George Kimbrell gave the alignment one last examination before grinning in satisfaction. "And with that, your door is fixed."

The woman in the apartment didn't respond. She was an odd one, he could tell. She was so quiet that if she hadn't opened the door and sat on the couch, he wouldn't even have known she was here. Her dark clothing made her look drab and sad, so he'd tried to engage her in conversation.

Nothing had worked. All his attempts at making small talk had been met with dead silence. Even the completion of his job apparently didn't merit a 'thank you'. He wasn't a vain man, but he did enjoy knowing that people were happy with his work.

"Well, I'm going to go now – oh, hello there." He said as he noticed the apartment's third occupant: a large black dog. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it before, perhaps it had been asleep? At the moment the dog was sitting at the foot of the woman, the very picture of a perfect guard dog.

"What kind of dog is this?" He asked.

To his surprise the woman answered. "He's a hellhound." She said in a low monotone, as if she was unused to speaking.

George thought for a moment. "Is that some sort of special breed of mastiff?"

"Somewhat." The woman allowed.

He eyed the dog, who was about the size of a grown man. He knew some great danes got around that big, but he didn't know mastiffs could too. Then again he'd never seen a mastiff outside of pictures.

"How big is he?" He asked out of curiosity.

"He's young, so only 350 pounds."

He had to have heard that wrong. That or the woman had misspoken. Either way, a dog that weighed 150 pounds and got bigger?

"I've been meaning to get a guard dog to watch the house and kids while I'm away. What's his temperament like?"

"Fiercely loyal." The woman said, raising her head to fix him with a piercing stare.

He smiled. "Where'd you get him? I might have to get one myself."

The woman stared at him. Just when it was starting to get uncomfortable, she responded. "He's actually my mother's. She wanted to check up on me."

George subtly licked his fingers and cleaned out his ears. "So they're your mother's? Do you think you could put me in contact with her?"

The woman smiled. It was not a nice smile.

Author's Note:

I imagined that Nyx with her hellhounds would say something like, "This is Spot. He is seven months old and weighs 350 pounds. He enjoys belly rubs, long walks in the park, and eating cats. If he doesn't decide to eat you within the week, you can keep him."

This is just a funny side-story that popped up into my head when I thought about what repairing the broken door would look like. It's canonicity is dubious, but I had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it.