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The Great Dane Casca regularly takes out for walks- since her neighbour, an obnoxiously beautiful man named Griffith, is regularly busy- is often so excited that she has to use a Tone with him.
The Tone that her few friends often call her Army Commander-voice, well aware that she carries her years as exactly that with pride, although it had left her with more than a few scars and an initial distrust of other people.
The Great Dane, who carries the rather unfortunate name of Irvine, has been in Casca’s care ever since she moved into the neighbourhood five years ago, recently discharged and mind a mess at the tender age of twenty-four. She had ran into Griffith and Irvine entirely by accident, since the dog had escaped from the eccentric man and had been running down the street with a big, goofy grin on his face.
Irvine had only stopped when it had smelled Casca’s takeout boxes. She had been holding the dog’s collar, slightly irritated and slightly confused when a flustered Griffith had made his way to her.
She had flinched at the sight of him: she’d known forever not to trust a pretty face, especially one that clearly knows himself to be so. They had struck up a tentative friendship though Casca doubts they’ll ever be close.
And she doesn’t mind walking Irvine regularly or coming by Griffith’s house to feed him: Irvine’s a goof and as big as a pony but he’s well-trained- most of the time- and greets Casca with plenty of doggy love.
It’s Irvine who she tells most of her troubles these days and not her friends and co-workers. Irvine loves her unconditionally, no matter how many times she tells him she hates the groper at work or how often she still has her nightmares.
Irvine keeps her stable. It’s a little like having a therapy dog: although befriending Irvine had meant she had had to befriend his owner too.
Griffith isn’t completely bad though, he’s just so very much not Casca’s type in any way. Not that he needs to be, considering Casca figured out a long time ago that the huge guy she sometimes spots going in Griffith’s place is a boyfriend.
All in all, Casca’s life in this neighbourhood isn’t too bad. She has a nice job. She has a few friends- they might not be very close but they are her friends. They invite her to places. She invites them to places. She goes to the movies. She walks Irvine and plays with him in the nearby park. She goes to her local gym to keep herself as fit as she prefers herself to be.
She still indulges on the occasional piece of cake. And the occasional BBQ-night. And movie-night. And if she’s not as fit as she was in the army, then well- no one needs to know. Or care.
She loves her body as it is.
The same body is currently safely covered in a windbreaker and sweatpants, her short hair ruffled up by the chilly wind as she jogs with Irvine towards the park.
“Come on, boy, don’t you wanna see your favourite birdies?”
Irvine pants, his tongue wagging almost as much as his tail.
Casca yelps and bursts out into laughter when he nearly bowls her over when he spots a butterfly. “Hey you doofus, remember me?!”
She barks out an order for him, clicks her tongue when he skips to a halt and turns towards him, tail wagging so hard his butt might fall off.
“I’m pretty strong but I’m not strong enough to pull you, dumbo,” she huffs and scratches him behind his big, floppy ears. He pants happily and pushes his wet nose into her hand. She gives it a kiss and endures his doggy kisses before tugging him back towards their usual route again.
They reach the park with no time at all.
Casca would sometimes take Irvine to the dog park further away but since he’s a Duracell bunny who gets way too excited about other dogs, she always has to be careful to make sure they’re the only ones. Sometimes it’s just too much of a hassle so she remains in the regular park.
She and Irvine have been seen around those parts long enough by other park-goers that they often get waved at. Casca endures the small talk for Irvine’s sake but pulls him back from showing too much love.
It’s not like those people are interested in her: Irvine is pretty much the only one of his kind around these parts and his spotty fur gathers a lot of attention. Especially during summers when Casca spends time brushing it in the park or just cuddling with Irvine with one of her books.
Damn, but she misses summer.
She slows down her jog to a walk once they take their usual route around the park, giving Irvine an impatient click of a tongue when he doesn’t instantly slow down himself.
“You know you have to follow me, big boy,” she murmurs to him. He glances back at her, his tongue hanging out from the side of his mouth.
She snorts at the sight. “You’ve misplaced something.”
Irvine barks.
Casca snickers.
She and Irvine get to walk around in relative peace for a while: she waves to the occasional familiar face and endures one enthusiastic little girl who really, desperately wants a hug from both her and Irvine. Casca pats the little girl’s back awkwardly. Irvine slobbers her face with his doggy love.
Casca apologizes and offers a handkerchief from her pocket that the girl’s laughing parents deny.
Casca’s cheeks have darkened when she goes on. “You’re so embarrassing sometimes, Irvine,” she huffs.
Irvine barks happily.
“Excuse me!”
Casca hums, walking ahead. Irvine turns his head.
“Hey, um, lady with a dog-!”
Casca blinks, her steps faltering as she turns around. She comes face to face with another woman: pale and blonde and pink-cheeked and clutching a rather professional-looking camera.
“Um,” the woman says. She’s very pretty.
Casca opens and closes her mouth. Then opens it again. “Irvine, sit.”
Irvine sits.
“What is it?”
The woman fidgets. “This is gonna come out sounding super weird and maybe uncomfortable and such, but you see, I’m a photographer-“
“Let me guess, you wanna take a pic of him.” Casca nods her head towards Irvine, who bangs his tail against the ground, clearly quivering with the desire to go slobber this strange new person.
The woman grows even more flustered. She bites her lip. “Well, no. Actually, I would like to know if you wouldn’t mind- if I- see, I’m looking for models for my project on medieval knights and you’re pretty much exactly what I’m looking for.”
Casca blinks. And blinks again. “What?”
The poor woman grows even redder. “Oh fuc- shi- I swear I’m not this incompetent at introducing myself usually- I’m Farnese, Farnese de Vandimion? You might have, uh, heard of me?”
It’s Casca’s turn to fidget. “Uh, I don’t- really pay attention to photographers. Sorry.”
Farnese smiles at that. “Oh, right. Of course. God, that sounds so conceited. Anyhow-“
Casca licks her lips, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She interrupts Farnese by murmuring her own name.
Farnese smiles, a bit brighter. “Nice to meet you. I’d really, really love it if you modelled for me. I already have two others but it’s like gonna be only couple of group photos, other than that it’s all solo work.” Farnese fidgets with her camera even more. “Of course, you don’t have to decide instantly, we could, uh-“
“Talk about it? Over coffee, maybe?” Casca finds herself saying. She’s clutching Irvine’s leash way too tight.
Farnese’s big eyes widen, just a fraction. “Oh,” she says. “Oh.” Then she’s nodding, way before Casca even manages to think about being rejected on what sounds terribly like a date.
“Of course. That’d be nice,” Farnese says. “I have kind of a weak stomach these days so it’s just lattes or teas for me but yeah. Anything you want.” Her cheeks are still so very pink. She also has very high cheekbones.
Casca’s stomach feels warm. “Your number?”
Farnese bites her lip and digs out a business card. “Text me the time and the place. I’m only visiting the city for the moment but I’ll be here for like a month because of the project and all.”
Casca takes the card and stuffs it into her pocket. She then offers her hand, which Farnese takes.
“Be seeing you,” Casca says and gives Farnese’s chilly hand a squeeze.
Farnese smiles. “Okay. Good. Wow. This is good. I’m glad you didn’t think I’m a creep for running after you like that.”
“Nah,” Casca murmurs. “This big boy here gets a lot of attention so I’m used to it.”
“But you don’t?” Farnese asks, then apparently bites her own tongue.
Casca lets out a startled little chuckle. “I, uh. No. Not really.”
“Oh,” Farnese says again. “You should. You’re very, uh, photogenic.”
Casca snorts.
Farnese snorts. Then she kneels beside Irvine and offers her hand for him to sniffle. He does so with his usual enthusiasm, then apparently decides that Farnese is good and makes a move to lick her face.
“Irvine, that’s enough, you moron,” Casca huffs and pulls him back.
Farnese straightens and wipes her face. “Well, he’s a fun one.”
“He sure is. Anyhow, we gotta get back to our walk. I’ll text you.”
“Okay. Okay. Good. Have a nice walk.”
“Sure will,” Casca huffs and turns away.
If her cheeks are flushed more than usual, then no one needs to know, right?