In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Who: makes_asteroids meets atrumcanis!
When: the rain-drenched afternoon of 6 April
Where: the rainy Canadian streets! Did I mention that it's raining?
Summary: Magneto is wary of dogs! Padfoot is wary of no one! But both of them are all right with thunderstorms, and it's on this Canadian heath that they meet. Brief terror may ensue, and there will definitely be quest for sandwiches.
Padfoot threw himself into the nearest puddle, yapping happily as the water splashed up and drenched his chest. Rain itself was cause enough for revelry, but a thunderstorm inspired extra enthusiasm--difficult though it was to work past the instinctual cowering that the thunder inspired. He still found himself ducking at every deep and threatening roll, his tail drooping--but only for a second, and then the Sirius-bits of his brain talked sense into the Padfoot-bits, and he was off enjoying the puddles again.
His fur was matted with mud, which was an absolutely wonderful feeling--like a badge of honour. He finished splashing in that puddle and then trotted off with a sneeze, head held high. He was on a tour of the city--searching for massive puddles, determined to hit every one in the city. This wasn't something that he could do as Sirius--the indignity of it! The stupidity! He couldn't subvert his own vanity enough to excuse such exuberance. But Padfoot could manage without any worries at all. A brave dog, out enjoying the wet and the muck, biting at raindrops. It was better than any sodding therapy.
Hungry, though, he thought vaguely, as he rounded onto a new side street. There were puddles scattered everywhere here, and he took a running leap into the nearest one. It was deeper than he expected in the center, and he found himself nearly up to his chest when he reached the middle, but he thrashed about cheerfully, growling at nothing, his tail sweeping the rainwater back and forth as it wagged. The only thing about rain was that there were no unattended sandwiches at open-air cafes--no sticky children in the park to steal lunches from--no businessmen on their way back from lunch, their leftovers carried in greasy white paper bags, ready to take pity on poor homeless dogs.
He really should start wearing his collar, just in case. Padfoot twisted about to bite at his own shoulder, gnawing at it to relieve an itch. The collar thought was a Sirius thought; Padfoot had no need for collars. They were far too restricting--and anyway, everyone pitied a homeless dog far more than--
A person! His ears perked; his tail started to wag even harder. A person, which meant-- which meant lunch, maybe, and before thinking twice, Padfoot shot off toward the murky and indistinct figure, making sure that his bark was friendly, making sure that he looked as adorable as he possibly could. It was a dirty trick, but a small price to pay for a free sandwich.
When: the rain-drenched afternoon of 6 April
Where: the rainy Canadian streets! Did I mention that it's raining?
Summary: Magneto is wary of dogs! Padfoot is wary of no one! But both of them are all right with thunderstorms, and it's on this Canadian heath that they meet. Brief terror may ensue, and there will definitely be quest for sandwiches.
Padfoot threw himself into the nearest puddle, yapping happily as the water splashed up and drenched his chest. Rain itself was cause enough for revelry, but a thunderstorm inspired extra enthusiasm--difficult though it was to work past the instinctual cowering that the thunder inspired. He still found himself ducking at every deep and threatening roll, his tail drooping--but only for a second, and then the Sirius-bits of his brain talked sense into the Padfoot-bits, and he was off enjoying the puddles again.
His fur was matted with mud, which was an absolutely wonderful feeling--like a badge of honour. He finished splashing in that puddle and then trotted off with a sneeze, head held high. He was on a tour of the city--searching for massive puddles, determined to hit every one in the city. This wasn't something that he could do as Sirius--the indignity of it! The stupidity! He couldn't subvert his own vanity enough to excuse such exuberance. But Padfoot could manage without any worries at all. A brave dog, out enjoying the wet and the muck, biting at raindrops. It was better than any sodding therapy.
Hungry, though, he thought vaguely, as he rounded onto a new side street. There were puddles scattered everywhere here, and he took a running leap into the nearest one. It was deeper than he expected in the center, and he found himself nearly up to his chest when he reached the middle, but he thrashed about cheerfully, growling at nothing, his tail sweeping the rainwater back and forth as it wagged. The only thing about rain was that there were no unattended sandwiches at open-air cafes--no sticky children in the park to steal lunches from--no businessmen on their way back from lunch, their leftovers carried in greasy white paper bags, ready to take pity on poor homeless dogs.
He really should start wearing his collar, just in case. Padfoot twisted about to bite at his own shoulder, gnawing at it to relieve an itch. The collar thought was a Sirius thought; Padfoot had no need for collars. They were far too restricting--and anyway, everyone pitied a homeless dog far more than--
A person! His ears perked; his tail started to wag even harder. A person, which meant-- which meant lunch, maybe, and before thinking twice, Padfoot shot off toward the murky and indistinct figure, making sure that his bark was friendly, making sure that he looked as adorable as he possibly could. It was a dirty trick, but a small price to pay for a free sandwich.