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Although no frogs, squashed or otherwise, appear in this chapter. - Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
Although no frogs, squashed or otherwise, appear in this chapter.
Still keep having flashes of that poor frog's toes twitching... and trying not to think of the conversation between Inner Trevor and Inner Jason right before that part of it that went, I didn't know there were frogs in the city -- *wag wag wag* ...erm, where did it go? *licks chops* ...You're going to get salmonella...


Inevitably, Jason has caught Button-Down's cold. "Knew I shouldn't have let on I make house-calls," David says as I show him and Sandra in.

Jason whuffs a greeting from his nest in front of the telly. "For the record, he did that himself," I say when Sandra goes to nose at the lump of duvet.

Sandra shakes her head in a a violent clatter of beads. She's well familiar with both her brothers' antics when they're ill, from the way she'd been complaining about Button-Down and his man-flu. David looks askance at the rubble from where I've been carefully manoeuvring spoonfuls of a chicken-bowl from the Guatemalan chippie past wicked lupine teeth. "Slumming, are we?"

"Wasn't anything in he'd trust me to cook." It's surprisingly unnerving to have to go through cupboards under the disapproving blue eye of a territorial wolf. Jason tolerates my occasional exercises in the kitchen, so long as they're by way of making things he knows he's pants at himself, but interfere with his organisational schemes at one's peril.

David sits on the edge of the settee and gives Jason a cursory going-over, listening to his heart and lungs and then pressing a digital thermometer into his ear. "It's just what BD had, should be all right in another day or so," he confirms, and rummages again into his rucksack. "I can give you something to help you rest a bit easier tonight?" Blue eyes consider a huge tablet, then look back up at David. "No worries. It's a suppository." Jason growls. "-- See, you get the bloody jokes."

Jason slurps the pill off David's outstretched palm and huffs out a sigh. "This is about where I give my patients a reassuring pat, if you'd like one?" David says. Jason thinks about this, then gives a shrug that seems to say, Just not the dreads. David rubs his shoulderblade, more gently than one might thump a wolf. "There's a good future brother-in-law."

I fetch Jason some water in one of the oversized coffee-cups he uses as the everyday soup-bowls, and he laps at it with exaggerated care as I hold the mug up to his muzzle. David leans back on the settee, idly stroking Sandra's left ear between his forefinger and thumb. "Funny old life, isn't it. Dunno if Sandy's told you, we're thinking about pups of our own?"

Jason perks up. He'd be a natural uncle, the sort of pack-leader who would spoil his siblings' children mercilessly. (I'm not sure what plans for a family Button-Down may have. He might not want his name on the paperwork to be legally responsible for anything more than the cats.) "You'll be brilliant parents," I say.

"She's already going on about crate-training," David says, with a lopsided little smile. "And trying to work out how to tell my Mum we're registered for the electronic fence --" Sandra yips at him. "Sorry love, don't mean to tell tales out of school. -- Suppose we ought to be going, really." David pats Jason's shoulder again; "Stay wrapped up warm in your doona and give me a ring in the morning, eh?"

It must be odd for David, to be able to give a patient of his that instruction. I see them out and come back to keep my flatmate company on the settee. Jason looks miserable, sighing discontentedly at every choice as I search through the channels until I give up and turn the telly off. I place a hesitant hand between his shoulderblades, small gesture of sympathy with his discomfort, and he leans into the touch as if someone's undivided attention is what he'd been wanting out of this all along.

Soon enough Jason is snoring, knocked flat by whatever dose of medication it takes to subdue the lurgy in thirteen-stone-six of wolf. I forget myself after a time, falling asleep with an arm flung across his withers like he's any old hound; and Jason is understandably confused, come morning, to wake up with me spooning him. Those must have been the good drugs, he says.


13 responses | moved to respond?
ljgeoff From: ljgeoff Date: May 13th, 2011 03:12 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
I love this. I guess it's the tenderness, all around. Keep going, woman. You've got something special here.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: May 14th, 2011 12:56 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
I think my elevator-pitch on this definitely has to stress how it's about the ordinary everyday lives just slightly complicated by little things like having that Problem With Barbershops, or looking after your housemate when he's literally sick as a dog...
meeksp From: meeksp Date: May 16th, 2011 05:11 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Yeah, that's what I really like about these...you've done a great job of writing these characters so that they're people who just happen to be a vampire and a wear-wolf, without the species being the point of either one's existence.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: May 16th, 2011 11:43 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
I know that the most immediate inspiration for this comes from watching Being Human and realizing that, for me, the bits of that show that really work are the bits that address how this weird thing about them impacts the everyday, and the bits that really, really don't are when it gets away from that into a more standard genre-story about vampire politics or Things Going Bump (I am absolutely terrified about series 4, not because of the absence of Mitchell, but because I'm afraid they're going to turn it into just Yet Another Show About Vampires and I already don't watch those for a reason); I got to wondering if you could do a premise like that as completely straight-up literary-fiction/magical-realism, where the plot is about lives rather than Big-Bads, and... yeah. This happened.
meeksp From: meeksp Date: May 17th, 2011 03:57 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Hmm..I may have to try watching this series...

Meanwhile, I've uploaded a refined version of the Tin Man sketch, if you'd like to come take a look.
ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: May 18th, 2011 06:26 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
You're better off just reading the Trevor & Jason show. Being Human has added embarrassment slapstick, insufficiently thought-out gender roles, *and* standard vampire politics.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: May 18th, 2011 08:14 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
...But what doesn't, really? {sigh} I kind of look at any mass-medium entertainment as a case of trying not to let the perfect be the enemy of the "at least I don't feel my braincells dying as I watch"...
ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: May 19th, 2011 02:25 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Your brain cells are stronger men than mine.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: May 19th, 2011 05:13 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Considering that the US version is basically a textbook scientific control for executing the exact same premise without any redeeming features whatsoever, I can live with a "nice try but", man...
ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: May 18th, 2011 06:27 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Now I'm trying to remember how well Dancer--the only wolf I've ever known--put up with colds. I wonder if shapeshifting would loosen the stuff in your sinuses...
robling_t From: robling_t Date: May 18th, 2011 08:17 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
I can imagine that being reshaped like that when you're already achy would be a barrel of laughs, yeah...
ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: May 19th, 2011 02:26 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
I was actually thinking it might help.

Especially as Sarah just said she can't ever remember Dancer getting a cold. Canines don't usually, quoth she.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: May 19th, 2011 05:15 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Well, most canines aren't usually people, though...
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