by Red WolfIt was a lazy Saturday morning, fine and clear and the locals were taking advantage of the clement weather by heading to the park. Dog walkers, duck feeders, impromptu football games and the noise of children released from the confines of houses and yards were but a sampling of those enjoying the sunshine.
Settled in the shade of a large oak, one of the denizens of the park was sitting on the ground with a palm plugged into a portable keyboard atop her legs. At her feet, a large dog lay curled in an arc, sunning his belly in the dappled light that filtered through the canopy of the tree.
The woman looked, for all intents and purposes like a student catching up on an assignment in a more pleasant than usual environment. She wasn't actually working on her thesis, she was whiling away the time playing Solitaire. Not that peculiar a task for a procrastinating student to be performing, aside from her occasional checking of another program that was monitoring the house across the road.
"Still no movement, Dec," she muttered to her dog, who had the good grace to snort in reply.
They'd been camped out under the tree for several hours, surveying the house currently occupied by three art thieves. They wouldn't be there at all if a snap industrial dispute had grounded their targets preferred method of transportation out of the country. But it had and Wolf had volunteered to pull the morning shift to get out of the office for the day.
She started a new game of solitaire and was quite absorbed in being beaten by the computer when she saw a small boy heading towards her.
The boy was young, painfully thin and possibly of African parentage. He asked her something and it took her a moment to decipher the patois of English, French and an African dialect she could narrow down to West Africa, but not understand.
She had managed to get the gist of the boy's request — he wanted to play with Declán — so she nodded and nudged the big dog with her foot. Declán flipped himself over and eyed the child with his best friendly dog smile. It seemed to work, as the child immediately attached himself to Declán's neck like a small, brown limpet mine.
Wolf nudged Declán again and he trotted off with the chattering boy running along side him.
Shaking her head as she watched the boy and dog engaged in a game of chase, Wolf went back to monitoring the house. It still showing no signs of movement, so she resumed her game. At least Declán got the chance to run about for a while, perhaps she'd get the easy ride next time around.
15 Minute Ficlets — word #92: strike
Moonbeam's challenge — declán and a child
Published Babble Horde — 10.02.2005
Published FictionPress — 17.02.2005
declán | fiction | original fiction | samuel | wolf
Very nice! Interesting to see Declán play — via LiveJournal
— posted by Willa at 19.02.2005 11:20 AEST | 
This will be an ongoing series for Moon. Writing it as ficlets gets it out instead of me spinning my wheels. More Declán soon — via LiveJournal
— posted by Red Wolf at 19.02.2005 11:20 AEST |
That is just the most lovely fic. Firstly the image of sitting in a park with a computer and a dog curled at one's feet is one i love, and then the doggyness, and the child, and and and... ::slaps self::
sorry. got carried away. am slightly concerned as to why library suddenly smells of burning rubber.
::runs away:: — via LiveJournal — posted by Pheral at 19.02.2005 11:21 AEST |
sorry. got carried away. am slightly concerned as to why library suddenly smells of burning rubber.
::runs away:: — via LiveJournal — posted by Pheral at 19.02.2005 11:21 AEST |
I don't think I want to know why the library smells of burning rubber. It's usually a sign of electronic things dying — via LiveJournal
— posted by Red Wolf at 19.02.2005 11:22 AEST |
yeah, i legged it for fear my computer was about to explode. Chances are though, Exmouth being the kind of place it is, that it was just some old guy with strange odour problems — via LiveJournal
— posted by Pheral at 19.02.2005 11:23 AEST |
On the plus side, computers rarely explode, they just tend to make a pfftt sound, smoke and smell. The old guy, I can't help you with, although there's a strong possibility that his aroma was caused by the same string of dying computer signs — via LiveJournal
— posted by Red Wolf at 19.02.2005 11:23 AEST |
True, my television did that once. It smoked, and then had a kinda of mini-tiny explosion, and then went on fire. But a teeny fire. I ran around in
technology-deprivedcircles until the draft put out the flames, and then my dad fixed it. Yay for him! — via LiveJournal — posted by Pheral at 19.02.2005 11:24 AEST |
And we're off! Good start, good start... it's got intrigue, it's got wolfiness, and it's got promise. We've got the plot of the case, the mystery of the boy, and I'm getting a two-for-one in werewolves. Not a bad deal, if I say so myself. :)
But you're not done yet, missy, so keep writing! I want to see all that potential for mischief and mayhem explode into a realty.
Possibly with real explosions! ::eg:: — via LiveJournal — posted by Moonbeam at 19.02.2005 11:24 AEST |
But you're not done yet, missy, so keep writing! I want to see all that potential for mischief and mayhem explode into a realty.
Possibly with real explosions! ::eg:: — via LiveJournal — posted by Moonbeam at 19.02.2005 11:24 AEST |
No explosions planned as yet, but the muse has been known to throw unexpected plot twists into the mix. Admittedly they're usually in the form of body components, but you never know your luck — via LiveJournal
— posted by Red Wolf at 19.02.2005 11:25 AEST |
Thanks! Happy to have made you melty — via LiveJournal
— posted by Red Wolf at 19.02.2005 11:36 AEST |
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