Richie hadn't been too perturbed at finding himself waking up alone ni a mansion, even though his mom usually remembered to at least hire a nanny, and had immediately commenced exploring in search of the nearest library.
So far that had been mostly unsuccessful, but along the way he'd made a new friend. Who was currently perched on his head, clucking.
Angua suddenly picked up on something that smelled delicious. She stopped, suddenly stock still and letting the current squirrel scurry up a tree, as her tail wagged excitedly back and forth as she tried to find where it was.
Ah, there it was. Her eyes narrowed in on the boy.
No, not the boy. Up a little. There you go.
CHICKEN! Angua let out a fercious bark, bark and bolted forward with a hopping, jaunty run toward the boy, bouncing around him and barking some more to let him know that dinner was on his head, which was not where dinner should go. It went in bellies, after going in mouths, which, to the boy's credit, was part of the head, just a little more south.
Now Richie had a squawking chicken on his head, wings a-flapping. Ignoring for a moment the claws clutching at his scalp, he grinned down at the barking, bouncing cub. "PUPPY!"
Sadly, Angua would probably have gotten the exact same response from him if he'd been his normal age.
Yes, but what about without a chicken on his head?
Still, there was a chicken on his head now, and the boy seemed utterly unaware of it. And the chicken was so enticing that Angua didn't even bother taking a second to growl a correction that she was a big, bad wolf, not a puppy, thank you, and just barked at him a little more. It was clearly a bark that said, "Excuse me, young man, but you have a delicious chicken on your head."
It sounded like: "Bark bark, arf!" with a significant amount of tail wagging.
Had Richie been able to understand that bark, he would ahve argued that chicken was only delicious once it had been deep-fried.
Since he didn't he instead raised one hand towards his head to balance the chicken, who was in no mood to go closer to wolves of any size, shape, or badness, and crouched down to introduce himself. "Hi, I'm Richie."
And then Angua would be forced to argue that deep-frying a chicken sounded almost as disgusting as vampires, so it was probably a good thing that everything was going the way it was.
A little jolt rushed through Angua when the boy lifted his hand to the chicken, clearly misinterpreting it. As far as she knew, he was going to get the chicken. He was going to get the chicken down and he was going to give her the chicken, and chicken, chicken, chicken!
Her tail wagged with the frantic pace of her current thought process, staring up at Richie with a light in her eyes that could be misinterpreted as being enraptured with droll information like Richie's name, when it was really just all about the chicken.
The chicken would have been far more flattered by the attention if it hadn't been aware, deep in its wee chickeny brain, of why Angua might be so chicken-fixated.
"Do you have a name?" Richie asked, having at least enough sense to hold out his free hand so the puppy could smell it rather than to just try for a pat.
Humans asked such silly questions! Of course she had a name! Tossing back her head a little, shaking it to show off her excellent pedigree, Angua stood up straight, stamped a paw lightly to demand the proper attention, and barked again, informing Richie that her name was Delphine Angua von Uberwald and she was a baroness, so he'd better mind his Ps and Qs unless he wanted to be dinner.
But all that nice regalia left her as soon as there was a hand. Hand! Well, now she simply had to sniff it! So she did, smelling it and picking out the mish-mash of hard-to-identify colours that were inevitable on the hand of a human boy child, and then, carefully, tentatively, she want to lick it. She wanted to know how he tasted. Maybe he tasted like chicken.
He didn't taste much like chicken. It was a little disappointing.
However, there were now scritches, although at first she flinched back a little with uncertainty. But as soon as the intent was discerned, she was all about that, nudging her head up into his hand to encourage him.
Her tail making a steady, pleased thumping on the ground was a pretty good indication of being okay with scritches, too.
Richie was more than happy to provide scritches aplenty to Angua, even if his head-chicken was growing increasingly more perturbed and loud by their proximity to her.
"Your fur matches my mom's hair," he told her conversationally. No doubt both Angua and Martha would be thrilled that he'd discovered this Very Important Fact.
"Aroo?" said Angua, looking up at the boy for a moment. She was momentarily distracted in remembering the chicken, tongue dropping out of her mouth with some panting. The question was mostly wondering, then, if the boy came from a pedigree, too. Maybe that was why he could get that chicken to sit on his head like that.
When he asked Martha about things like that, though not in those word, she was always quick to inform Richie that the Rodgers were a distinguished acting dynasty, while notably avoiding mention of the other half of his pedigree.
As for why there was a chicken sitting on his head, Richie was just kind of special that way.
So far that had been mostly unsuccessful, but along the way he'd made a new friend. Who was currently perched on his head, clucking.
Look, his future child was the responsible one.
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Ah, there it was. Her eyes narrowed in on the boy.
No, not the boy. Up a little. There you go.
CHICKEN! Angua let out a fercious bark, bark and bolted forward with a hopping, jaunty run toward the boy, bouncing around him and barking some more to let him know that dinner was on his head, which was not where dinner should go. It went in bellies, after going in mouths, which, to the boy's credit, was part of the head, just a little more south.
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Sadly, Angua would probably have gotten the exact same response from him if he'd been his normal age.
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Still, there was a chicken on his head now, and the boy seemed utterly unaware of it. And the chicken was so enticing that Angua didn't even bother taking a second to growl a correction that she was a big, bad wolf, not a puppy, thank you, and just barked at him a little more. It was clearly a bark that said, "Excuse me, young man, but you have a delicious chicken on your head."
It sounded like: "Bark bark, arf!" with a significant amount of tail wagging.
So...clearly.
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Since he didn't he instead raised one hand towards his head to balance the chicken, who was in no mood to go closer to wolves of any size, shape, or badness, and crouched down to introduce himself. "Hi, I'm Richie."
This would no doubt end well.
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A little jolt rushed through Angua when the boy lifted his hand to the chicken, clearly misinterpreting it. As far as she knew, he was going to get the chicken. He was going to get the chicken down and he was going to give her the chicken, and chicken, chicken, chicken!
Her tail wagged with the frantic pace of her current thought process, staring up at Richie with a light in her eyes that could be misinterpreted as being enraptured with droll information like Richie's name, when it was really just all about the chicken.
It was always all about the chicken.
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"Do you have a name?" Richie asked, having at least enough sense to hold out his free hand so the puppy could smell it rather than to just try for a pat.
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But all that nice regalia left her as soon as there was a hand. Hand! Well, now she simply had to sniff it! So she did, smelling it and picking out the mish-mash of hard-to-identify colours that were inevitable on the hand of a human boy child, and then, carefully, tentatively, she want to lick it. She wanted to know how he tasted. Maybe he tasted like chicken.
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Warily, he reached to try and scratch behind her ears, moving slowly enough that Angua had plenty of time to dodge his hand.
[Sorry, crashed hard last night.]
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However, there were now scritches, although at first she flinched back a little with uncertainty. But as soon as the intent was discerned, she was all about that, nudging her head up into his hand to encourage him.
Her tail making a steady, pleased thumping on the ground was a pretty good indication of being okay with scritches, too.
[[ nooo worries! Mmmm, sleeeeep ]]
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"Your fur matches my mom's hair," he told her conversationally. No doubt both Angua and Martha would be thrilled that he'd discovered this Very Important Fact.
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As for why there was a chicken sitting on his head, Richie was just kind of special that way.
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