middaeg | [semi-closed] I want to be near fresh laundry

[The weather is warmer, the days are longer and that means one thing as far as Diarmuid is concerned: less of a chance of coming home with a very soggy, muddy dog after walking him. Coill, indifferent to his suffering, seems equally happy with rain or sunshine but today, with the cool breeze and brilliant blue skies, he’s particularly excitable. The large, wolfish dog- too scruffy and big to be a greyhound through and through but more or less the right shape for it- bounds across the beach at top speed as his owner meanders along behind him. Occasionally, he throws driftwood for him to chase but mostly he's just enjoying the weather.

Much to his bewilderment, though, it isn’t a stick that Coill brings back with him this time but another dog. Held carefully in his jaws by the scruff of its neck is a small, peculiar looking thing with more wrinkles than Diarmuid has seen on some druids, its tongue poking out as it stares at him with similar confusion. It’s... well, it’s ugly but in an endearing way. Actually, he’s kind of charmed by its dopey little face.]

Hello, there. [As Coill lets go of the poor pup with a proud huff, Diarmuid drops down onto one knee and holds a hand for it to sniff.] Aren’t you a strange looking fellow?

[Surely it must have an owner...? The witch glances up, peering along the length of the beach and between the various piers and docks for a likely looking individual.]

[Hector doesn't typically leash Cezar when he walks. The little dog never strays far from him. Maybe it's a holdover of the implicit loyalty forged creatures have for their masters. Even though Cezar is alive again, he still listens.

So as Hector walks, he lets Cezar wander, knowing he'll keep close and come back when called. It works great most days.

Most days, Cezar doesn't get dog-napped by a giant hound. When the dog passes by him, Cezar held by his neck like a puppy, Hector tries to give chase, but hooves on sand isn't a great combination. He's left scrambling far behind the two dogs.

So when Diarmuid looks around for the owner, he'll see a frantic faun coming his way.

The pug, meanwhile, seems remarkably zen about being hauled around. It's not the weirdest thing that's happened in his lives. He pants happily at Diarmuid and tries to lick his fingers.]

[The criminal mastermind looks exceedingly pleased with himself, sitting beside his master with his tail wagging as if expecting some kind of praise for his gift. Diarmuid isn't sure that he should give him it but, with a sigh, ruffles his ears nonetheless.]

Good boy. [a beat] I think.

[As for his new friend... well, it- he?- is certainly friendly. Still a little perplexed, the witch scratches the pug behind one dark, floppy ear. It's no surprise when he sees a faun come ~~skidding~~ running towards them and Diarmuid is quick to get to his feet, picking up the dog as he does.]

Is this yours, sir?

[how do you apologise for your dog stealing someone else's dog????]

[This day is just thoroughly weird. Hector finally catches up with the canine dog thief, and there's a man offering him up Cezar. At least Hector's pug seems perfectly at ease, tail wagging as the man holds him.]

Yes, is he alright?

[He reaches out to take Cezar back and check him over. He looks like he's ok, but now that Cezar is alive again, he's capable of being hurt. Hector has to be extra careful with him.]

It looks like your dog wanted to make a friend...

[Like, Hector can't fault the hound. Cezar is goddamn adorable.]

He's fine- Coill got a little overexcited, I think.

[Whoever said that owners look like their dogs has clearly never met the odd couple that is Hector and his pet. Diarmuid tilts his head at the two of them, fighting a chuckle as he examines the pup- not so much at Hector but at the absent look on the pug's face when he does so.]

Aye, so it seems. [it seems unwise to suggest that coill is just as likely to have mistaken him for some strange, aefenglom-specific kind of game] I can understand, though. He's quite the charming little thing, isn't he?

[The connection between master and pet was much more obvious back when Hector was a necromancer and Cezar was a zombie pug.

Hector finishes checking his dog over, and he seems no worse for wear. Cezar is already squirming to be let down, and Hector stoops and lets him hop into the sand again. Without any fear, Cezar darts back and forth in front of Coill, eager to play.]

Yes, he is, isn't he? I think yours must've mistook him for a puppy. He's small enough to be.

[He shakes his head as the dogs begin to play.]

And here I thought I only had to watch out for dog-napping from the fae.

[Hector's only mock-complaining though. The dog didn't hurt Cezar, so no harm done. It's actually nice, having Cezar meet new dogs.

He turns to look at the man accompanying the dog. Either a witch, or a new arrival, it seems. Not someone Hector's met as of yet. Aware of his tendency to introduce his dog and not himself, he makes a conscious effort to...well, to remember that step.]

He's Cezar, and I'm Hector.

[Coill is entirely unfazed by Cezar's enthusiasm, responding to it with an excited bark as the tiny dog weaves in and out of his much longer legs. Diarmuid shakes his head fondly. Maybe he thinks he's a puppy.]

Good to meet the both of you. Diarmuid- [Behind him, Coill is trying to get Cezar to pounce on a crab basking in the afternoon sun.] - and that scruffy mutt is Coill.

[Introductions out of the way, he turns back to Hector with a warm smile. As he talks he brushes the sand from his hands and knees.]

I've never seen a breed like yours. Is he specific to this land?

[Probably for the best that Coill think Cezar a puppy. It means he's treat the smaller dog more gently.]

No, I brought him with me through the mirror. He's a pug. From what I've read, the breed came from China...a land in another continent from my homeland.

[He doesn't know where Diarmuid hails from, so place names might mean nothing to him.]

I was lucky to come across him. His type is a rarity.

[Diarmuid perks up instantly at the mention of a familiar country and his smile brightens. From the sounds of things- the Far East was a complete unknown to his own people, after all- he might even hail from a time perhaps only a few centuries later than his own.]

Ah, then you're another Mirrorbound! [It can be so hard to tell once they've been here for long enough...] And it seems that the worlds we were taken from are very similar- even if we weren't yet acquainted with pugs in my time.

[Which is a shame, really. Oisín would have loved them.]

[Hector nods. It seems he's found another Mirrorbound from Earth.]

Yes, we could be. Where are you from?

[He could also ask 'when', but that's such a complicated question, usually ending in a headache. It's too nice of a day on the beach for such things.]

Erin.

[Those two syllables alone are given such pride and nostalgia and warmth that he might as well be talking about an old friend or family member. It's only then that he realises that the number of people who know her by that name are few and he quickly corrects himself.]

Ah, that is to say, Ireland. [He hums, thinking how to put it in context.] West of England.

[unfortunately]

[The first name means nothing to Hector, but when Diarmuid clarifies, Hector knows what he means. He nods.]

Ah, yes. Far to the west. I was born in the Greek Islands, but I was living in Wallachia...in Romania...before I came through the mirror.

[He doesn't expect anyone to know where Wallachia is. It's a terrible place and Hector was there to help Dracula destroy and reshape it.]

Is your dog Irish too, or native to this world?

[Diarmuid's smile brightens. Knowing two out of three of the places that he lists isn't bad at all and he's buoyed by it. The Greek Islands... though that same knowledge he was so proud of only extends to being aware that they exist and have a hot climate, if nothing else, it explains the olive glow of his skin.]

Greece to Romania. Quite a distance to travel but we all have our reasons.

[And not all of them a pleasant- a thought that carries him swiftly into a more palatable topic.]

He came through one of the mirrors some time after I arrived. Gave me quite the surprise. [He laughs a little at the memory.] In my past life, he was my hunting dog- and the best there was. Still is, by my reckoning.

My work led me there, else I never would have ventured that far.

[Hector studies Coill's movements, the strength and speed in the beast's limbs. So different from Cezar's stout little body. A true working dog.]

I bet he would have been invaluable on a hunt. You could face large game with a hound of that size by your side.

[Hector had never been much for hunting. Little snares and traps, and his pets bringing him their kills had kept him fed while he'd lived alone in his cabin in Rhodes. But he doesn't have to be a hunter to appreciate a fine hunting hound, or the hunter who tamed him.]

[You could face large game with a hound of that size by your side. For just a moment, his smile flickers. Last he saw his faithful companion before arriving here, after all, was when he was sitting by his side and whimpering as the last of his vision faded. Large game, yes, but Coill had stood no chance against that cursed boar. No, in the end it was the hound's loyalty that made his final moments tolerable and for that he's eternally grateful.]

... we haven't had much of a chance for hunts as of late. [He doesn't sound as disappointed about that fact as he usually might. Diarmuid puts his fingers to his lips and gives a short, sharp whistle.] Tar anseo! Coill, here boy-

[The dog's ears prick up instantly and, crab forgotten, he races over to where Hector and Diarmuid are standing, throwing up a small tsunami of sand in his haste. Hopefully, Cezar won't be buried under it.]

[Hector thinks for a moment.]

Right. Of course. With the Cwyld, it's dangerous to go hunting in the wild, isn't it?

[That's surely what Diarmuid meant.

The hound scrambles to obey his master's summon, and poor Cezar gets hit with a blast of sand in his wake. Thank goodness he's no longer got exposed bone on his face. That would be a pain to clean out. With the scarred flesh that now covers the pug's old wounds, he simply sneezes a couple of times, shakes himself off, then waddles after his new friend. It takes him roughly thrice as long to cover the same amount of distance with his stumpy little legs.

Hector stoops to pick him up and dust the rest of the sand off of him.]

[semi-closed] I want to be near fresh laundry

for hector

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