"Nine," K answers, smiling in spite of himself, and motioning Jesus after him to the door. He also puts a finger to his lips as if that was in question, leading them quietly down the hall and out the front door. He doesn't bother to put on shoes, given how short and well kept the walk is.
"Have you ever seen puppies?" he asks once they're outside.
"Every now and then. Not in years, though. And I've never had one. Puppies were always things my friends had, or they were always there in raves and drum circles." He glances up at K and tries to picture him at either venue, grins.
Jesus frowns. "They're pitbulls," he says. "They don't really have much fur. They have less than the goat my neighbor had--it got out one winter and froze to death."
How cold does it get here? He doesn't know, but probably cold enough for frostbite.
"I doubt they'll be leaving the puppies out anywhere cold," he says. The puppies seem very well cared for. "But it doesn't take much for the power to go out. If sweaters can help, why not just make sweaters? I already found a place that makes them in Nibbles's size."
"Are they expensive?" he asks, pleased that Jesus is being proactive on Nibbles' behalf. K has been a bit distracted himself, so he just takes this as evidence that he made the right decision by turning over care, at least temporarily.
"Hold on, let me make sure Apricot recognizes me," he cautions at the door, because there's definitely already a dog barking on the other side. A dog that sounds very large and intimidating, even though when she's visible down the hall she barely comes up to K's knees.
He waits until K gives the all clear before he steps inside and introduces himself to her.
"Fifteen bucks a sweater, so cheaper than it is to clothe myself," he says, although he'd steal anything Nibbles needed if he couldn't afford it. "And if they give me trouble, Drake will buy anything we need. But I'll ask around, see if anyone can teach how to make them."
K is distracted for the next several moments murmuring to Apricot - "Easy now, it's just me. You know me. There you are, good girl." - and extending a hand to her, unafraid despite her raised fur and pinned back ears. It all comes right a moment later anyway, wagging her tail so hard her entire back end wags with it and sidling up to sniff at Jesus while K rubs her ears and sides.
"I'd like to learn," K says immediately, then. And: "This is Apricot. She's the mother."
Jesus's experience with dogs is of them as either friendly companions or half starved stays, so he treats her with some caution and doesn't linger long with introducing himself.
He follows K, checking windows and doorways with quick glances as they go. What he's really watching when they get there isn't so much the puppies as it is K with the puppies.
K leads him down a hall and into a nursery that did a better job of containing the puppies when they couldn't just jump over the sides of it. It's been built up a bit so they don't just spill out but there are excited yips and whining the moment they detect movement - and it triples when they recognize K at the door.
He's quick, then, to move forward and try to catch the forerunners and put them back into the whelping box, and most of the nine puppies are content to swarm his lap when he steps in and sits down - but the largest one, a rich butterscotch color with white markings, leaps again and again to lick his face, climbing all over her siblings to do it.
K grins at first, tipping his chin up as much as he can, but when Mango accidentally gets him right on the mouth with her tongue, he laughs.
The owner of this house is in a coma; the woman who comes to see him sometimes always makes herself known immediately if she's here, but given that they've been left alone so far, K can safely assume she's not.
K manages to subdue Mango by rubbing her sides and then her belly when she rolls over in his lap just like she likes, and instead of agreeing that she's his, what K says is, "This is Mango. She's the one Sara wants me to adopt."
K introduces the rest of the puppies like they've walked into a dining room with them seated around a table or something, but he comes back to Mango at the end and scoops her up against his chest.
"You want to pet her? They're warm, and they lick and chew a lot." Is this normal puppy behavior? He doesn't know, but he knows these do it all the time.
He lets Mango sniff him, something she does for a minute because he smells like Nibbles, and then pets her, murmuring to her the way K had done to the mother.
"You could start your own rescue." The way things are going, the way animals find their way to K
K gives up Mango to Jesus, and that makes room on his lap for two more, which he's only too happy to indulge. He doesn't do babytalk the way some people do with puppies, but it's also true that what he murmurs to them isn't exactly words and isn't exactly not.
"Yeah. You know, abandoned animals, injured animals. Ones who will need homes. Nibbles was lucky he has you, the puppies are lucky they have people." A mild shrug. Not all pets are as lucky.
K knows these things happen in the world. He's seen abandoned, injured, neglected humans all his life, and most of it wasn't even their fault. They're just trying to live in a world the generations before them left for them, trying to get away while other humans bar them from it.
But he looks down at the puppies, who don't understand them at all and so are wagging their floppy tails happily, mouths open and tongues lolling as they jockey for attention that K has momentarily failed to give them. For a moment, this new version of an old concept occurring to him for the first time, he looks nothing so much as stricken.
Then he resigns himself to it. "I don't understand why people don't help more."
"There are people like you who do," he says, when the shock of seeing something so soft on another person has faded. He lays his hand on K's shoulder and, because he's been told he's allowed, he leans in and kisses him lightly. Three puppies are immediately jumping up at him when he does though and he draws back, laughing.
K looks up at the touch, so he's ready when Jesus is there, kissing him; he keeps one hand up to deflect the worst of the puppy attack, letting them have a moment anyway, and smiles faintly into the space after.
"And you," he points out, because Jesus is taking care of Nibbles, too. "How much time do you have tonight?"
"How long do you want me to stay?" When they'd been sneaking into V's old suite it had been different. He doubts Sara has restrictive rules in place but he doesn't want to encroach, just the same.
"Long enough for me to talk to you about something," he hedges, carefully scooping puppies off his lap so he can stand up again without hurting them.
He hugs Mango to him a moment longer than the others, letting her wash his face over and over with her tongue before he sets her carefully down with her siblings.
"You can decide after that, but if you still want to stay, I'd like the company."
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"Have you ever seen puppies?" he asks once they're outside.
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"And blankets. She says they have fur so they don't need a sweater." K seems dubious.
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How cold does it get here? He doesn't know, but probably cold enough for frostbite.
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He is, it must be said, at least mildly horrified by this prospect.
"We're going into winter," he says, dismayed. "I was considering working something out anyway. Maybe just to be safe."
Absolutely just to be safe.
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"Hold on, let me make sure Apricot recognizes me," he cautions at the door, because there's definitely already a dog barking on the other side. A dog that sounds very large and intimidating, even though when she's visible down the hall she barely comes up to K's knees.
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"Fifteen bucks a sweater, so cheaper than it is to clothe myself," he says, although he'd steal anything Nibbles needed if he couldn't afford it. "And if they give me trouble, Drake will buy anything we need. But I'll ask around, see if anyone can teach how to make them."
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"I'd like to learn," K says immediately, then. And: "This is Apricot. She's the mother."
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"She likes you."
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"She likes everyone. I'm told it's the puppies that make her bark at first. They're back here."
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He's quick, then, to move forward and try to catch the forerunners and put them back into the whelping box, and most of the nine puppies are content to swarm his lap when he steps in and sits down - but the largest one, a rich butterscotch color with white markings, leaps again and again to lick his face, climbing all over her siblings to do it.
K grins at first, tipping his chin up as much as he can, but when Mango accidentally gets him right on the mouth with her tongue, he laughs.
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"That one's yours?" He guesses, smiling, just watching the way K's face lights up a little.
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K manages to subdue Mango by rubbing her sides and then her belly when she rolls over in his lap just like she likes, and instead of agreeing that she's his, what K says is, "This is Mango. She's the one Sara wants me to adopt."
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"You want to pet her? They're warm, and they lick and chew a lot." Is this normal puppy behavior? He doesn't know, but he knows these do it all the time.
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"You could start your own rescue." The way things are going, the way animals find their way to K
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He blinks and looks up. "Rescue?"
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But he looks down at the puppies, who don't understand them at all and so are wagging their floppy tails happily, mouths open and tongues lolling as they jockey for attention that K has momentarily failed to give them. For a moment, this new version of an old concept occurring to him for the first time, he looks nothing so much as stricken.
Then he resigns himself to it. "I don't understand why people don't help more."
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"And you," he points out, because Jesus is taking care of Nibbles, too. "How much time do you have tonight?"
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He hugs Mango to him a moment longer than the others, letting her wash his face over and over with her tongue before he sets her carefully down with her siblings.
"You can decide after that, but if you still want to stay, I'd like the company."
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