"Simon Barsinister, Cad Lackey, and Veronica Magus… willing they don't escape…"

A yawn came from the other side of the studio. Polly's ear twitched.

"Uh," she paused. She cleared her throat and restacked her papers. Cutting her eyes back up at Lois, her camerawoman, she muttered a soft, "Sorry."

Lois gave her a thumbs up and punched a button on her camera.

Polly's ear pricked again as the owner of the yawn spoke.

"Sorry, sorry," the light voice muttered through another one.

Polly shook her head slightly to get rid of her annoyance, then glanced over to the source. Slowly making their way from the door were Miss Valentine and Olive. Valentine had her arms crossed and her tail twirling angrily. Olive looked like a zombie newly risen from the grave. Despite herself, Polly felt a small smile tug at her lips.

Valentine glanced over at Polly, her pupils so wide in the darkness that nearly her entire eye was black. With a curl of her hand and a twitch of her whiskers, she stomped Olive away to her office.

Polly took in a deep breath and nodded up at Lois, who proceeded to count her back in and give her the signal she was being recorded.

"Simon Barsinister, Cad Lackey, and Veronica Magus, willing they don't escape, will be facing up to seven years in prison for their attempted bank robbery…"

On and on she went, narrating her scripts. She introduced segments from her fellow reporters, gave updates on other criminal activity, started to cover the foreign news…

Polly didn't know how much time had passed. She had just taken another breath to keep going when she looked down at the pages in front of her and found she had already said the final line—her sign-off.

Lois noticed before she did, and the red light of the RECORDING sign flicked off. She gave Polly a thumbs up, then stood to fiddle with her device.

Polly let out the breath. She unclipped her microphone and laid it atop her scripts, then slumped her shoulders and stood up. She slouched as she walked, her red jacket sliding down her arms slightly. Nowshe just had to go rephrase all that for print.

While on her way to her desk, she passed Miss Valentine's office. Olive was just stepping out of it as another massive yawn overtook her.

"Christ," she muttered into her knuckle. She moved to lean on the door frame, crossing her arms and tilting her head up. She didn't open her eyes.

Polly snickered to herself and shrugged her jacket back up. "Good morning!" she exclaimed in a singsong tone.

Olive jumped, looking wide-eyed over at her. She slouched and sniffed. "I wish it was," she answered, "I usually stay up this early… not get up."

Polly laughed politely. She looked up and down Olive for a moment. She was wearing the same type of sweater as she had the day before, but instead of heels and a skirt, today she wore ripped-up black jeans and lacked shoes. Polly didn't blame her, she seldom wore them either. She was a dog, after all, she didn't need to. Shoeshine hated it, she chuckled quietly to herself… then pricked her ears as she remembered there was someone in front of her.

She straightened up, bringing her gaze to Olive's face, slightly more embarrassed than she had been before.

"I don't think I ever introduced myself," Polly said, "I'm Polly Purebred."

Olive rolled her eyes. "Well, duh," she answered. Polly jumped slightly at her bluntness. "I don't think there's a soul in this city who wouldn't recognize you."

Polly twirled her ear self-consciously. "You're probably right," she replied kindly.

Olive cleared her throat, rising up off the wall. "Well, I'm Olive," she said with a nod, then scoffed. "Olive Hǎbagǒu—it's Pug—creative, right?"

Polly shrugged, "A little better than Purebred, I think."

Olive's head tilted as she slowly blinked. "Really?" she asked, "Purebred's fancy. Less specific. More fun."

Polly giggled, "It might be, but it would be better if I was one."

Olive straightened up as her eyes went wide. "Whaatt?" she droned, her voice high-pitched, "You aren't a poodle?"

Polly chuckled, a deep reverberation in her chest. She motioned with her fingers as she explained. "Half poodle, half peke, and the Purebred is the pekingese side."

Olive snorted. Then she stumbled forward, bending over herself in laughter. Polly took a step back so they wouldn't touch. The sound warmed her ear canal and steadily flowed down her: then her face, her chest, her…

Oh, c'mon! Polly willed herself. She straightened up and squared her jaw and knocked on her head like Underdog did to shove it away.

Olive finally rose up again, still snickering, though she wiped away a tear with the ball of her hand. "You're right," she yawned, "That's pretty embarrassing."

Polly smiled back awkwardly. She shifted on her feet as silence settled over them. She grabbed one side of her lapel and looked past the office to where her desk lay. Olive stared at the baseboards. She sniffed.

Polly opened her mouth after a few moments, ready to say how she really must be going, but Olive cleared her throat into a balled-up fist.

"What do you say we skip work and get a coffee?" she asked, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. "I think Mooncalf is open at this hour."

Polly perked up. A coffee date at 4am with a cute girl… but… her eyes dragged past Olive of their own accord; over at her desk, over at the bag her computer was still shoved in. She took a deep breath, sucking in her lips.

Nothing stopped a good reporter. Not even hot women… much to Polly's dismay.

"I can't skip work," she muttered, scratching the back of her neck. "But we can go out on my lunch break?"

Olive groaned, leaning back against Miss Valentine's door frame so suddenly she hit her head. Yelping, she moved to hold it. She blew a tired raspberry. "Dammit, lunch is at like… 11," she stumbled to speak through another yawn. "God, I'm tired."

Polly brought her hands down, looking over the poor, tired pug in front of her. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and sighed. "Well, since I come in so early, I usually take lunch at 8:30… but… OJ will let me push it to 8."

Olive perked up for a moment… then she deflated again. "God, that's still like, four hours awayyy…" she grumbled. "But it's better than 11, I guess." She stood up straighter and gave Polly a weak smile. "Consider it a date."

Polly felt all of her blood rush up to her brain. Her fingers went numb. "Y-yeah!" she exclaimed, "Okay!"

She hoped her face hadn't turned too red.

Olive grabbed Polly the exact moment her clock flipped from 7:59 to 8:00. She looked like she had been awake for hundreds of more hours, shaking Polly, and wiggling with all the stiff excitement of a dog ready to go outside.

Polly let Olive drag her through the studio and into the elevator, tactfully ignoring the odd looks OJ and Valentine gave them. They burned into Polly's back, but the burn of Olive's hand on her wrist was hotter.

Olive punched the button in the elevator rapidly, finally letting go of Polly's wrist when the doors closed.

Polly immediately placed her free hand in her hair, scratching at the back of her scalp nervously. "So…" she started softly, "Usually I just get coffee at this little bodega down the street, but we can definitely go to Mooncalf if you want."

Olive sighed deeply, resting her sleepy head in one hand. "As long as I get some kind of coffee in me, I'll be alright. Is the bodega coffee good?"

"It's 99 cents," Polly answered.

Olive sighed. Then she hummed and perked up slightly. "I like those stupid little egg bites they have," she said, making a small circle with her thumb and pointer finger. "My…" she paused for a moment, glancing Polly up and down, "...my roommatealways makes fun of me for it."

Polly laughed, not noticing her hesitation. She started to rub the back of her neck. "I can't stand eggs," she replied.

Olive threw her hands up dramatically, "You're just as bad as she is!"

Then the elevator door dinged, and Olive grabbed Polly's hand again, rushing her through the lobby.

"Well, I'll let you pick, since you're so tired," Polly smiled.

"I'd love a Mooncalf," she answered without missing a beat. "I'll get a thirty-ounce. I can pay for it."

Polly flushed even more; luckily, Olive was in front of her and couldn't see it. "Y-yeah," she answered softly, "Thanks."

Olive smiled back at her with closed eyes. Then she elbowed open the door and brought her hand up to hail a cab in one swift motion.

One quickly appeared, as they usually did, and Olive bundled herself inside, still pulling Polly by the wrist. She landed with a little oomph, but Olive didn't notice. She was too busy giving directions to the driver.

As soon as she finished, she winked up at Polly with a big beam on her face. Polly rubbed her slightly sore hip and returned the look with a furrowed brow and a small smile. But she couldn't hold it for too long, and soon turned to look out the window.

Olive licked her egg bites out of their container the second she got them. Polly laughed at her, and Olive flushed, then picked up their coffees and handed Polly's to her. Polly's was a hot cappuccino in a paper cup, while Olive's was some iced combination in a plastic cup. The coffee was a lighter color than her fur.

The Mooncalf was incredibly busy, standing room only, and mostly a festival of pushes and excuse mes. So without a word to eachother, Polly and Olive headed toward the door. Once they made it out, Polly let out a breath. She had enough crowds as it was in her work life.

Olive pointed down the street. "I see a little patio," she said. Before Polly could answer, she started stridingtoward it.

Polly hurried after her. Ahead was some kind of restaurant with wrought iron fences, wrought iron chairs, and wrought iron-colored planter boxes. "I think that place is only open for dinner."

Olive ripped open her straw between her teeth and a hand. She let the wrapper drift away as she stuck it in her drink. Polly watched the wrapper fly as her heart skipped a beat—oh, people weren't supposed to do that!

But… Olive drank without a care in the world. Polly squared her jaw and tried to tell herself the paper would decompose or… a pigeon would probably love it for its nest. Yeah.

By that time, they had reached the patio. And just as Polly had feared, the dark outsides matched the dark insides. Not even the fluorescent sign above the door was on.

"I don't think we can be here," Polly said, bringing a confused finger to her chin.

On her side, she heard a rusty squeal. Still sipping her coffee, Olive had pulled open the patio gate just wide enough to fit her hips through. She lowered her drink with a smack of her lips and a soft ah.

"Why not?" she answered, "What they don't know won't hurt them."

Polly gripped her coffee in both her hands as a nervous sweat overtook her palms. She did some breaking-and-entering, from time to time… but that was always for her reports! She'd never just… walk in somewhere with no good reason. She kept staring at the gate… then again, was anything even broken?

Olive drank again, rolling her eyes as she answered, "It wasn't locked or anything."

Polly curled her lips in for a moment… then decided to sigh and slump her shoulders. If it wasn't locked, it was alright. Hopefully. Right?

Olive showed her to a bright corner of the patio. It was cut off from the others by a short planter box wall. A lady fern was wilting inside it—impressive, since Polly thought it looked artificial. Olive sat, her chair scratching as she dragged it across the concrete. Polly tried to be quieter. As she sat, she punched down the opening of her lid with a claw and took a sip of the coffee. It burnt her mouth, but Polly was already hot enough from the situation she was in.

Olive loungedwith one of her arms over the back of her chair. "So," she said, "Sweet Polly Purebred. It must be pretty neat, huh?"

Polly tilted her head slightly. "What is?"

Olive fanned her hands, one still flung over the chair. "I mean, everything! You're a famous reporter, Biggers' little star…"

Polly turned as red as her jacket. She twirled her ear and turned her gaze from Olive to the concrete below her.

Olive continued, "You're besties with Underdog. That's…" she took a deep breath, "Really awesome."

Polly nodded. "It is," she sighed softly. Underdog was a lovely housemate… then she realized that may have sounded conceited, and jumped up. "I mean!" she clarified, "It's nice being friends with Underdog. The fame is… is quite the event," she chuckled.

"I bet!" Olive exclaimed with a laugh, "I mean, you get kidnapped by crooks like, every week. It's pretty draining, right?"

Polly sighed deeply. She closed her eyes for a moment and brought her hand up to hold her head. "Tell me about it," she muttered.

Olive chuckled slightly at her reaction. "Luckily, you've got a hero on speed dial to save you, right?"

Polly huffed. She leaned back up and took a sip of coffee, looking in the opposite direction of the woman in front of her as Underdog filled her mind. "I suppose."

Olive leaned forward. Her tail wagged behind her, and her voice became softer. "You sure you two aren't dating?"

Polly choked on her coffee. Coughing and thumping her chest with a hand, she eventually inhaled and stared at Olive. Olive rested her head on the balls of her hands, the curl of her fingers resembling a heart.

"You can be honest with me!" she exclaimed, "I won't tell anyone."

Polly cleared her throat. "No, I-I think I would know if I was dating Underdog."

Olive tilted her head, her eyes squinting. Her fingers moved from her jaw to beneath her chin. A strained smile overtook her face. "So you're telling me that—genuinely—all that stuff you do with him is platonic?"

Polly furrowed her brow and raised her coffee cup to her lips. "I didn't know I was in an interview about his and my relationship," she answered coldly. Despite it, her insides felt hot and fuzzy.

Olive snorted a little laugh. She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her drink as well. "Sorry, sorry, it's just… it's not everyday you get to have a little coffee date with the Sweet Polly Purebred. I didn't think you'd actually accept!" she giggled.

Polly sighed that dreamy breath out of her nose. "I'm not that difficult to take out," she answered, "It's just that… it's usually strange men."

Olive snorted again, momentarily choking on her coffee. She coughed a little and took another sip to send it down. "Right. That's why I only date women."

Polly felt like her heart exploded. "Oh!" Her mouth sounded before her head thought it through. All of her blood was rushing in that direction anyway.

Olive tilted her head again, "What, you don't have a problem with that, do you?"

"No!" Polly exclaimed, but her mouth was dry and her mind was blanking on anything else to say.

Olive hummed, pulling her straw away from her mouth and licking her lips. Polly's gaze locked onto them. Olive's eyes narrowed. Polly pulled down the hem of her skirt, as if it helped anything.

"I get it," Olive said, clearing her throat, "You do, too."

Polly's mouth fell open, a long, droning noise coming out. "I…" she muttered. A few months ago, she would've been able to answer that question with a definite yes. But now… Olive was asking about Underdog, and her head was filled with pictures of him. His pretty freckles, how red his face got, the bloody nose he often had, that darkness in his eyes when he faced down a villain… Alongside those pictures of him, of course, were Olive's dark lips, Olive's dark hips, Olive's sharp eyeliner...

The sound she was making finally died on her tongue. Polly only noticed when her canines knocked against eachother.

"I, um," she settled on, "sway that way, certainly."

Olive took another sip. Then she hummed, seemingly satisfied with that answer. "Sooo," she drawled, "Do you like, have a girlfriend?"

Polly scoffed and twirled her ear, looking down toward the concrete. "No," she answered solidly. She usually couldn't keep one down for more than a few weeks. Her eyes flitted back up to Olive, "You?"

Olive rubbed the back of her neck, shifting her gaze up toward the roof of the building. "Nah," she grunted, "Not really… Oh!" she added suddenly, with a wink and a point. It was so quick that Polly's heart didn't even have a chance to soar. "Since you get kidnapped so often… what do you think about setting me up with that Dyna Mite chick from the Riff Raff Gang?"

Polly let out a loud laugh. "I don't know her that well!" she answered, then rested her chin on her hand. "Plus, I think she's taken…"

Olive snapped across her chest, muttering, "Damn. The good ones always are."

"I'd hesitate to call her good," Polly chuckled.

The conversation flowed a little easier after that. Olive confided that she lived in a studio apartment in Adams, so she was really no stranger to crime. Dyna Mite was better than Rocky Maninoff, she claimed, and Polly pricked her ears. She wasn't as familiar with the criminals that ruled Adams. Polly mentioned her assignment, and then the conversation dived into the topic of crooks...

After a long conversation about criminals and Biggers and girls and make-up, Polly and Olive decided to walk back to the studio.

"You did just drink thirty-two ounces worth of caffeine," Polly said as they exited the restaurant's patio.

Olive groaned. "I don't think it did me any good," she muttered. Sure enough, as she stood up straight, it seemed the bags under her eyes were even darker.

Polly hummed. She took a gentle grasp of Olive's wrist, ignoring the heat that immediately spread over her knuckles, and started to lead her. Between Olive's sleepiness and the long talk they had, both were rather content to remain silent.

The path toward the WTTV building was an easy one. Polly was just turning to push open the doors when her grip on Olive tugged her shoulder. Polly turned to see that she had frozen in place.

"Oh, wait a sec," she said.

From behind the women, a red convertible was slowly moving up toward the studio doors. When Olive spoke, Polly finally heard its tires crunch over the asphalt. Immediately, all of her nerves jumped. She turned on her heel and stuck a protective arm out in front of Olive and a defensive arm into her jacket. Within a moment, Polly had whipped out a penknife and stuck it out in the intruder's direction. Despite this, Olive raised her own arm and waved at the approaching car.

"I hope you don't mind!" Olive stumbled through a yawn, "But I'm… so exhausted, that I texted my roommate to come grab me when we were walking back."

Polly blinked at the car, now able to see the white dog driving it. Then, she turned and blinked at Olive. Finally, she lowered her arms and slouched. "Oh…" she muttered, twirlingherpenknife between her fingers. That would've been nice to know.

Nevertheless, the red car drove a little closer still, and Polly could make out both it and its driver. The driver greeted both women with a peace sign.

She was a fluffy white dog with a little muzzle, and a big ruff around her neck and jaw. She was wearing a sleek, sleeveless black turtleneck. Her arms seemed to be covered in tattoos, but Polly could only make out the one closest to her: a big piece with a harpoon-wielding mermaid and great sea serpent. The driver also seemed to have something written across her knuckles, but she moved her hands off the steering wheel before Polly could read it.

"Hey, Oli," the driver greeted Olive. Then she awkwardly looked Polly up and down before her face turned pink, and she glanced away. "Hi, Sweet Polly…"

Olive strode up to the car door to give her roommate a fist bump. Polly couldn't keep her eyes off of either of them if she wanted to.

Olive turned back over her shoulder as she opened the car door. "I'm gonna go home and take a fat nap," she said, "But I'll see you for the evening news! Okay?"

Polly gulped, trying to dampen her dry throat. "U-um," she stuttered. Then she forced on a smile and gave a shaky thumbs-up. "Y-yeah! See you for the evening news!"

Olive smiled and gave a little wave. Then she slumped down in the car, and the two of them drove off, kicking up a big cloud of dark smoke in their wake. For a moment, Polly was left staring at the spot. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and entered her building before she could open them.