The weaving alleys behind the buildings of the Zone are as labyrinthine as always. In one of the more tucked away allies is Noah, bandaged up as usual though with his surroundings you would think he has been shopping. If, only one realizes that the clothes have all been pilfered. Some seem dirty, others seem grimy, and others seem perfectly new. He sits there with a pair of worn out sneakers worn on his feet along with his usual clothes talking to himself.
"So 'ere I was righ'? I go' fuckin' slit-eyed bitches all 'round me and they're like...chinkchinkchink whatevah. I can' understand 'em ai? And I'm like, 'what's ya beef bro?' and he's all 'chincchinchinc' and I'm like 'you gotta prob' bro? I'll tussle ya britches I will.' And he tried! He tried to best mah' but I grabbed 'im by da knickers and tossed the crock pot righ' on his squeakah." He says, complete with combat-y verbals. Only then do the sounds of a choir of rats echo in the alleyway. Ah, he has company.
A little white dog goes streaking down the alley with a black glove in its mouth. It skids to a stop when it hears Noah's voice, looses its footing in the trash, then takes off down a side alley. Behind the hound is the lithe figure of a woman running in hot pursuit. She jumps over a toppled can and skids in the same patch of slime that the dog had. She too looses her feet but they go up, she goes down, and then she lies still.
Noah watches the dog run by, and then his eyes go to Wren who trips, falls and lands on her back. "Oy." He says, not being but about ten feet from her sitting on a garbage bag that doubles as a beanbag chair if you don’t mind it. "You 'aight? The dog rufflin' ye feathahs?"
Wren lies very, very still for a long moment, chest still. Her face grows red and she lifts her hands to wave them in the air above her. It is only then that the desperately sought gasp finally fills her lungs with air. Its followed by another, and then another before she is able to groan out her complaints. "Damn dog.."
Noah continues to watch. "Wha'? Steal ye glove?" He jets a thumb down the direction of the alley. "It ran thaddaway. I could get it for ye if ya want it."
Wren sits up, groans, then lies back down. In the slime. "Would you?" she asks, eyes closing briefly. "You don't know how much I'd be appreciating that." she's got herself a Texan drawl, soft and even if maybe a little breathy at the moment.
Noah leans over, looking down the alleyway and Barks. Like an actual dog-bark, about as close to factual as one would get. "Jus' gotta be nic' ta 'hem ai?" He gives as an aside as he waits. "So wha' made the dog take ye precious?"
Wren does the sit up thing again. She doesn't have as many problems now though she still winces as she pushes herself from the ground. "I fed him." she mutters. "Watch me .not. give out scraps anymore." her nose wrinkles and she looks back down the ally. "He ate the rest of my sandwich then decided that my glove looked like a nice dessert."
Noah gives a laugh. "HA! 'hey do tha' ai? Greedy lil' fuckahs." He says, leaning over to see the dog's head pop from the corner. He makes some smooching sounds and the dog, who still has the glove in his mouth slowly begins his resteps toward the primary occupants of the alley. "'ow long ye have 'im?"
Wren shakes her head and peers down the alley after the dog, "I haven’t. He just looked so cold and miserable. I thought I'd give him what remained of my lunch direct instead of making him work for it." Its a Jack Russell mix that comes down the alley back toward them. Sharp eyed and a little bigger than the normal Russell. Longer hair too, same markings.
Noah makes some guttural sounds and pouty noises at the dog, which makes the dog look up and saunter over further more in Noah's direction. "Gotta' be careful widda pups, love. Feastin' bellah'll make 'em eat anythin' when ya get'em goin'."
Wren watches Noah lure the dog closer with an interested look to her eye. She obviously has no real familiarity around animals, its like watching a nature show but in life. She leans forward against her knees and watches the approach, ignoring the odor that now clings to her hair and clothing. "I can't imagine it tastes all that good. Not even leather or anything you'd think tastes good."
When the dog slowly arrives nears Noah, it's nose flares and it's ears droop. Not a happy camper until Noah responds with his own slur of grunts, pouts, and groans from the back of the throat. After a minute or so of nothing but animal noises, the dog lets the slobbered glove drop out of his mouth and Noah leans over and scratches the back of his head with a closed fist, rubbing with the knuckles. "He likes' ya', but he was hungry. He duddnt' want ye ta be mad." He leans over and picks up the glove and tosses it to Wren before returning to his perch on the garbage bag, closed bandaged hands resting on his lap.
Wren offers the dog a little smile. "I'm not mad. I was a bit put out." she picks up the saliva soaked glove, twitches her nose at the slobber, then starts rubbing it against her jeans to dry it out a bit. Its just a knit glove. "He's sweet though. Shouldn't be out in this cold."
Noah shrugs. "E'eryone gets stranded every now n' again, love. Life ain' fair." He gives a breath, resting his back against the wall. "Pretty face like yours shouldn't be stayin' out 'ere in da alleys. It gets a bi' dangerous come the night time ai?"
Wren glances up at Noah and tilts her head to the side for a moment. She nods then and glances back to the dog. Her hand lifts, palm up, and she extends her fingers toward him. An attempt is mad, Wren style, to call the pup to her. It sounds more like she's crooning softly to the dog. She stops to murmur, "Not usually out in these parts, this time. And the alley? was his idea." she nods at the dog.
Noah gives a laugh. "Course twas his idea! He was tryin' ta eat and ya can' eat when you got somethin' runnin' on ye coattails, love." He pulls from the garbage can a piece of food, by the looks of it an aging spaghetti noodle and tosses it to another heap nearby. Something in it drags it inbetween the bags.
The dog sits there looking at Wren with its head tilted to the side. She attempts to call it to her again then states in a conversational tone, "If you want a nice home, lots of food, and companionship for the rest of your life little guy? Make nice nice and I'll comply."
Noah watches the dog, still sitting on his bag. "He's scared ya'll dump 'im off somewhere." How he knows these things, no one knows. He just says it.
Wren glances toward Noah curiously then looks back to the dog. "You are already dumped off somewhere. And you are older, not a pup. Frankly? I find that attractive." her eyes glint merrily and she wiggles her fingers toward the pup again. "Mostly though? I don't back away from my responsibilities."
Noah continues to just watch. He doesn’t say anything, after all the lady is talking to her puppy now that it doesn’t have the glove in it's mouth. "Give it a treat. It'll make 'im happy. He's still 'ungry.
Wren looks around then lifts her hands to pat herself up. After a moment she sighs and .. offers out her saliva dampened glove to the dog. "Truce?" she asks him, lips twitching.
The dog takes the glove and wags it's tail and it's ear pop on end as it bites and noms on the glove for a bit before it just sits there in his mouth. "It's the taste o' it." Noah's response is given. "Never figured why itd mattah but eh, I ain' a dog."
Wren gives the dog a little smile then taps her lap gently with her hand with her brows quirked. "I'm warmer than the ground." she notes. "Now.. if you do decide to live with me? There are some down sides to choosing me." she offers in a conversational tone, "I'll likely take you with me every where. So that means you'll be bathed a lot. I don't carry dogs. So if you go with me? you're walking." her eyes glint merrily. "But you will have a warm place to curl with me, always have good food, and companionship." she looks at the animal hopefully. "Fair trade?"
The dog trots over and rests it's head on her lap with the tail thrashing. Meanwhile a rat skitters across the ground and finds it's way into Noah's trench pocket. Noah doesn’t seem to notice.
Wren lifts her ungloved hand and gently strokes the dogs back, fingers running over the bumps of his ribs. She frowns a little at that then scratches his ear. "You'll need a name." she informs him. "Unless you want me to just call you dog." her eyes glint.
The dog like being petted, so it brushes and rubs against the hand while Noah continues to sit. What offer can be advice on names? At least to him, his job is done so he continues to sit leisurely watching the exchange.
Wren continues to scratch and pet, giving the dog all kinds of loving. How can she not? its a dog! "How about Dodger?" she asks the dog, as if expecting him to give an answer. "You're awfully good at it. Dodgeing." her eyes glint with a merry humor.
The dog continues to nestle against her lap, eyes squinting closed a bit as you ruffle his fur and the back of his head. His mouth still holds onto the fabric of the glove however he doesn’t go anywhere. "Dodger's a nice nam', prettah strong, loyal and pretty good ina pinch."
Wren glances up toward the man on the garbage bag. She gifts him with a warm smile then leans forward to murmur to the dog now, "I'm gonna get up. My ass is freezing." then she scrabbles to do so, carefully placing her feet so as not to slip again on the slime. Nodding back toward the man she murmurs, "Thanks for your help. I don't think I'da caught Dodger if you weren't 'round. You've a way with animals."
Wren gives Noah a little wave then saunters on out of the alley, pup at her heel.