They usually went running in the morning. Six am, sharp.
Luce bounced up to Malodore's bed, leash in her mouth, then whined and let it fall to the floor as her master merely turned over, away from her. The little pup jumped up on top of the bed - it took a couple tries - and scrambled over Malodore's form, paws slipping down the sheets until it made it to her master's face.
"
Non ora, Luce. Mi dispiace."
She sat down, her tail thumping once uncertainly against Malodore's side, and whined.
.................................
Long-running anger was not something that came naturally to Malodore. For a while, it felt as though it should do something dramatic, that circumstances warranted or even required it, but it couldn't think of what. It was easier, in the end, to do nothing at all. Certain experiments were quietly pushed away (though not terminated, it couldn't quite bring itself to do that) and certain objects were removed from its presence.
That was all.
And then it went about its business in silence.
.................................
Luce whined again the second morning. By the third, she merely hopped up on Malodore's bed and curled up next to the plague doctor, letting out a long, low sigh.
.................................
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!Malodore gave the skellyphone an accusing look. Very accusing. There was an answering device, however - that would do. It listened to the odd, tinny sound of its own recorded voice, then paused as Israfel's eager tones recorded themselves onto the machine.
"Mal. Mally. Malodorayyy. Mally dur. Malodoooor. MALADOR."
The siren then hung up, only for the phone to ring again almost immediately. Again, the plague doctor stayed in its seat, though it did direct a glare towards the phone as Israfel piped up once more...
"You need to get Riley on the night of the dance. NEED. She thinks you hate her and don't want her and I know that is a lie and she's all floppy and sad and you have to pick her up Malodore."
.... The phone clicked again as Israfel hung up.
... Riley was back?
The clangs of yet another phone call made Malodore jump in its chair.
"If you don't she'll cry. Like really really cry."
And another hang-up, followed by yet another call. Despite the flurry of confused thoughts now sleeting through the plague doctor's head, it found itself wondering why on earth Israfel bothered hanging up if it was only going to call again ten seconds later...
"Please don't make her cry. She loves you and and and PICK HER UP FOR THE DANCE OKAY!"
Click.
Malodore waited a good two minutes for the phone to ring again; when it failed to do so, the plague doctor stood up at last, walking over to the answering device and hitting a few buttons to erase the messages that had just been recorded.
It had to think...
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