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[Out of Milliways: Vallincourt.]

The door opens and a power-armor clad Ellen clanks in, Dogmeat at her heels and her plasma rifle slung across her back. "Bar?" she says as she pops the neck catches and takes off her helmet. "I've got a long run to a very bad place ahead of me today. Could I have something suitable to eat, for me and Dogmeat? I don't know when I'm going to get the chance to eat again."

A tray with several bowls on it materializes, along with a tall glass of something slushy and pale green. Ellen doesn't recognize what smoothies look like, but she nods anyway. "Thank you," she says, setting down Dogmeat's breakfast. "I appreciate it."

She settles down at a nearby table with the rest of the food. Feel free to bother her. She's not going anywhere until she's done eating.

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Bill doesn't notice the lady in armor, his eyes are on the dog.

Right now he's eating at the counter (dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and crinkle cut fries!), but he turns around on his stool when he notices the animal.

One of the dinosaurs loses a tail, and it somehow ends up on the floor near Dogmeat.

Bill watches, holding the rest of the nugget in his hand.

Dogmeat is an extraordinarily clever dog who understands close to five hundred words of the English language. Right now, though, there's only one word in his thoughts:

Food? Fooooooooooooooood.

The heeler scrambles away from his empty bowl (he's a fast eater) and starts sniffing hopefully at the chunk of nugget on the floor. This is for him, right? Nobody else is trying to get at it. That makes it his. Totally. OM NOM NOM NOM.

Bill grins, and another piece of chicken finds it's way to the floor between him and Dogmeat.

MORE FOOD OM NOM GRMPH SNARF SHLORP.

Bill, you have Dogmeat's full, undivided attention.

Bill's smile spreads wider, and he turns to grab more chicken.

Let's see if Dogmeat can catch.

A dinosaur head goes sailing in an arc for Dogmeat's snout.

Not only can he catch, he can jump up to his hind legs and snap the meat out of midair without batting an eye. (Just don't try to get him to catch anything else.)

It's about this point at which Ellen looks up. She doesn't say anything, though. Dogmeat and the boy look like they're enjoying themselves, so she might as well watch for a bit.

Bill laughs and claps his hands.

"Good boy!"

Clearly a trick that deserves more chicken, and a repeat performance, and so the rest of the nugget is tossed Dogmeat's way.

Happiest. Dog. Ever. Dogmeat barks, jumps for the rest of the nugget, and snarfs it down immediately.

Ellen just grins. "He's good at that, isn't he?" she comments. "I think he likes you."

That earns more clapping, and Bill throws his hands up like he's signaling a touchdown.

He's turning to grab another nugget when he hears Ellen.

Giving her a sheepish look, Bill nods.

"Uh-huh. He c'n catch real good. Is he yours?"

Ellen nods. "He is. His name's Dogmeat. Mine's Ellen," she says. "Do you have a dog of your own? You seem to know how to handle him pretty well."

"I'm Bill," he says, brushing his hands off on his pants.

"I do! Her name's Brownie Girl, an' she's a real good dog, too."

"I'll bet she is," says Ellen. "What does she look like? Does she ever come here?"

Dogmeat pads over and bumps his head against Ellen's armored leg. Ellen leans down to very, very lightly scritch him behind the ears.

"She's brown, an' gots pointy ears an' a brushy tail. Mom says she looks t'be part Shepherd, an' a little bit of everythin' else."

Looking towards where his door should be at, she shakes his head, then turns around to Ellen with a shrug.

"I came in by myself, but Brownie's real good at findin' me, so maybe she'll follow me t'here."

"Sometimes they do that," Ellen says. "Dogmeat comes in after me sometimes, but a lot of the time he doesn't. You can never really tell. I'll keep an eye out for her, though, if you want. And you can play with Dogmeat if you like."

Those looked like iguana chunks the kid was throwing him. Dogmeat eats iguana all the time back home. No harm in it.

"Thanks." He smiles. "I wouldn't want her t'get in any trouble without me."

Looking from Dogmeat to Ellen, Bill is thrilled that he gets to play with the dog.

"C'n he have some more?"

Bill turns to fetch another nugget off of his plate, and holds it up to show Ellen.

"Sure," says Ellen. "He'll eat just about anything, so don't let him take too much of your food."

Dogmeat wags his tail gleefully and does that front-end-down play-bow gesture all dogs do when they're excited.

"Okay, I won't," Bill promises.

Sliding down off the stool, he wags the nugget in the air.

"Here y'go boy. Go get it."

Turning he throws the chicken for Dogmeat to chase.

OH BOY OH BOY OHBOYOBOYOBOYOBOY-

Dogmeat rockets off in hot pursuit of the flying nugget. Why not? It's FOOD. It's MOVING. That's what you DO.

He comes back a bit later, tail high, licking his chops.

Bill watches, grinning ear to ear.

"G'boy!"

When Dogmeat returns, Bill holds out his hand so Dogmeat can smell it before Bill pets him.

Dogmeat leans in to sniff curiously at the offered hand. And then, because these things are mandatory (and also because the boy had been handling the meat a minute ago), Dogmeat starts trying to lick Bill's fingers.

Not that he's going to object to being petted, either. He doesn't get much of that from anybody but Ellen in the Wasteland.

He's got a collar on, a wide leather one, but it looks like it used to be attached to something else before somebody cut it off and added a buckle. Not exactly the kind of thing you see in pet stores.

He laughs at the licking, then ruffles Dogmeat's fur before petting it smooth.

Bill notices the collar, and Dogmeat seems like he's spent more than a little time outdoors.

"Didja find him?" Bill asks Ellen.

"Oh yes," says Ellen. "In a scrapyard full of old cars and-"

This is not a Wasteland child; fighting off the people who had murdered his last human is probably not a good thing to say.

"-fighting dangerous, bad people," she says instead. "He didn't have a person any more after that, and he was hurt, so I helped him and he's been following me ever since."

Bill's eyes widen, and he looks at Dogmeat.

"Y'are a good boy, ain'tcha?"

Turning to Ellen, he gives her a smile.

"An' you're nice for helpin' him. My mom says dogs know when folks've been good to 'em, an' they'll stick by 'em."

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