Fandom 33
[Title] God Moves In Mysterious Ways
[Fandom] Lewis/Afro-Ken
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Set pre-canon. Hathaway has an unlikely visitor.
In the days after everything fell apart - well, not quite that, in the days after everything changed - Hathaway felt as if he were carrying a too-tall stack of plates. He was perfectly calm and he had a good grip and nothing had broken yet, but he was painfully conscious that one stupid move and he would be standing in the middle of a sea of smashed china. It wasn't a particularly original metaphor, but it was one he kept coming back to as he began smoking again in earnest and watched a lot of TV and, every so often, glanced at his bookshelves out of the corner of his eye and wondered if he should pack the theology titles into a box and haul them down to the nearest charity shop.
He didn't do it - because that really would have been a stupid move, that would bring everything else down - but he didn't decide not to do it, either. Sometimes he thought that he only wanted to get rid of them through spite, and sometimes he imagined them still sitting on his shelves in ten years time, dusty and sun-faded, and the thought made him feel sick. He didn't follow either thought to any conclusion. He usually put the TV on again instead.
He was channel-hopping when the dog appeared in the flat. He didn't notice it at first, not until it trotted up to him and sat at his feet, looking expectantly up at him. He stared at it, and then he stared at the front door, but the latter was still locked and there was no sound of someone outside calling for their lost pet.
That was the first odd thing. The second odd thing was that the dog had an afro. Well, all right, animals didn't have afros. A thick, curly mane, though, not dissimilar to a lion's, but soft and springy, like lamb's wool. Hathaway didn't particularly want to be thinking about lions and lambs at this point in his life, so he reached out and stroked the dog, scritched behind its ears. It smiled at him, and its afro-mane-thing turned the same colour as his sofa.
It was at this point he wondered exactly what kind of cigarettes he'd bought. He stared at the dog and he closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, it was still there, placidly watching him. That was another odd thing: it was looking at him a lot more intelligently than most dogs would. Most dogs had a constant hello! Hello! Hello! theme running through their brains. This dog... was looking at him like a person would. As if it had just asked him how he was doing. Hathaway did not particularly feel like telling anyone how he was doing, not even a dog.
He got up, went to open the front door, but when he gave the dog a look, indicated that it should step outside and go back to where it came from, the dog simply looked back at him, clearly saying, aren't you coming too?
"Go on," Hathaway said. "I'm not going to take you for a walk. I'm busy."
The dog smiled at him, as if it could see that this was a lie but was kindly not going to laugh outright.
"No," Hathaway said. "Someone will be looking for you, I'm sure."
Still no movement.
"And I'm sorry, but if you're a divine message, He's going to have to do better than that." The words stuck in his throat a little, which annoyed him. "I'm not going to get my - I'm not going to get everything back just because of a dog with a magical colour-changing afro. For one thing, I highly doubt it would help with the frivolity accusations."
The dog looked amused, as if it was saying, but you and I know better, don't we? and its afro changed colour again, to sky-blue, shot through with clouds.
"Oh, all right," Hathaway said, and grabbed his coat.
[Fandom] Lewis/Afro-Ken
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Set pre-canon. Hathaway has an unlikely visitor.
In the days after everything fell apart - well, not quite that, in the days after everything changed - Hathaway felt as if he were carrying a too-tall stack of plates. He was perfectly calm and he had a good grip and nothing had broken yet, but he was painfully conscious that one stupid move and he would be standing in the middle of a sea of smashed china. It wasn't a particularly original metaphor, but it was one he kept coming back to as he began smoking again in earnest and watched a lot of TV and, every so often, glanced at his bookshelves out of the corner of his eye and wondered if he should pack the theology titles into a box and haul them down to the nearest charity shop.
He didn't do it - because that really would have been a stupid move, that would bring everything else down - but he didn't decide not to do it, either. Sometimes he thought that he only wanted to get rid of them through spite, and sometimes he imagined them still sitting on his shelves in ten years time, dusty and sun-faded, and the thought made him feel sick. He didn't follow either thought to any conclusion. He usually put the TV on again instead.
He was channel-hopping when the dog appeared in the flat. He didn't notice it at first, not until it trotted up to him and sat at his feet, looking expectantly up at him. He stared at it, and then he stared at the front door, but the latter was still locked and there was no sound of someone outside calling for their lost pet.
That was the first odd thing. The second odd thing was that the dog had an afro. Well, all right, animals didn't have afros. A thick, curly mane, though, not dissimilar to a lion's, but soft and springy, like lamb's wool. Hathaway didn't particularly want to be thinking about lions and lambs at this point in his life, so he reached out and stroked the dog, scritched behind its ears. It smiled at him, and its afro-mane-thing turned the same colour as his sofa.
It was at this point he wondered exactly what kind of cigarettes he'd bought. He stared at the dog and he closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, it was still there, placidly watching him. That was another odd thing: it was looking at him a lot more intelligently than most dogs would. Most dogs had a constant hello! Hello! Hello! theme running through their brains. This dog... was looking at him like a person would. As if it had just asked him how he was doing. Hathaway did not particularly feel like telling anyone how he was doing, not even a dog.
He got up, went to open the front door, but when he gave the dog a look, indicated that it should step outside and go back to where it came from, the dog simply looked back at him, clearly saying, aren't you coming too?
"Go on," Hathaway said. "I'm not going to take you for a walk. I'm busy."
The dog smiled at him, as if it could see that this was a lie but was kindly not going to laugh outright.
"No," Hathaway said. "Someone will be looking for you, I'm sure."
Still no movement.
"And I'm sorry, but if you're a divine message, He's going to have to do better than that." The words stuck in his throat a little, which annoyed him. "I'm not going to get my - I'm not going to get everything back just because of a dog with a magical colour-changing afro. For one thing, I highly doubt it would help with the frivolity accusations."
The dog looked amused, as if it was saying, but you and I know better, don't we? and its afro changed colour again, to sky-blue, shot through with clouds.
"Oh, all right," Hathaway said, and grabbed his coat.