Vanilla #2 - The Sniffles with added Wafer Cookie
Author: Regret
Rating: G
Challenge: Vanilla #2 - The Sniffles
Extras: Wafer Cookie - a sketch
Word Count: 606
Summary: Simon catches a cold.
Notes: He seems to like FPP, so... more first person present, until I can kick reticent!muse into third person past like, y'know, normal.
Of all the-
I’ve got a cold.
I’ve been sent home from the station - no courier work for poor Simon today, lest he curse the humans with his sniffles and sneezes. You’d
think from the ungodly haste with which I was sent packing that, it being my cold, it was somehow more contagious and dangerous than anyone else’s.
So here’s me on my day off work, dancing around my apartment to songs from my ancient computer, and my nose running a marathon. Well, really, my nose isn’t just running , I’m pretty sure it’s sprinting.
Are the alfa supposed to catch human diseases? I never thought to check before…
The knock on my door nearly scares the pants off me. I open it with almost undue haste; it’s not like I’m skiving, I’ve been legitimately discharged! And I’m surprised that it’s Jonathan, my landlord (a very formal way of saying he rents out the spare attic-room he’s got all kitted out for people like me who’re elsewise homeless), with one hand on his hip and a deep frown on his face. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Uh.” Really, there’s not much else you can say when you’ve just been caught dancing around like a particularly tempo-challenged ape and singing your little heart out at the same time. “I’ve got swine flu?” I try a huge, innocent grin, but it’s disrupted by the abrupt sneeze that decides it just can‘t wait. I only just miss Jonathan.
I’m not sure what he looks less impressed by, the excuse or the fact I just nearly sprayed his chest with messy bodily fluids. “I’m trying to sleep, you know,” he says in a pained voice, and now I look at him I notice that his insanely long hair is standing at angles it would normally take a team of professionals hours to achieve, and his eyes have deep, dark marks under them.
I try to look shamefaced, but it’s somewhat disrupted by another sneeze and a sniff that could have hoovered up a goat. “I’m sorry, I’ll keep it down…”
“Please do.” He shakes his head slowly, looking at me like I’m a badly-behaved child he’s got no idea what to do with. “And since I don’t want to catch your cold…” He grabs me by the shoulder, all the better I assume to ensure I can’t flee in panic from him, and pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants. A handkerchief, seriously, who has one of those these days? But since he’s nearly waving it in my face, I figure it’s probably safest to take it rather than run the risk of his ire. If he gets angry enough, he might put up my rent, after all…
“Thank you?” I volunteer, taking it from him gingerly. It doesn’t appear to be used, but you can never tell…
“No problem,” he says, letting go of my shoulder. He’s gripped it hard enough to leave the shape of his fingers in the cloth. Remind me not to annoy him again… “Just keep the noise down. This’s the first sleep I’ve had in ages.”
“Right-o!” I snap off a salute to him, more for the fun of it than anything else, but he’s already shutting the door on me. My hand finishes its arc at my forehead right as the door slams closed, and I feel slightly moronic. Still, can’t be helped. Not my fault he chose to drive trucks the length and breadth of the country, after all…
But I still turn down the music and crawl back into bed to wait out the cold with Jonathan’s white handkerchief.
Rating: G
Challenge: Vanilla #2 - The Sniffles
Extras: Wafer Cookie - a sketch
Word Count: 606
Summary: Simon catches a cold.
Notes: He seems to like FPP, so... more first person present, until I can kick reticent!muse into third person past like, y'know, normal.
Of all the-
I’ve got a cold.
I’ve been sent home from the station - no courier work for poor Simon today, lest he curse the humans with his sniffles and sneezes. You’d
think from the ungodly haste with which I was sent packing that, it being my cold, it was somehow more contagious and dangerous than anyone else’s.
So here’s me on my day off work, dancing around my apartment to songs from my ancient computer, and my nose running a marathon. Well, really, my nose isn’t just running , I’m pretty sure it’s sprinting.
Are the alfa supposed to catch human diseases? I never thought to check before…
The knock on my door nearly scares the pants off me. I open it with almost undue haste; it’s not like I’m skiving, I’ve been legitimately discharged! And I’m surprised that it’s Jonathan, my landlord (a very formal way of saying he rents out the spare attic-room he’s got all kitted out for people like me who’re elsewise homeless), with one hand on his hip and a deep frown on his face. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Uh.” Really, there’s not much else you can say when you’ve just been caught dancing around like a particularly tempo-challenged ape and singing your little heart out at the same time. “I’ve got swine flu?” I try a huge, innocent grin, but it’s disrupted by the abrupt sneeze that decides it just can‘t wait. I only just miss Jonathan.
I’m not sure what he looks less impressed by, the excuse or the fact I just nearly sprayed his chest with messy bodily fluids. “I’m trying to sleep, you know,” he says in a pained voice, and now I look at him I notice that his insanely long hair is standing at angles it would normally take a team of professionals hours to achieve, and his eyes have deep, dark marks under them.
I try to look shamefaced, but it’s somewhat disrupted by another sneeze and a sniff that could have hoovered up a goat. “I’m sorry, I’ll keep it down…”
“Please do.” He shakes his head slowly, looking at me like I’m a badly-behaved child he’s got no idea what to do with. “And since I don’t want to catch your cold…” He grabs me by the shoulder, all the better I assume to ensure I can’t flee in panic from him, and pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants. A handkerchief, seriously, who has one of those these days? But since he’s nearly waving it in my face, I figure it’s probably safest to take it rather than run the risk of his ire. If he gets angry enough, he might put up my rent, after all…
“Thank you?” I volunteer, taking it from him gingerly. It doesn’t appear to be used, but you can never tell…
“No problem,” he says, letting go of my shoulder. He’s gripped it hard enough to leave the shape of his fingers in the cloth. Remind me not to annoy him again… “Just keep the noise down. This’s the first sleep I’ve had in ages.”
“Right-o!” I snap off a salute to him, more for the fun of it than anything else, but he’s already shutting the door on me. My hand finishes its arc at my forehead right as the door slams closed, and I feel slightly moronic. Still, can’t be helped. Not my fault he chose to drive trucks the length and breadth of the country, after all…
But I still turn down the music and crawl back into bed to wait out the cold with Jonathan’s white handkerchief.