bemusedbicycle:

ohmyohpioneer:

THANKS, sharipep. THANKS A LOT. YOU DID THIS TO ME.

“What the bloody-” Killian makes a desperate hand gesture that is something between distress and utter, utter disgust. “What have you done to David?”

Emma doesn’t meet his eyes as she ruffles the puppy’s ears playfully and dutifully checks the clip under the lab’s tiny muzzle. “It’s a life vest,” she says with satisfaction. “That way, if he falls in while we’re father off shore, he’ll float.”

“But-” it’s a high-pitched clip of a sound, he knows it, but this is humiliating.“He can swim, Swan. He’s a bloody dog. It’s what he does!”

The eyebrow she pins him with is so laden with attitude, he almost backs down. Almost. “What he does is eat the pancakes you feed him from the table when I am not looking. What he does is eat rocks.”

“That was one time!” He protests, but it is in vain. Swan is walking away down the dock, David happily in tow, a blob of orange and black bobbing joyously toward their boat.

“No sense of propriety,” he mutters, rubs a hand across his eyes before following with heavy foot and defeated stride. “None at all.”