#deltangam

Commissioned from the absolutely fantastic @radiant-pie​ (thank you again, wonderful person, I am in love).

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Quick links:

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Tagged by the wonderful @ejunkiet. Have more Ava/Nate + pup. Still Prague, 19th C.

Part 1, part 2

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They had found the pup curled against its mother at the edge of Wenceslas Square. Victims of a passing carriage, the mother dead and the pup soon to follow - and Ava understands Nathaniel’s sentimentality, the care for each life, especially one as young and as unfortunate as this one. But there are many dead and dying dogs, and many unfortunate souls, in Prague. They simply cannot rescue them all.

But we can save this one, Nathaniel had said. He’d spoken lightly, amicably, but there’d been an edge to the words, a tension in the line of his back as he’d stooped, and then crouched, in the gutter with its collected detritus.

She’d stood beside him, the edge of her coat brushing his shoulder, a foot in the street and a foot on the pavement and the bustle of the city had ignored them both, preoccupied with the morning and its bright, chill air.

The mutt would have a few years, at most, brutish and quick. A few hours and it would have strayed into traffic and been gifted the mercy of a short, if painful, life.

She hadn’t said it.

He’d answered all the same.

A life, (he’d pried the pup carefully from the cool body of its mother, curving it into his open palm) is a life.

Now, their new charge has been fed, watered and bathed. It wriggles with revived energy, struggling to escape Nathaniel and his gentle but determined toweling.

The animal yips and barks and licks whatever space of skin it can reach, and Nathaniel laughs, patently delighted.

“What to call you?” he murmurs, his voice almost a coo.

Ava’s suggestions, ranging in indelicacy, are pointedly ignored.

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It is a quick, ferocious battle, one that for once Ava loses - and if there isn’t a modicum of grace in her surrender, in the way she turns on her heel and departs from the room, a sharp word snarled over her shoulder - well, she’ll be forgiven the lack of politesse. She is going to be smelling of dog for the next decade, after all.

And that is, indeed the issue:

Nathaniel has adopted a street mutt.

The dog will be Nathaniel’s responsibility. 

He names it Médor.

She calls it Canaille.

Despite her misgivings, Médor settles into their household with a simple enthusiasm. It dedicates its short life to following Ava when it thinks she’s not looking and chewing Nathaniel’s favourite slippers, and while the latter incident, she’d hoped, might be the final straw, after the weeks Nathaniel had spent gently coaxing his young charge to not defecate in the middle of the expensive living room rug, even this was met with a long, but ultimately fond, sigh.

Médor is a terrier cross of some kind, small enough as a whelp to fit in the palms of her hands.

It has what will eventually be called heterochromia: one brown eye and one amber, and patchwork fur, russet running to brown to white, with a black mantle.

He has dancing shoes, Nate says one night, disgustingly fond.

He’s run through paint, is Ava’s retort.

So this is part of my glorious timetravel! A/N/Detective poly verse. I ended up just, tumbling this out while hc’ing later scenes and I’m not sure this will fit with what I have planned so, voila.

Written for @otomefandomevents​ Wayhaven Week prompt 2: feral/tender Featuring: 1700s!newly turned Nate and Ava; canon typical violence, blood from the get go.

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Ava hunts.

The trip-tumble down the valley, the Ibex’s sides heaving, heart pounding, its rolling eyes wide as it scrabbles over the shale.

And then the warmth of coarse fur, firm flesh. The weight. It struggles against the hand wrapped around its horns, pressing its face into the dirt; kicks out uselessly as she pins down its hip, leaning, breathing in.

It’s an unequal struggle. But a brief one, as she lowers her head to its neck against that throbbing, violent pulse. The blood tastes of salt and earth as she drinks, the tang of the creature’s sweat and fear and musk in her nose, between her teeth. It slips down her throat easily and is finished all too soon. But it is enough.

She releases her grip on its limp form and lets it fall still against the dirt.

Nate is braced over the small, wriggling body in his hands, teeth sunk into its neck, his hair fallen loose and cascading over his shoulder and over his eyes. There’s a brace of other small bodies scattered behind them, necks broken and their long ears folded, their large, black eyes glazing in the sun.

“Enough?” she asks as he finishes, letting the hare fall from his fingers.

He turns, swaying a little as he does so - and then freezes, gaze caught on the sight of her mouth. She licks her lips and finds blood there, cooling in the breeze. She sees him follow it, his eyes wide, breath caught in his throat, and she turns slightly to wipe it away with her thumb, licking her fingers clean. 

Nate watches that, too. She can hear the tremor of his heartbeat, an edge that’s almost fear. 

And then the rising breeze seems to snap him out of the moment, drawing him back to the forest, the mountain, rock and earth, and he turns away.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, so quietly she almost can’t hear him. “It is enough.”

He makes to walk away back the way they’ve come, careful to step over the bodies of the hares. He won’t look at her. He doesn’t look at her until she’s stepped the few strides to his side and placed her hand on the curve of his shoulder, pulling him to a gentle stop, her grip firm and lightly squeezing.

He blinks, at first startled before his expression slides to foolish. He looks down, heaving another long, controlled breath and his pulse trips beneath her fingers, pained, unsteady.

She holds him, grounds him, until his heartbeat resettles.

Eventually he smiles down at her, and his brown eyes are red-rimmed, bright in the filtered light.

“Have I told you yet how I’ve missed you, my lady?” he asks, his tone light, teasing. Despite himself, it still breaks.

She raises her eyebrows and snorts, indulging his grin, and then lets her hand fall.

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