Chapter Text
Plenty of people pitied stray dogs; they had the capacity to be loving companions and the joy of a household, and unlike something born wild, they never learned how to survive without the aid of human beings. Hounds that were feral and had little human contact, by comparison, had a far higher chance of survival compared to pets that had been lost or abandoned, but they did not necessarily survive alone. Dogs were inherently social creatures, like their wolf ancestors, and the existence of a feral canine often revolved around being part of a pack, working together to scavenge for food. The highest ranking individual in these packs, contrary to popular belief, was not the strongest canine, but the one with the greatest amount of intelligence. Dominance was not based on strength, but on social bonds, similar to how a family is arranged. Although they may not always know what to do with prey and thus, do not normally engage in hunting behavior, a pack of wild dogs is perfectly capable of surviving, provided they have a steady food supply; largely waste or carrion.
Mill—once Millicent, shortened to Millie, and then devolving down to a single syllable when she felt like her old names no longer fit—had endured more than she wanted to reflect on. She spent several months locked in a cage—not your fault, you did nothing wrong—and escaped, before wandering in a northeastern direction for what felt like just as long, despite the fresh air and sunlight. Her internal clock had been chaotic from lack of routine, leading her to sleep with no proper pattern, when her nightmares did not scare her awake again. She had only learned of the date when she finally found herself in the middle of a large city and managed to peer into the window of a box containing newspapers.
Six months missing, from when she had disappeared and the whole nightmare began. She did not know how long she had been in the cage or on the run, but long enough for her fur to become a murky shade of brown from filth and muck. Catching a glimpse of her reflection at night from tinted shop windows revealed the visage of an enormous hound with curly, matted fur, looking almost like a wolf. Mill had not even recognized herself, at first, seeing a creature so large that its head could be level with that of a man, with hollow ribs and dark eyes. A canine snout with a coal-dark nose and lips had replaced a human face, and only around her muzzle where she had vainly tried to bathe, did she see a flash of brilliant silver, now long-faded behind grime once more.
Mill was once a human girl, and then an alchemist dragged her out of her life and turned her into a dog, a chimera. Where most victims of kidnapping and the kind of abuse being transmuted could have counted as would seek out help, she fled. When she should have had someone there to give her food and shelter, she was forced to drink from puddles and potentially unsafe sources, and eat what people threw away, or something that had died from an unknown cause. As time passed, she became willing to kill small animals like birds and squirrels if an opportunity arose, and was would readily consume weeds that she knew were edible and unlikely to hurt her, such as clover or dandelion. Dogs were omnivores, thankfully she could do such a thing.
Two months later, after having arrived in this city—East City humans had said in the distance. Amazing, how far she had ran—and eight months after she was put into the wrong body, she still clung to life with desperation, hunger and thirst ever-present threats. She could not ask for help from humans directly, as afraid of her as they seemed, so she had turned to the other species that she could trust: the dogs who shared at least half of her makeup.
East City produced a lot of trash, being the capital of East Area in Amestris, and it was collected and tossed into a proper dump, rather than burned or buried. There was no clear pattern for what could appear there amongst the piles of waste, which was left to bake in the sun and produce a horrible stench. Items ranging from half-rotten food to furniture that was seemingly new appeared in time with the emptying of various dumpsters around the city. She lived in a proper den, more like an animal than the human being she was, constructed from broken furniture and a hole that had been dug using her long, bear-like claws. The junkyard dogs of East City—because calling them anything else was too derogatory for her human sensibilities—lived there in a pack of five individuals excluding herself, their dens scattered somewhere around hers.
The dogs all looked very different. The weakest member of the pack, who had begun hiding in a den extremely close to Mill’s, was a scraggly white terrier mix with brown dapples all over, almost completely hidden by filth unless it rained. She had pale eyes, but it was difficult to tell if they were yellow or blue. If she were clean, Mill could only imagine that someone would fall in love and adopt the sole small dog in her pack without hesitation, because she was adorable, down to her very personality. She was quiet and friendly, and often followed the sixth member of the pack, Mill herself, like a shadow; she often fled from the other dogs when the chimera was not around to protect her. Mill called her Mouse, although she had not spoken human words in long time.
The former leader of the dog pack, who had peacefully lost her position to Mill when they all began to learn of her superior ability to find food and avoid danger, was a large female with short cream fur and a dark snout and eyes to match, with pointed ears and a curly tail. A large patch of skin on her back formed a scar like a lightning bolt. She was extremely smart, and would behave somewhat aggressively when humans came too close to herself or the other dogs, at the same time looking terrified. She had probably been abused in the past, to have such a painful-looking injury, perhaps by people who thought it was acceptable to hurt strays. Mill called her Lux.
The largest dominant male was slightly bigger than Lux, a reddish-copper hound with completely short fur and floppy ears, and loose skin around his snout. He had paler brown eyes and his nose was liver-colored. His nose was always pressed to the ground, and he often wandered off on his own, but eagerly approached when he was alerted to the presence of food. He was friendly towards the other dogs, and was more liable to go near humans, a source of anxiety. He was similar to Mill, in that he tried to prevent the other dogs from playing too rough or otherwise hurting Mouse. She called him Boon.
A dog that looked like a version of Lux but had floppy ears and a loose snout like Boon was identifiable through scent as their puppy. No doubt the sole survivor of a larger litter, and aggressively competitive for food. He was liable to hurt Mouse if precautions were not taken, and would try to bite dogs other than his parents. Mill did not like him very much, but tolerated his presence given that the pack was built around some sort of family unit. She believed that he could pose a threat to the whole pack, by potentially hurting humans and leading to someone deciding to cull the feral dog population in the dump, but could do little without risking her own position. She named him Leo, for his color and violence.
The final dog, a medium-sized female who had wandered up a month after Mill had arrived herself, looked like some sort of fancy shepherd or sheepdog. She had pointed ears with long fringes and a fluffy tail and similarly long fur. What Mill could make out past grime was a coat that was a wide mix of white, grey, black, and brown; a gorgeous dog by anyone’s standards, and pale yellow eyes that gleamed with intelligence. She might have been a stray that was abandoned, but she learned quickly and thus survived that way. Mill believed that she had been abused by her owner. Her hind right leg lifted up in a hop, as if from nerve damage at times, though she had no trouble running. She would notably act terrified if a human got near her, and take the soonest opportunity to flee and hide. She played very rough, making her a threat to Mouse without meaning to be. Mill identified this dog as Squirrel.
Each day that she woke up, Mill would typically go about looking for food that was not yet rotting sufficiently to be harmful to a dog’s constitution, though she was positive that if she were still a normal human, it would have made her very sick. On weekends, where there was too much activity throughout the city to safely roam, this often involved physically churning through garbage and hoping the waste did not contain substances that would render food inedible, such as industrial chemicals. Her enhanced chimera sense of smell, which was many times stronger than a dog’s because she was part ursine, made this easier. Garbage trucks dumped food with regularity, but wherever they came from, it was safe to assume that dumpsters and bins from suburbs were emptied only once a week. By virtue of how people tossed food and the number of times bins were flipped, and horrifically similar to a very bad buffet, the newest things were often at the very bottom of a pile. Most of Mill’s attempts to actually kill birds or rodents occurred on these days.
Weekdays were blissfully easier to deal with; fewer people were wandering about for any reason other than work or a lunch break, and they were less inclined to be active late at night. Because Mill was intelligent enough to do so and of the correct size, she could successfully open trash cans or dumpsters and access their contents. She would additionally track the behaviors of people in ideal places for collecting food, to access their trash when it was fresh and probably had scraps that were recently added. Sometimes she found nothing, and other times she would locate treasures such as slightly wilted fruits or vegetables that had been tossed due to age, not even rotten.
Complicating these missions, however, were her tagalong pack of dogs, some of them being inclined to either make too much noise to be stealthy, or wander off. Mill did not entirely know when she became the dog that everyone else had began following, but it had spontaneously occurred at some point. Her partners in crime often turned out to be Squirrel and Mouse. Squirrel, being bright and observant, meant that she was able to learn things by copying Mill. Mouse was well-behaved and quiet enough to not arouse suspicion. The other dogs would linger behind, largely acting as lookouts in suburban neighborhoods and alleyways. Wherever Mill’s nose led her, however, she would immediately turn back for the East City dump when she suspected that the sun was rising.
Regarding direct interactions with humans, they were mixed. Some humans were kind, and left out bowls of dog food or shredded meat alongside water that was clean. Out of gratitude, Mill never went through their trash, effectively rewarding them for their behavior by preventing a mess from happening. Although she would have at one point been aghast at trying to eat food made for dogs, whether it was wet or dry, anything that was not rotted or old was like a gourmet meal to her now, especially considering she never got enough. Though she was not quite emaciated, she was still too thin, between trying to feed herself and look out for the others.
Many humans considered the street dogs nothing more than pests, in spite of the fact that they were visibly hungry and probably would not have dug through their trash if given an easier alternative. If they happened to catch Mill or another dog going through their cans, they would sometimes yell (which she ignored) or throw things at them. The most tense interactions with hostile people involved those who would approach with some sort of weapon. Brooms were often the first thing they grabbed, at which point Mill or another dog would give a warning bark, and everyone would scatter and reconvene somewhere else.
Not before Mill deliberately tipped over their trash and scattered its contents on the street with her claws, acting if it were an accident occurring while attempting to flee, and not something she did on purpose out of malice. She would mockingly laugh on the inside at how she was a more rebellious fifteen-year-old when she was put into the body of a dog, than she had been as a human being.
Perhaps she was making things worse, but with her perception of her own humanity growing increasingly distorted—and she knew it was—she did not take kindly to the rage of normal humans at the inconvenience of having their trash raided. They had the luxury of fresh food and water on a daily basis, and were not worried about how secure their shelters were, or if the incoming winter would kill them or their friends. More often than not, Mill thought of herself as one of the dogs, because they looked out for her. She looked out for them and kept threats away, because even if people tried not to act like it, even when they were mad, Mill could see fear flash in their eyes. She was a big dog, perhaps the largest they had ever seen, and even half-starved, she could easily kill a man if she really wanted to.
Recently she had found a new area that seemed like a good place to scavenge. She hoped the humans here were nice, or at least not hostile. It seemed like a fancier group of apartments, white-painted brick and decorative shutters on the windows. It was as close to East Command as she dared to go, which was still several blocks away. She had come across the building only once, and immediately known what it was, given the banners of the country’s flag, the massive stone walls, and a staircase that would have been murder on a person with bad knees.
She had immediately turned and fled. Although the more time that went by, the more she realized that she had been paranoid, the military was not after her nor did they even know she existed, she still considered them a serious threat.
The sun had set and she did not yet know when the garbage would run, but spying from the dark corners of adjacent buildings suggested everyone was taking their trash to a set of two dumpsters in a small plaza-like area near the street, so she could guess it would be the next morning. It was actually easier for her to get into a dumpster than a trash bin without arousing suspicion. They had lids on the top, but also sliding ones in their side, which she could move easily. There was far less noise involved in raiding them.
Even so, when many people shared a dumpster, they felt less personal responsibility to stop a pack of six feral dogs trying to retrieve food from it, even if they happened to notice.
When it seemed like enough time had passed that everyone was asleep and would not come out to run them off, the windows dark, Mill emerged from the shadows, and darted over to the dumpster, while the other dogs followed her, some of them scanning for potential threats, while Boon proceeded to put his nose to the ground and wander off in the wrong direction. She hoped he did not try to go right up to people’s front doors. Wealthier people who had more disposable income were liable to get fancier takeout, which could be semi-protected in a container when tossed, and possibly more nutritious. Plenty of restaurants out there gave more food than what could be consumed in a single sitting, and Mill was banking on people choosing to toss it, rather than get another meal from leftovers.
She jumped up and placed one paw on the dumpster, and hooked the other into a slot that acted as a hand-hold. She pulled, and the metal side door slid open, revealing a dimly-lit interior filled almost completely with black plastic bags. It reeked, but she could tell there was good food in here. For a human, it would be hard to see, but Mill’s eyes were adapted for nocturnal use, so she had no trouble determining what was safe once she dug her claws into one of the bags that seemed promising, and pulled. Out tumbled a few brown, rotten cores of fruit, but also, a container that was closed, and smelled like some sort of Xingese takeout. An excellent find.
Squirrel jostled against one leg and whined at her, already preparing to beg for food, and Mouse brushed against her foot on the other, probably not wanting anyone who was hungry to snap at her while being competitive. Lux gave a low bark, and Mill could hear the clicking of claws as Boon immediately ran back over at the promise of food. Leo gave a snarl, and was cut off by a harsh bark from his father. Leo’s snarling became a submissive whine, and Mill suspected his father had grabbed him by the snout in a dominance display. He would not be physically hurt, as violent as it could appear. Leo himself generally acted more as if he were arguing with his parents, versus trying to harm them. The closer he drew, the more that Mouse was practically on top of Mill.
She managed to wrap her jaws around the container of takeout, feeling the weight of it, and lifted, barely managing to avoid dropping it when she nearly tripped over the other dogs. She let out a rumble of warning that everyone needed to back off, and they almost failed to comply. They all stared at her, eagerly awaiting food, wagging their tails and begging with their eyes. It would be a nice meal to start with, but not enough for all six of them. She would keep digging through the trash and take something for herself if she could find it. She dropped the container on the ground and undid the clasps on the polystyrene using her claws, allowing it to pop open, revealing some sort of lo mein dish. It was cold and greasy by now, but by looking at it, she could tell that it must have been tossed out very recently.
All at once the dogs tried to go for it, with Leo immediately trying to snap at Squirrel. Lux tried to do the same to Mouse. Mill gave a rough bark to make the assailants back off, and hurriedly, the two more passive females grabbed as much of the lo mein noodles in their mouths as they could and darted off to different corners of the little plaza to eat their prizes. It was less likely that the other three would fight, given their family dynamic.
With the others distracted, Mill went to the dumpster again and looked to see if she could find anything else before she had to start physically churning through the trash in the one bag she had ripped, or open another. There were about two carrots that had gone soft from age, but they smelled like an old container of cleaner, and therefore they were probably not safe to eat. Some old wrinkled potatoes, sadly not safe for dogs. There was half a cucumber that was similarly soft, but did not seem as suspicious. She went ahead and grabbed it, grimacing at the texture. The others had already finished the lo mein when she turned back around, already back to begging.
Greedy, she thought, heaving a sigh through her nose. Mill would gladly welcome extra calories, but she was a sucker for the others, it seemed. She unceremoniously dropped the vegetable in front of them, and turned back to dig again, deciding there was no satisfying way to divide that particular morsel.
She went ahead and tore open another bag that smelled strongly of spices, withdrawing her right leg quickly, because the feeling of metal on her ribs was unpleasant, as little padding as she possessed. She was truly lucky with this new place, because she quickly found a container—it smelled like Cretan, this time—and she detected meat, beef. She would fight for her share over something like this. She wasted no time in pulling it out of the dumpster and opening this one, too, and when Leo, being selfish as usual, lunged to take some, she growled and swiftly grabbed his snout with her own jaws, not biting hard, but tugging lightly and applying just enough pressure to warn him, before letting him go. She went to eat before someone else tried their luck and took food before she could have her own share.
The texture was unsatisfying and it was cold, so it was hardly pleasant compared to what it would have been in the beginning, but the spicy ingredients and seasonings that had been used in its preparation helped to cover up the taste of mild rot. Mill only tasted it as an afterthought, though, being more concerned with gaining as much sustenance as possible before someone else tried to take it. Even if scavenging was a group effort and the other dogs would take initiative to help find food, they still fought and squabbled over individual portions.
Lux gave a loud bark and a series of low growls, and Mill felt her heart sink. She knew what the meaning of that particular tone meant. Humans.
Naturally the other dogs fled, following Lux away to safety while Mill would be the last, all except for Mouse, who clung close to her leg, trembling like a pitiful thing. She was the protector, in this case, and she turned her attention to look at the person who dared to interrupt their meal, snout wrinkling. The man had emerged from one of the apartments on the ground floor, holding a small bundle of white fabric in his left hand. He wore a loose white shirt and trousers that looked like they had been hastily thrown on. As he approached, she could make out his features.
He had sleek black hair that was a bit messy, and equally dark eyes. He looked like he might have possessed Xingese heritage, because while there was a certain amount of diversity in Amestris, most people had light hair and similarly light eyes. He was not excessively large or threatening in appearance, but humans had plenty of other ways they could pose a threat, like calling someone who was. There was also whatever he was holding in his hand. It looked like cloth, but people would sometimes wrap knives in handkerchiefs, she knew. She would not immediately assume that he was unarmed.
The stranger kept approaching, all the while Mill kept tensing, until finally, she let out a low, rumbling growl, warning him to stay away. She hunched over her food protectively, even though logically, she knew humans would have no interest in consuming trash (She had thought that about herself, once, but desperation drove her over the edge). He stopped immediately at the sound, and she caught a flash of uneasiness in his gaze, fingers tightening around the bundle in his hand. He did an admirable job at hiding it on his features, but she had a natural ability for picking up on signs of anxiety. She knew trying to scare him was a risk, but she was willing to do it for a bit of extra protein. It was a mixed bag, what the end result of intimidation would be. Sometimes people became more passive and left the dogs alone, and other times, it made them take precautions.
Mill did not think she could sense any harmful intent from the man, but even if he wished to only run them off, he would still hurt them by depriving them of much-needed food.
Moments later, Lux realized that some of their pack was not following, and they reappeared from around the street corner where they had vanished. The tawny female bared her teeth at the man, her hackles raised, and she began barking frantically. Leo copied her. Boon was pacing anxiously, licking his lips and whining in response to the distress of the other two. The three of them together did not come any closer than they already were.
Squirrel ran up to Mill and began crying at her, before flinching when the man turned to look at her, tail curling between her legs. She started trembling and immediately moved to hide behind Mill out of his direct line of sight. Mouse pressed herself closer to the chimera’s leg, seemingly wanting to disappear. Canine language involved no words, but it contained unique sounds and barks for plenty of situations. The pack would be far happier if Mill chose to leave, then and there, especially the individuals who had been abused, but she was hungry. She was increasingly unwilling to yield to people who were not living in a constant state of starvation.
For a while, they simply stared at each other while the rest of Mill’s pack reacted. She watched to see what he would do, until she was assured he would not come any closer, before snorting and choosing to wolf down as much as she could. Her ears were pricked and alert, though, in case there were any changes in the man’s behavior now that she was no longer looking directly at him. She could hear the tell-tale sounds that Lux gave off whenever a person looked specifically at her moments later. He was looking at the others, and beneath the racket everyone was making, she could hear him murmuring softly under his breath.
“There’s three there…one, two…six of them…” Counting the number of dogs in her pack, then.
A light being switched on made her look up to see where it was shining through a window, and she realized that Lux and Leo were going to wake everyone in the apartment complex if they did not stop barking. Too much of a disturbance was bad; it was hard enough to scavenge from the trash with the bit of mess they made just by opening bags, without also producing noise. Mill swung her head around to look at them, giving them a brief snarl. Be quiet! She thought urgently. Even if this one human was not doing anything, the others might.
The barking died down immediately to quiet growls that would not be audible at a huge distance.
They knew it was for their own good, even though they were free to disobey if they pleased. Everyone averted their eyes, apologetic, though they continued to watch the stranger. They would probably try to lick Mill’s snout in a plea for forgiveness, later. She was not angry at them, but potentially being ignored or shunned, even if she had no intentions of doing such a thing to them, was enough to make them upset. It was difficult for a dog to survive by itself, so maintaining social bonds was extremely important for them.
Mill glanced up at the apartments again, quietly hoping nobody else emerged, before returning her gaze to the man, who was now watching her intently, wearing a thoughtful expression on face. Her ears lowered and her snout wrinkled; she did not like that expression. Plenty of people tried to figure out who the highest-ranking dog was, and Mill was already singled out enough just because of her large size. Special attention scared her, and she knew how cruel humans could be. It was too late, though, to fool this person, because she had given some sort of order, and had been obeyed.
They needed to leave, and perhaps they would come back to this place later because of the food, but not when this person was watching them.
In a pointed display of intelligence, Mill picked up the container her own food had been in, almost tripping over Squirrel and Mouse in the process and giving them an annoyed rumble. She walked over and precisely stacked it inside the one that had contained the lo mein, and picked them up in her teeth again. She walked the stack of empty cartons over to the dumpster, and dropped them back inside. She then reached out a paw and slid the door shut, all the while, glaring at the human, whose expression had shifted from deep thought to muted fascination.
Then she nearly jumped when he spoke at a low volume, “Normal dogs don’t do that. Are you a lost service animal?” His tone was calm and even, the same sort that people used when trying to deal with potentially dangerous wild animals. Even if Mill’s behavior suggested that she might have been a trained working dog at some point, she knew her appearance indicated she was feral, and had likely been so for a long time. She was filthy, for one, to the point that her natural fur color was hidden by grime. She was too thin to have possessed a proper food supply like what she needed.
Lost service animal? If only he knew.
Mill had spent too much time living and socializing with dogs to immediately respond in human words, and she personally considered it a bad idea. Instead, she backed away from the dumpster and growled a warning, not baring her teeth, but angling herself sideways and pinning back her ears warily. It was a response, but not anything particularly promising that would give the man some sort of confirmation. She knew she was acting like an animal, but she had been put in such a position for most of the past year. Mill was past the point of caring when her means of survival were so limited. This human was far too confident, and it made her nervous.
The man breathed out a regretful sigh, and loosened his grip on the fabric he had been holding in his hand, revealing it to be a glove. She saw it then.
An array, applied to the back with bright crimson that her eyes could still perceive.
Danger. Alchemist.
She bared her teeth and gave a snarl, and before she could properly plan her response, she was already moving. The action she took was impulsive, and only a few seconds later did she consciously register her behavior and adjust it accordingly. Mill barely managed to make it in time when the man realized she was charging him and hastily moved to put on his glove. She only narrowly stopped herself from actually tackling him to the ground entirely.
At the last second, she veered to the side, teeth catching the glove and ripping it from the stranger’s hands, her shoulder knocking into his arm and making him stumble back. “H-hey!” The man exclaimed, wide-eyed with shock as he tried to recover. Clearly, he had not expected for her to go after what was most likely in some form or fashion a weapon. Streaks of grime were smeared onto his clothing and skin, where she had come into physical contact. She would have grimaced, had she not just acted aggressively.
She did not quite regret it, though.
Transmutations were not the same as guns. All you needed was the ability to perform alchemy and an array, so Mill knew that by taking the glove, she was disarming the man. Before anything else could occur, with the alchemist’s glove held in her mouth, she turned and fled. The dogs eagerly followed, all the while the man shouted after her indignantly, “That’s my glove!” His voice, a deep baritone, had gone shrill, as if he could not believe what had just transpired.
A stray dog stole his glove.
Mill was in trouble, now, and it was for that reason that, rather than leading her pack through more neighborhoods to scavenge, she turned towards the East City dump instead. Her fear of retaliation was stronger and more immediate than her fear of starvation, and she did not know what would be done in response to her act of aggression. Although she had not injured the man, she had behaved in a way that might lead to humans being wary of her presence. Had she doomed herself and the whole pack just now?
She cursed the fact that all she had to show for it was a glove with a fancy red array.