Foibles and Phobias
Fandom due South
Characters: Fraser, Turnbull, Thatcher, Dief
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Notes: Written for the ds_snippets prompt, ‘flamingo.’ In the episode Dr. Longball, Fraser claims that Dief has a phobia about pink flamingos, so the slight crackiness of this can be squarely blamed on canon.
Summary: In which Turnbull inadvertently causes a slight disturbance at the Consulate.
“He’s just being melodramatic,” said Fraser. Privately, he felt that Diefenbaker was not the only one to whom that term could be applied.
Turnbull blinked back guilty tears and snuffled into a handkerchief decorated with vivid orange polka dots.
“I didn’t know!” he moaned, for the eighth time. (Eleventh, if one counted variations in the wording.)
“It’s not something one could naturally intuit.” Fraser cast a disapproving glance in the direction of the tail sticking out from under the desk. “Canidae are not known for an intrinsic aversion to plastic lawn ornaments. And certain wolves,” he added, crouching down and enunciating, “should be ashamed of themselves for carrying on in a manner unbefitting their noble species.”
“Haven’t you got your dog out of my office yet?” snapped Inspector Thatcher, sweeping into the room.
“Not quite. That is to say, he’s not being very - ah - cooperative.”
The inspector brushed past Turnbull, who hastily stuffed his lurid handkerchief into his pocket, and reclaimed her chair. She leaned down. Diefenbaker raised his head.
“There’s a peanut-butter flavored PowerBar sitting on the kitchen counter. Get out now, and it’s yours.” Dief yipped indignantly, but didn’t move. Thatcher sighed. “Fine, you can have the Snickers as well. Just go away.”
Diefenbaker did, trotting off with a spring in his step and a wag in his tail.
“Fraser, in future please try to control your animal. Turnbull, get that pink flamingo out of the lobby this instant. Dismissed.” She put her head in her hands.
As the door clicked shut, Fraser heard a muttered, “Dear God, I’ve been reduced to negotiating with a wolf.”
“Do you think Detective Vecchio would like an amiable little flamingo?” asked Turnbull, hopefully.
Fraser sighed. The trials of life in Chicago were many and varied, beyond anything he had imagined.
Characters: Fraser, Turnbull, Thatcher, Dief
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Notes: Written for the ds_snippets prompt, ‘flamingo.’ In the episode Dr. Longball, Fraser claims that Dief has a phobia about pink flamingos, so the slight crackiness of this can be squarely blamed on canon.
Summary: In which Turnbull inadvertently causes a slight disturbance at the Consulate.
“He’s just being melodramatic,” said Fraser. Privately, he felt that Diefenbaker was not the only one to whom that term could be applied.
Turnbull blinked back guilty tears and snuffled into a handkerchief decorated with vivid orange polka dots.
“I didn’t know!” he moaned, for the eighth time. (Eleventh, if one counted variations in the wording.)
“It’s not something one could naturally intuit.” Fraser cast a disapproving glance in the direction of the tail sticking out from under the desk. “Canidae are not known for an intrinsic aversion to plastic lawn ornaments. And certain wolves,” he added, crouching down and enunciating, “should be ashamed of themselves for carrying on in a manner unbefitting their noble species.”
“Haven’t you got your dog out of my office yet?” snapped Inspector Thatcher, sweeping into the room.
“Not quite. That is to say, he’s not being very - ah - cooperative.”
The inspector brushed past Turnbull, who hastily stuffed his lurid handkerchief into his pocket, and reclaimed her chair. She leaned down. Diefenbaker raised his head.
“There’s a peanut-butter flavored PowerBar sitting on the kitchen counter. Get out now, and it’s yours.” Dief yipped indignantly, but didn’t move. Thatcher sighed. “Fine, you can have the Snickers as well. Just go away.”
Diefenbaker did, trotting off with a spring in his step and a wag in his tail.
“Fraser, in future please try to control your animal. Turnbull, get that pink flamingo out of the lobby this instant. Dismissed.” She put her head in her hands.
As the door clicked shut, Fraser heard a muttered, “Dear God, I’ve been reduced to negotiating with a wolf.”
“Do you think Detective Vecchio would like an amiable little flamingo?” asked Turnbull, hopefully.
Fraser sighed. The trials of life in Chicago were many and varied, beyond anything he had imagined.