The Process of Domestication - (Grimm - PG)
Title: The Process of Domestication
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 366
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Author's Notes: If they cancel this show on me, I will cry. Cryyyyy.
Why Nick kept calling him and stopping by for help was no mystery; why Eddie kept answering instead of following through on his word to wash his hands of the situation was. He was a Blutbad, Nick was a Grimm, never shall the twain meet outside the occasional spot of murder that ends with someone getting their head cut off.
At the rate he was going, he was going to end up banned from every family get together in the foreseeable future. Though that would save him from the awkward questions about his deviant vegan lifestyle choices...
He supposed, if he really wanted to come up with an answer, this whole situation could have something to do with his complete lack of a social life. He was, to use a terrible metaphor, a wolf in sheep's clothing to most everyone else he knew. Seventy-five percent of the time he was just your average Joe with a mortgage, car payments, and a normal job. But that other twenty-five percent... The near overwhelming urge to chase the occasional car, gnaw on a bone, or slaughter the woman down the street and roll around in her blood because she was wearing a red jacket kind of put a damper on any plans to join the local bowling league.
Not that he bowled or anything.
Real wolves formed packs to survive, while Blutbaden avoided the hell out of them for the same reason. Packs led to bad, bad things. Like, Donner Party bad. The kind that drew the immediate attention of all the Grimms in the surrounding area to the entire population of Blutbaden. And not all Grimms had Nick's charming sense of morality about sparing the innocent creatures that go bump in the night like himself.
Not that leaving a pack unchecked was terribly good idea either, of course. Big, hungry predators with opposable thumbs didn't bode well for any unfortunate humans in the area.
So, he was left with very few options when it came to socialization.
Which meant that when Nick called, he answered with a mostly metaphorical tail wagging hopefully behind him. But if Nick scratched him behind the ear or called him a good boy, he was out.
Out.
Unless he brought more Bordeaux.
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 366
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Author's Notes: If they cancel this show on me, I will cry. Cryyyyy.
Why Nick kept calling him and stopping by for help was no mystery; why Eddie kept answering instead of following through on his word to wash his hands of the situation was. He was a Blutbad, Nick was a Grimm, never shall the twain meet outside the occasional spot of murder that ends with someone getting their head cut off.
At the rate he was going, he was going to end up banned from every family get together in the foreseeable future. Though that would save him from the awkward questions about his deviant vegan lifestyle choices...
He supposed, if he really wanted to come up with an answer, this whole situation could have something to do with his complete lack of a social life. He was, to use a terrible metaphor, a wolf in sheep's clothing to most everyone else he knew. Seventy-five percent of the time he was just your average Joe with a mortgage, car payments, and a normal job. But that other twenty-five percent... The near overwhelming urge to chase the occasional car, gnaw on a bone, or slaughter the woman down the street and roll around in her blood because she was wearing a red jacket kind of put a damper on any plans to join the local bowling league.
Not that he bowled or anything.
Real wolves formed packs to survive, while Blutbaden avoided the hell out of them for the same reason. Packs led to bad, bad things. Like, Donner Party bad. The kind that drew the immediate attention of all the Grimms in the surrounding area to the entire population of Blutbaden. And not all Grimms had Nick's charming sense of morality about sparing the innocent creatures that go bump in the night like himself.
Not that leaving a pack unchecked was terribly good idea either, of course. Big, hungry predators with opposable thumbs didn't bode well for any unfortunate humans in the area.
So, he was left with very few options when it came to socialization.
Which meant that when Nick called, he answered with a mostly metaphorical tail wagging hopefully behind him. But if Nick scratched him behind the ear or called him a good boy, he was out.
Out.
Unless he brought more Bordeaux.