[Ana's doing cardio as well. She's jumping rope, because well, it's a good work out in more ways then one. In the gym she's forgone the leather thinking that Arthas isn't stupid enough to try something there.]

[Oh Kirk, you're not the only one who never washes. Harper hauls what is literally a SACK of dirty clothes that smells like they've been worn in cycles without being washed for like, a year.

He grabs a spare washer, tips as much of his stuff in as will fit, then frowns when he realizes you're using all the rest.]

What, you decide to clean out your entire wardrobe today?

[[Mister Awkward spots a dog.

A dog.

He's killed men and women of all ages in all sorts of ways—including heirs and heiresses and other various age ranges that would make any officer on the case weep at the nature of the crime.

But it's a dog.

His fingers flex a bit. Dog = alarm system = targets waking up = extra work. He's shot many a dog in his day just before it could its slobbery snout and start making a ruckus. The worst? Those stupid little dogs women toted around in their purses, the ones who yipped and yapped at pitches so high that even an alto soprano would cover her ears. He does, in fact, have his twins tucked firmly between his pants and his shirt. His first instinct, sadly, is to put the dog out of its misery.

But that was the past and there's no target here, now. No, that's just somebody's ~*~beloved pet~*~ that 47 really sees no need or purpose for at all. But.

Still.

He can't remember ever petting a dog, actually. Had he...? No. The shanty towns had ones that would rather wait like vultures to eat their dying owners, or ones that were starving to death alongside their owners. Then there were the ones he'd seen in subways sitting by the homeless who he'd rarely not emptied half his wallet to.

He stood still. What was protocol with a dog? It wasn't yapping and it wasn't a guard dog. There was no reason to shoot it. What was he supposed to do???

He looked from the dog to the man holding the leash. He had to think of something to say. Think, think, think.]]

...since...when can we have..."pets"?

[Neville really preferred sitting with someone he knew, or alone. Not that he was unfriendly in the least, but he wasn't very good at conversing with strangers. It didn't help that an inmate had recently told him he was undignified, sober or inebriated. It made a bloke even more nervous dealing with persons unknown.

Unfortunately, everyone had decided to eat at once apparently, and there were few seats available.

He walked up to an empty chair.]

Er, hullo. You're not saving this chair are you?