75 Godiva Street, Thursday afternoon

Eliot had attempted to take the dog back to the shelter again, yesterday, netting himself looks ranging from bemused to suspicious from the shelter staff -- save for one woman, who merely gave the puppy a knowing look and said "One of those, is she?" and proceeded to attempt to give Eliot a stack of coupons for dog supplies and microchipping.

He'd inspected the cage area they kept the puppy in for holes or other weaknesses and walked away secure in the knowledge that the facility was solid, but couldn't quite bring himself to be surprised when, upon coming home from checking in at Luke's after the power went out, he found the dog sitting on his front stoop again, this time with an old fashioned valentine in her mouth.

He was living in a town where fireplaces spontaneously appeared when the power went out. Of course there were escape artist dogs here, too.

"I can't keep you," he warned her as he opened the door and let her in (there was a blizzard going on, he wasn't evil). "I'm serious about that."

The dog yipped around the valentine and made a beeline for his leather chair again. Eliot sighed, kicked the snow off his boots, and followed after.

[ooc: can be open, should anyone have a reason to stop by]