering as he slips through the door to slid right into a handy looking spot - under the bed, that looks cozy.

"Buddy.... no..."she falters, defeated, shoulders slumped. The red bull is set inside, and the door closed.

Beneath the bed, it smells of rotten leaves and damp earth. Mildew?

His head peeks out as he hears his name, his ears drooped and eyes big and sorrowful. Please, please, they say, don't put me out in the cold, the wet, the rain, the storm, the hurricane...

(The water still running, but Zara knows Ice's showers tend to be guy-showers. Wash but don't linger)

"Buddy, you oughtn't..."