Work Text:
There is a dog. In the house.
Mratyn is going to die.
“Hey,” he tries, despite every instinct in his body telling him to run run now get away, “you don’t wanna eat me, do you?”
Because it works for Oli, right - Oli barters with cats and flirts with humans all the time and he’s fine, right - couldn’t Mratyn do the same?
What works on dogs? Commands? “Stay,” he says authoritatively.
The dog seems to - to frown, almost, for a moment - then obeys.
Mratyn exhales. “Good. Good boy.”
He doesn’t stick around to see the dog’s head tilt with intrigue.