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Dog-gone Distractions

A short drabble in which Professor Kain Pathos Crow single paw-edly recontains two SCPs mid breach.

Warnings: Genderfluid character using male pronouns, 035 being jealous of a dog, 049 having a grand ol' time.

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The breach was going swimmingly. It had taken a few strings that he hadn't wanted to pull, sure, but the Possessive Mask was itching for stimulation after three long months of boredom, and by the Pantheon did this one deliver. People screaming, alarms blaring. Chaos abound in a magnificent symphony. All the while, his pretty birdy was safe just next to him, hurrying along about as much as he could without ending up a wheezing, overheated mess.

There were panicking minds everywhere and, as artful as that was, that of course meant that he picked up on the approaching presence - or, rather, the presence that he was approaching - just a bit too late. Another mind, also a bit concerned, though mostly annoyed with the shrill shrieking tones of the alarms. There was something about that mind. An excess of frilly language in a particular, infuriating way that was just a bit too familiar. The Mask couldn't quite place it. A corner was rounded while he searched through his memory. Down the hall, a door opened, and a moment later, the Doctor gasped.

The thespian froze. The sheer wrongness of the sound bringing everything to a screeching halt. The Doctor never gasped. It was almost impossible to surprise him as it was, and, even then, he would barely jump before squawking up a frazzled storm. The world seemed to white out for a split second. Their bird was hurt. He must have been. He was damaged or dying and the Mask needed to leave and get him out and keep him safe and-

The surgeon grabbed his arm, and he was back, and, suddenly, he recognized the canid figure standing stock still only a few yards away.

Shit.

He recognized That Dog now. The one that talked a bit too smoothly and was a bit too perceptive. Annoying. The Mask felt a rising bitterness. Literal acid on a melting tongue. The dog was considering. Snobbily formal thoughts rattling away in a series of rough calculations and potential escape routes that made each moment feel like a stretching eternity.

"Oh, Darling look!" His arm was shaken. It couldn't have been more than a second since his bird had snagged it. In spite of himself, his host's heart fluttered. That doting tone wasn't something the Mask heard often. The Plague Doctor simply wasn't typically the doting sort. "Oh, it's wearing a suit and everything! Hello there!"

And then that grounding grip on his arm was gone, his partner hurrying away to greet the hound that would surely be the end of the breach if it wasn't bypassed now. "Doc-" he choked, almost instinctively as the few strides he took to follow the blasted bird that was now crouching down, having taken the canine's few steps back as a sign of its being nervous. This was bad. This was very bad. He swore if That Dog so much as blinked wrong he'd liquify it. "Doctor, don't touch that thing."

"Oh, hush," the Plague Doctor insisted, shooting the Mask a look that suggested that he most certainly would be 'touching that thing' if only because the thespian had told him not to. "The dog is fine," the surgeon then turned back towards the canine, "You haven't got the Pestilence at all, have you?" More of that doting, overtly certain tone. The Mask was hating that damn dog even more by the second. Why did it get fawned over while he was brushed off? Mind tricks, surely. "Such a fine Doctor you are~!"

That Dog huffed, the sound verging on offense. "I'm far more partial to 'Professor', actually."

"Oh!" The Doctor exclaimed, the surprise nearly toppling him from his unsteady crouch. The calm sea of the surgeon's mind seemed to ripple, then surged with his excitement. "You talk!"