(no subject)

[no-npc-here.livejournal.com]

Date: February 7, 2000
Setting: Tadfield Manor
Status: Public
Summary: Mr. Young visits Adam.


Mr. Young drove his carefully maintained little car down the long driveway to Tadfield Manor. He hadn't actually been here since Adam's birth nearly twenty years ago, but he was pleased to see how well-maintained and tidy the grounds remained. The old building seemed to be in good condition, too. He'd heard that there had been a fire, but no trace of it remained. It was nice to see people keeping up the artifacts of the past, he thought.

Pulling to a stop, he parked the car, set the emergency brake just in case, and stepped out. Leaning back in, he released the lever to the seat, allowing Dog to jump out. The animal had almost seemed to know where he was going because he'd been insistent about coming along. Locking the door, Mr. Young closed it with just enough force for it to catch and headed up the Manor steps.

Comments

[pedigreemongrel.livejournal.com]

Like a small, unkempt, lop-eared cannonball, Dog had ejected himself from the vehicle with that sense of very immense size which can only be attained by very small dogs doing very important things--for instance, widdling on Mr. Young's tire with a sense of deep-rooted, canine satisfaction.

There would be many things to widdle on here, yes, but all in good time: at the moment, Dog was all business, his instincts--both hellhound and mongrel--driving him irresistibly towards the Manor itself, and there, within--ah, yes. He had already planned The Reunion. There would, of course, be the tackling stage. He would make an attempt to stick his tail and his paws into every possible easily-bruised location on Adam's knees and, if scooped up, his ribcage, little blue badges of intense, doggish affection.

But even the most loyal of dogs understands the concept of tough love, as well: after the trouncing, the problem of his having been left behind in the Youngs' house simply had to be addressed. He would work the Guilty Eyes, his mismatched ears settling down in an intensely forlorn expression, his tail drooping, his look carefully calculated to induce sympathy: he planned, very carefully, the most wretched of possible faces (which, for a small dog, can be very wretched indeed). He missed Adam, yes, but he would not stand for this neglect. He would never have abandoned him this way, to a small, quiet household where he was rapped on the nose with a newspaper for chewing shoes.
That was also on the mental checklist: devour Adam's sneakers at first possible opportunity, shredding shoelaces, if possible.

Finishing up his shining of Mr. Young's tires, ignoring the chagrined, scolding voice somewhere above him, he gave himself a shake and with a full heart, prepared himself for the pissing-upon of many shrubs, the flirting-with of many bitches, the terrorizing of many cats. An eternity of practice tormenting Lost Souls and many years' experience had, he admitted in the darkest places of his (admittedly quite dark as it was) heart, not quite yet shown him the secret to defeating those loathesome lounging felines.

And then, at the foot of the drive, his body all a-quiver with anticipation, Dog halted, and the Hellhound instincts which had been so sleepy for so many years roiled back to the surface:

There were Beings here, the kind that deserved a capital letter. He hesitated, and to brace himself, bristled, with the curious diehard confidence of a surly Chihuahua facing off a Rottweiler. Surely he was a match for whatever was here. There was nothing that could separate a Dog from his Boy.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel walked down the corridor to the lobby, deep in thought. However, he was startled from his thoughts as a man stepped in, a dog with him. This dog was of the alive kind, not a heap of bones like Raphael's oh-so-dear Frankie, and the man seemed like just an ordinary human being, too. Suddenly Uriel was rather glad that he had chosen to go about with his wings folded in, no matter how uncomfortable it was. No need to shock innocent visitors.

Well, there were some demands common courtesy set for people. Therefore he now directed his steps towards the just entered man. "Good afternoon, Mister," he said politely.