"It's a dog. Think of it like a specialized Varren, except these things actually like people, don't you boy?" The hound looked up at her tone, more than the words, and immediately adopted an expression of open-mouthed delight at the attention, "That's a good boy."
Shepard likes pets, alright. She'd have had a dog on the Normandy if it had been even in the remotest way practical— of course, it wasn't. Hard enough even to justify a Fenrir mech, and she had been pushing it already with the fish. You could at least put it on paper that the fishtank would serve as a heat-sink in an emergency, and not be lying, but a dog?
He has soft ears.
"Cops still use 'em on Earth, sometimes, for sniffing out drugs or people. They evolved alongside humans; we'll make a good team," He has soft nose too. Well, he has a soft everything, but the ears and nose especially, "He'll smell 'em out, we do the evac, first aid medical, call in for extraction, move on to the next. Standard procedure."
Shepard is aware, of course, of her annoying propensity for going over the absolute basics at times like these. There have been times in the past when people have taken offense at that; no one like the implication that they're being called incompetent. But personal feelings aside, she's never not wanted to be sure everyone is on the same game plan. It's a grim enough scene without misunderstandings, and she can already see the tension in how Garrus is moving.
She's itching for better armor too. And a gun. And a little more backup. And a trillion-credit vacation while they're wishing for the impossible.
"Alright, let's get to work. C'mon, boy," Her tone shifts, from conversation to command, and the dog reacts immediately, going from lolling with affection to an attentive predator at the very first syllable. He looks sharp, ready to work, "Seek."
The dog puts his nose to work immediately, rooting around very briefly, and then is off like a shot, as certain as if he could actually see through the collapsed remains of the residential district to the trapped people underneath.
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Shepard likes pets, alright. She'd have had a dog on the Normandy if it had been even in the remotest way practical— of course, it wasn't. Hard enough even to justify a Fenrir mech, and she had been pushing it already with the fish. You could at least put it on paper that the fishtank would serve as a heat-sink in an emergency, and not be lying, but a dog?
He has soft ears.
"Cops still use 'em on Earth, sometimes, for sniffing out drugs or people. They evolved alongside humans; we'll make a good team," He has soft nose too. Well, he has a soft everything, but the ears and nose especially, "He'll smell 'em out, we do the evac, first aid medical, call in for extraction, move on to the next. Standard procedure."
Shepard is aware, of course, of her annoying propensity for going over the absolute basics at times like these. There have been times in the past when people have taken offense at that; no one like the implication that they're being called incompetent. But personal feelings aside, she's never not wanted to be sure everyone is on the same game plan. It's a grim enough scene without misunderstandings, and she can already see the tension in how Garrus is moving.
She's itching for better armor too. And a gun. And a little more backup. And a trillion-credit vacation while they're wishing for the impossible.
"Alright, let's get to work. C'mon, boy," Her tone shifts, from conversation to command, and the dog reacts immediately, going from lolling with affection to an attentive predator at the very first syllable. He looks sharp, ready to work, "Seek."
The dog puts his nose to work immediately, rooting around very briefly, and then is off like a shot, as certain as if he could actually see through the collapsed remains of the residential district to the trapped people underneath.