1964-08-15 - Like a Dog to Water
Summary: Lockjaw has something to tell his favourite peoples.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
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Gamboling around a certain mansion in a certain part of New York is… Well… Dull. Dull when the students constantly sneak ham sandwiches too salty for a canine tongue. Dull when everyone breaks into bouts of unconscionable hysteria and scream and shout, or engage in their restless behaviours.
Besides. Not a single person has appreciated the big cache he's been trying to stow away, transporting now and then, hidden in a spot where the soil is thin and making any kind of hole is a feat.
Lockjaw whuffles, and vanishes for the fourth time in the past hour. His nose is chilly and his ears flap in the persistent wind. A coffin-sized crate drops onto ice and slides down past a modest ice cave onto a floe, joining six other crates just like it. They're precious things, given the lack of wood north of sixty. There is no explanation for how a plate of roast beef and three platters of ham sandwiches ended up cooling slightly near a hut. A startled skua flaps off, squawking its protests at this brush with fickle fate.
Another blue flash and the dog prowls around, sniffing. He's never really explained how he knows where his people are. It wouldn't amount to more than 'woof' but he does probably know. Maybe. Or there's a hidden tracking device on Karnak allowing his wobbling shadow to form behind the woman.
"Arfle."
Karnak blinks a bit. As she was meditating in a lotus position in an abandoned basement. It isn't much, but it serves her purposes. It isn't like she ever has callers aside from, "Lockjaw?"
The woman rises gracefully to her feet, then scritches Lockjaw's head, "What's going on boy? Did you need me to go with you somewhere?" She looks curious about that, keeping her gaze focused on the canine.
Hello, are those scratches? Yes, he'll take them, though whether Karnak appreciates having to run her fingers through somewhat windblown, definitely damp and chilly fur remains to be seen. The great hound leans slightly into her with a well-measured gauge of how much he can angle without knocking over one of his people. Grace has less to do with it; all bulk, muddy paws, and a happily wagging stub of a tail make the score. "Mmmmwuff." His statement is apparently quite certain.
Droopy jowls quiver. He shivers for a moment and then sniffs around. Nothing interesting or appetizing here. That alone might be the warning, as the fork on his head shines with a faint white-blue light. Travel in three, two…
It's one degree Celsius, and the damp air scoured by a wind that keeps at least some of the mist away. With that bite goes the certainty of the sea air, briny, and ice. That explains the wet paws.
Karnak is not surprised by the teleport. But is a bit surprised where they go. She glances around, "Alright, what's here Lockjaw?" She rests a hand on the scruff of his neck, petting him slightly as she says, "Lead on, show me what's interesting you."
Lockjaw, the robber baron, is utterly unashamed of his discoveries. They form quite the skewed slide along the angular slope that gives way to a bit of rock and highly disturbed scree. The waves smash nearby on the cliff face that wasn't there on any map, slowly eroding the beach. Or greatly, all things considered. But there is no sign any of the boxes went over the edge and his cairn is a disorganized collection of crates largely of the same type: wood, wrapped up with whatever was convenient for internal stuffing. Plants, straw, paper; it's not exactly the height of difficulty here.
He really doesn't seem to be bothered by purloining what probably amounts to several boats' worth of goods. Or, in fact, the propeller sitting wedged in the ice, either, something almost as tall as Karnak's waist height. Huffing, he trots as much as one can along a rocky, icy path, his paws slipping and gripping. Yeah, there's gamboling out here, at the risk of his dignity. A foot might give out, he might slide, and it's fun.
Karnak blinks at the boxes, and carefully starts looking through the crates. If they are sealed… well, she isn't called the Shatterer for nothing as she opens them and starts looking through them, "Lockjaw, if you've taken to piracy for dog food, I shall be very disappointed." She actually smiles, mostly because no one is around /save/ for Lockjaw, and investigates the contents in greater detail.
The crates are varied in size. Some are roughly large as a trash can and others might hold the body of, say, Gorgon for scale of size. Some are literal cubes and others long, slightly tapering. All are nailed shut, some glued and banded in metal. Where they are, the metal goes mostly unstamped. A few Cyrillic letters make the contents at least marginally organized, if not the system of numerical stamps in the corner. Sadly, none are really sequential and their system isn't obvious. Plus, a fair few have gnaw marks where the dog got his great big teeth into the wood. Evidently they are not tasty.
Karnak can be disappointed. Lockjaw whumps his butt down on the ice and wiggles. His tongue lolls out of mouth, and he sure did not supply a crowbar. Karnak is the crowbar. A good strike or two will end up with the woman piled up in straw and a very ugly round ball that looks like Sputnik had a love affair with with a funnel web spider and the resulting nest-love child-egg was that rolls out onto the ice. As it moves, it creates an odd melody; clearly hollow.
Karnak blinks, then carefully crouches down, recognizing the lettering as Russian from the news, though she wouldn't know what it says. Then she touches the ball, examining it cautiously as she says, "I don't know if I should… but it might be best." It's an enigma, mainly why would Lockjaw be fetching Russian crates with weird gadgets hidden away, "Blackagar might need to see this."
The ball is one of the great discoveries. Beyond that — pieces. Old metal, for the most part. Some of it has the look of frosted tubing without any clear purpose. A chunk of what was probably an interface ripped out of its housing shows all the hallmarks of ugly scratches and maltreatment. In fact, little manages to avoid being scratched up. Things look sheared off, pulled free, dragged out from a formerly intact skeleton of sorts. Lockjaw barks when Karnak has the ball. Of course, ball means play. His tail wags and ears perk, hope shown in every line of his tawny body.
Karnak hrms, "Okay, boy, where's the rest of it? Can you show it to me boy?" She ruffles Lockjaw, but doesn't throw the ball, mainly because she has a sneaking suspicion about the device. "I need to find it…" She looks at the other boxes, and while she can't read the markings, she can recognize similar ones.
Lockjaw sits on the ice and lowers his head to his paws, staring up at Karnak with very large, ridiculously puppy dog eyes. He barks once, and then whines, a bubbling sound present. The tip of his nose points to the ball, and he tilts his head, that ridiculous tongue lolling winning points with kids but maybe less so with the Shatterer. There's enough melt water around that he can go get up and stuff his face in a puddle, nose submerged, and he noisily snuffles around until his muzzle is damp. Then he looks at Karnak. Then the puddle.
Karnak hmms and moves towards the puddle, and places her hand down through the water. "Lockjaw, if we can find this, I'll get you a special treat when we get back to New York. How about a hot dog? Would you like that?" She tilts her head, exploring the indicated puddle at Lockjaw's insistence.
Lockjaw whines again. He splashes around in the puddle with a paw and stares at Karnak again. A hot dog isn't quite the bribery worthy of the robber dog, but he waits hopefully on the Shatterer for her to put together what is, to his canine brain, evidently obvious.
Karnak frowns, "So it's… in the ocean? An island?" She tilts her head, "Can you take me where it is, Lockjaw? Or is it underwater?" If she feels silly playing twenty questions with the canine, she doesn't show it, regarding Lockjaw with frustrated affection.
"Arf!" Lockjaw gets back up, as a dog of his size and stature doesn't hop to anything except balls thrown by his best friends. He practically skitters across the ice to bowl Karnak over when the Inhuman asks him about water, specifically underwater, and there goes a wet tongue giving kisses.
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