#constable cuddles

A stroll around the ship with a mug of caffe tucked in her hand, Reyna was checking to see if all her Rogues had clocked out and called it a night. Orendi was curled up in her hammock over Shayne’s bed; Pendles lay in a bundle completely buried under electric blankets and stuffed toys; Toby... was likely asleep in his mech again, despite the Valkyrie’s constant persuasions to use an actual bed before she rented it out to someone else. Everyone was in and sound asleep. Save for one. He didn’t need minding over, didn’t need tending to in any respect. He’d survived on far less and didn’t require her sticking her nose in to see if he slept snugly in his bed. Made easier by the fact that he’d left the Favour at least nine days ago. Not out of the ordinary for him. Still, Reyna made sure to always leave a single light on in his room, just for her peace of mind. >>Approaching Vessel The words flickering on and off on her comms device sent her sprinting to the bridge. She couldn’t take any more of those UPR scuttle ships trying to reclaim what was no longer theirs. She thought she and Ghalt had an agreement, but he assured her that if any more came, it wasn’t by his command. The tiny familiar shuttle drifted towards the bay doors, the thrusters compensating to prevent collision with the massive freighter. A wave of tranquility undid the knot in her stomach she didn’t even know was there, had been there since he’d left. A good thing too, with everyone else asleep. She wanted this moment selfishly for herself.  She tried to appear nonplussed as she all but sprinted down to the shuttle bay, another mug of caffe in hand in case he needed it. Or wanted it. It was a gesture all the same to remind him that he could treat this ship as his home, if he chose to. There would never be the obligation to stay if he found somewhere better.  Of course, she went out of her way to ensure that there was no such alternative. She couldn’t afford for someone else to have his skills. That’s what she’d convinced herself of, anyway.  A clawed hand pulled the exhausted purple form out of the shuttle and, as he made his way out, caught his boot on the lip of it. Stumbled, but never fell. He was just stubborn that way. “You look tired,” she jeered, nearing with the caffe. Perhaps the smell of it would perk him up. “Yeah, thanks. That’s the exhaustion. Also, probably blood loss.” Whiskey’s glowing yellow eye rolled into the back of its socket as he collapsed to the ground. The mugs were forgotten, crashing into a million pieces on the floor as Reyna lunged forward to catch him as best she could. The pools of warm java started to cool, as was the clone’s skin once she got his arm wrapped around her shoulder. He was pretty much dead weight against her back. Without the others to help, she wasn’t going to be able to carry him all the way back to his room. “Hey. Hey.” A gloved hand smacked him on the cheek in an attempt to rouse him. It didn’t work. As she lowered him to the floor after a few minutes of struggle, she noticed her shirt and back felt wet and tacky. That was when she saw just how bad his condition was. His skin was pale and there were several injuries covering his body and bleeding freely. Some looked like stab wounds while others appeared to be the results of bullets. Bullets that hadn’t been dug out yet. “You’re a messed up piece of s**t, you know that?” Despite his bloodied appearance, Reyna had no choice but to remain calm. Panicking would send her into a spiral and they’d both be worse off for it. Pulse: check. Breathing: check. She cracked open a small vial of smelling salts: nothing. She started to retrieve a medkit from the wall when she heard the familiar clicking of nails against the floor. She’d forgotten about that pudgy mutt and now she was going to have to deal with his whining too. “I don’t think he wants to play,” she barked at Cuddles, trying to nudge him out of the way with her foot. He liberally licked his owner’s face, hoping it would wake him up so that he could cook him another healthy portion of bacon, and huffed a nasaly bark at him when he got no response. When he realized it was a futile effort, he busied himself with cleaning up the spilled caffe from off the floor. Reyna probably should have shooed him away from it but she had more important matters on her mind. A caffeinated pug wasn’t high on her list of concerns.

He would wait. He would spend hours waiting on that filthy bed staring out the window, waiting for his keeper to come home. Cuddles hadn’t been too keen on the sudden change of hands; all that pampering and fine food had spoiled him. To move from a place of such luxury to this... filthy hole was definitely a step down. He’d squirmed in the spy mistress’ hands once he saw where he would be staying, but she was surprisingly strong, and this new person even stronger. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. “Plucky,” he’d been called, and if he didn’t have his way, then everyone else would be miserable with him. With no cushy pillow to lie on and no thick carpets beneath his delicate feet, he was adamant about not staying. He scratched at the door, whined for hours, and urinated on everything he could find - which was a lot, given the state of the room - but none of it made the shirtless man give in. He growled even as he wiped up each puddle, but did nothing more to chastise the pooch for his bad attitude. A battle of wits, Cuddles considered, where he would be the victor. The plan just needed some time. Day two was utter chaos. He awoke to find himself alone with just a bowl of mushed meat and water by the bed he’d chosen not to sleep in. What an insult! A quick pacing of the room revealed that there was no one to complain to, no one to give him something better than this slop. In a fit, he overturned both bowls, kicked it up with his hind legs, and gathered assorted empty bottles and boxes to cover it up. He wanted nothing to do with the mess, despite the complaint of his stomach. He would starve himself if it meant getting better service around here. A treat of a nap on the lumpy bed seemed like a good way to pass the time until someone showed up. A click and hiss of the opening door stirred him from his sleep many hours later, to find his new owner dragging himself in, looking worse for wear. Cuts and scrapes, blood oozing down his arms as he looked over the rifle in his hands. Still, he stood tall, unfazed by the damage he’d incurred. Cuddles leapt to his feet and stared him down without a care for the rebuke he’d receive for his mess. But it didn’t come. The shirtless man paused on seeing it, glanced at the pooch, and propped the gun up against the bed. He made his usual growl and scooped up as much of the discarded meat as he could before dumping it in the garbage. The empty bottles he tossed into the sink - he should have gotten rid of those anyway - before taking a seat beside the pooch. “Fine, you don’t like the cheap s**t. What do you like?” A single yellow eye returned the stare, as if he expected the dog to answer. Cuddles only stared back with a light cocking of his head. He’d never been asked anything before. “Uggh. Give me a sec.” Without a single care, the clone stripped and disappeared into the bathroom to wash himself clean, smelling of clean soap once he returned. A simple towel around his waist, Cuddles found himself being plucked from the bed and situated on the man’s shoulders as they headed to the kitchen. Holy shit, steak! His tail couldn’t wag fast enough as he devoured the meal before him, his entirely body wriggling in response. And once he was done, a hearty belch surprised him. He would have been disciplined by that yelling woman for such a display of terrible manners, but instead, he got a toothy smile from the man who’d made him his meal. ... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. One more meal, and then he was definitely out of here. One week became two, then a month, then almost half a year had passed. He’d been witness to his keeper’s moods, a diligent ear for his complaints and personal thoughts. Maybe he didn’t understand any of the words, but there was no hiding the scent of his moods or his body language. On those occasions when he couldn’t sleep, Cuddles would climb atop his bed, leap onto the lumpy mattress, and find a spot by the clone’s side where he could perform his circling routine to get the sheets just right. The tossing would stop. His breathing would even out. He’d sleep right through the night until morning. Here is where he would sit and wait, and every day that click and hiss would have him bounding across the room towards that toothy smile and cracked helmet.

What if it were to...PIDDLE??? Upon the floor of the Great Hall?

This is what I pictured when I found out about Constable Cuddles and Ambra’s hatred of that dog.