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Indy and Mike's Suite
Moon comes to the door, her arms fully of three-week old grey-brown fluffness and knocks.
Mare is by her side, eyes moving between the door and the puppy. The puppy, it should be said, looks like he is not two weeks old, but more like six. He's big and alert and quite happy, squirming in Moon's arms.
She'd promised Indy the puppy, and when she'd seen the little boy among the litter, she'd known this guy was the one meant for Indy.
Moon waits with a big smile on her face, giggling quietly as the puppy licks her chin and nips playfully on occasion.
Mare is by her side, eyes moving between the door and the puppy. The puppy, it should be said, looks like he is not two weeks old, but more like six. He's big and alert and quite happy, squirming in Moon's arms.
She'd promised Indy the puppy, and when she'd seen the little boy among the litter, she'd known this guy was the one meant for Indy.
Moon waits with a big smile on her face, giggling quietly as the puppy licks her chin and nips playfully on occasion.
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"Good! That's settled then."
He looks down at the pup, whose ears are pricked and whose tail is trying to wag happily.
"It's just a name," he tells it. "You don't remind me of him in the slightest. And I know you'd never get lost in your own den."
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Says Mike, with no real indication of who he's actually responding to.
"Stampy. Stampy-baby, you can come out now! Come say hello to Brody!"
There's no response, and really why would there be? There may be power in names and in the naming, but it's certainly not enough to clear the living room of broken bits of glass.