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☄ Closed to Harry Hart | Harry's Workshop

[Mail call usually results in something interesting, even if he didn't particularly order anything. Something might show up. It does this time, too. Though not a package labelled for him.]

[There's no name on the box when he opens it up, but there's a tag gently tied to the collar of the item inside, string leading to a thick paper label saying Harry Hart in lovely calligraphy.]

[Kaz stands there for three minutes in the Cargo Bay, his lips thinned into a straight line, not sure of what this is or why this is or why it's in his mail. But here it is. Something meant for his friend, not for him. And he just cannot fathom a reason at the moment why said friend would be in need of this particular thing.]

[There is a terrier, stuffed and mounted, labelled for his friend.]

[With the morbid reverence one would have for the body of an innocent person, Kaz removes his jacket and wraps the dog with it before removing it from the box it came in. He carries it to the lift, stands with it awkwardly on the lift, passes people down a corridor without so much as looking at them as he carries this strange corpse.]

[Then he stops in front of Harry's door, and knocks with his foot. Yes. He's arrived with Mr. Pickle. This is a man that's been assaulted by parasitic assassination units, that's been attacked by giant robots, that's formed his own armies, that's had to deal with the surgically altered body double of his business partner, and it's moments like this that make him truly feel as though he's lost control of his life. Delivering dead dogs to super spies.]

[ Harry's day, overall has been rather pleasant. He's gotten his work space into a satisfying arrangement that will last until the next deluge of people in need of clothing turns up on his doorstep. He probably wouldn't be in such a pleasant mood if he knew just what was coming his way.

If he knew he'd probably lock his door and try to figure out why the universe decided to do this to him now. Or why Kazuhira ended up witnessing him at his worst more often than not.

As it is, he answers the door and smiles at Kaz. ]

Oh, hello, Kazuhira. If I'd known you were coming by I would have put on a pot of tea.

[The greeting he gets isn't verbal, but a profoundly long, analyzing stare. A squint from behind tinted lenses. And then Kaz held out his jacket, delivering it formally into Harry's hands.]

I was hoping that this wasn't a gift. It didn't seem like your sense of humor. It came in the mail.

[Obviously being that the coat is a gift from Harry specifically, it must be the item in the coat.]

[ Faintly bemused, Harry takes the wrapped parcel and tugs aside the jacket to look at what mistakenly ended up in Kazuhira's possession. And you can tell the very moment he's looking at Mr. Pickle.

Mostly because his entire expression drops. ]

Fuck.

[ And since it's such a good expression of everything he's feeling right now he says it again. For a man whose entire life is based on being able to explain away everything he's a bit at a loss right now. ]

...There is a reasonable explanation behind this. [ Probably. ]

[How could this explanation possibly be reasonable?]

[He's approved not only the creation of cardboard tanks but chicken hats and bismuth pink Love Boxes as actual functioning infiltration devices, and in the process he's been given many a "reasonable explanation". He's also been in the employ of but respected a man that believed Santa Claus was real and vampires were a threat in his universe and watched his current CO ride into battle on Johnny Five re-imagined as a T-Rex, and thanks to that he hasn't believed a single one of them.]

[But Kaz is standing there, waiting for it. Or waiting for the door to be gently closed in his face because it looks very possible that Harry might pull out one of the active camo devices and disappear and flee.]

[Regardless, Miller is curious enough that he wants to hear what the story behind this might be.] Should I come in?

Edited 2016-10-21 06:45 (UTC)

You may as well. Best not to have this conversation out where anyone may overhear.

[ He goes back into the workroom and looks around at the shelves near his desk, finally opening a cupboard and placing Mr. Pickle inside it with some reverence, a hand touching his small head before turning back to Kazuhira. ]

I've told you that Kingsman training involves each potential agent choosing a dog to train alongside themselves, yes?

[Kaz steps inside and watches Harry put away the small deceased terrier with a gentle pat.]

[That is incredibly sad, and infinitely bizarre.]

Yeah, I remember. [He walks around the now familiar shop, looking out for any new items. Because Harry's life keeps presenting him with inexplicable objects.] And he was the first dog you trained? [Or the world's most disturbing practice dummy. Please don't let it be that either.]

He was the only dog I ever trained.

[ Priscilla is sprawled out on a dog bed in the corner of the room, feet twitching as she dreams about something. Harry drops into a chair looking rather tired himself as he organizes his thoughts for a moment. ]

The dogs were the final test before a prospective agent was chosen. You're taken into a room, your performance is reviewed either by Merlin or Arthur. And then you're handed a gun and are told to shoot the dog you've spent so long training and bonding with.

[ He stills remembers the day. Mr. Pickle sitting on the floor obediently while Harry weighed the choice. ]

[Kaz doesn't say anything yet, but there's a way that he glances from Priscilla to Mr. Pickle to Harry and back to Mr. Pickle that does the talking for him. The story has taken such an uneasy turn.]

[Also, in the back of his mind, he thinks that's a goddamn shitty test. He's got a very bad day supervising a quarantine operation that says that's a damn strange test to give someone..]

[ Perhaps that wasn't the best point to pause the story. So Harry continues and elaborates on the test. ]

The gun was loaded with blanks. The entire purpose of the test was to ensure that an agent knew they trusted their orders. Trusted that we wouldn't be ordered to take a life for no reason.

Mr. Pickle lived a very long time after the test. When he passed I... couldn't quite bear to let him go. So I kept him as a reminder of Kingsman's purpose.

[ But he's not going to mention where he kept him. That might be a bit much. ]

Maybe you should have kept his collar or had a painting done of him. [He offers as mild alternatives to presenting your former companion as a prop. But he does understand the sentiment, fiercely attached monster that he is, and it does mean that, even though it was loaded with blanks, Harry had to make a choice to shoot his pet.]

I don't know if I would trust the person that gave me that order. If I knew what I was about to kill had no negative affect on any known missions, I was positive of every condition of its upbringing, and the animal still could play a valuable role... "Trust" is difficult when you can be absolutely sure of the innocence one thing and have no real evidence of the other.

[Though maybe his feelings on trust have been twisted and turned and wrung every which way, that he doesn't know what to feel now.]

No offense, it's not a very good order. I might have failed that test myself.

But he lived a long time... [And it seems like he was very attached. Is very attached. Bury your dog, Harry.]