Kinki
Inspired by the family challenge on love_is_kinki.
Title: A rebellious daughter.
Characters: Pan-chan. Appearance by Kenshiro.
Rating: G.
Warnings: None unless pet!fic weirds you out?
Other stuff: Posting this up quickly before work. Will give it a proper proofread later.
At 03:37, with a determined movement, both hands planted on his desk, Pan’s dad stands up and finally walks away from his PC. He stumbles the few steps to his sofa, quickly dusts it down with his hand, fluffs the couch cushion, flops down and pulls the throw-cover over himself with the deft movements of one who is overly familiar with crashing out on this particular couch. Pan watches all this from her bed (thick faux-fur lining with a green and blue plaid exterior - stylish and representative of her favourite couple from Kis-My-Ft2, thank you very much). With her head thrown back, one paw languishing over her snout, she believes she does really rather a good job of acting ‘asleep’ and has wondered if she doesn’t take after Uncle Tsuyoshi in some respects.
She waits 4 minutes and 40 seconds precisely, having long determined this to be the optimal amount of time to allow for her dad to fall asleep. After that, she creeps out of her bed, taking care not to disturb the chewy bone or the squeaky Ferrari. (The latter is mildly offensive to her since the bodywork in no way represents Ferrari’s latest engineering innovations). She pads over to her dad, licks his hand a couple of times and, having confirmed for herself that he is comatose, squirms in delight.
Hurriedly, she tiptoes back to her bed and noses and old stick out of the lining. She found the stick on a walk one night a fortnight or so ago. By some miracle, her dad allowed her to keep it and, over the course of an evening’s gnawing, inspiration struck her. That night, she construed to make a hiding hole in the lining of her bed (an unavoidable sacrifice). Just as she’d hoped, seeing the stick was no where to be found, her dad convinced himself that he’d already thrown it out. As she takes the implement in her mouth and trots to the kitchen, these memories cause pangs of guilt to stab Pan’s heart. She’s a good dog, she realy is. However, there’s this beagle down the road and he sent her a message which she picked up last time she and her dad went for a walk. Her tail starts to wag as she thinks about it. Taking a deep breath, she stands a moment to steady her nerves. In order to get to the kitchen window to jimmy open the handle, she needs to jump from the footstool to the chair to the table to the counter to the windowsill. She needs to do all this without spilling anything including herself. Besides, it’d be no good to look too excitable when going to meet a boy. Even a boy who’s promised you pizza with pepperoni on it and fishy flavoured rope for playing tug-of-war with, she reminds herself, wriggling happily at the thought.
She pulls off the trick and, within a few minutes, is standing outside on the window-ledge. From here, she can easily get to the wall, down to the dustbins and then e to the ground. A pool of disappointment wells up inside her - this is seriously the coolest trick she knows how to do, but there’s no way she can ever show it off to her dad. With a shake of her ears, she forces those feelings away because, man, she really is stoked about this tug-of-war she’s been promised.
She’s just about to begin the decent to the street, when a figure appears on the ledge. Four arthritic legs, masses of fine brown hair brushed neatly, a snow white beard on his snout.
“Uncle Kenshiro!” she squeals in surprise. He says nothing. She shuffles in embarrassment. The much older dog has a habit of doing this when she’s a bout to do something stupid or, during her puppyhood, whenever she was feeling especially lonely.
“Er… Are you going to tell Uncle Tsuyoshi or Dad on me?” she blurts out at last. (Pan is a meticulous kind of bitch and she doesn’t like to accept a hypothesis without rigorous experimentation. Unfortunately, no matter what she tries, she can’t seem to prove conclusively whether or not Kenshiro can communicate with Koichi or Tsuyoshi. Kenshiro himself is not the sort of dog to give straight answers, as she’s more than aware).
After a long pause, Kenshiro laboriously turns his old body away from her.
“Be gone, young one,” he says, voice like dusty paper.
Pan grins from ear to ear, her little tail beating the kitchen window in releif.
“Thank you, Uncle Kenshiro!” she yells as she leaps for the street.
Title: A rebellious daughter.
Characters: Pan-chan. Appearance by Kenshiro.
Rating: G.
Warnings: None unless pet!fic weirds you out?
Other stuff: Posting this up quickly before work. Will give it a proper proofread later.
At 03:37, with a determined movement, both hands planted on his desk, Pan’s dad stands up and finally walks away from his PC. He stumbles the few steps to his sofa, quickly dusts it down with his hand, fluffs the couch cushion, flops down and pulls the throw-cover over himself with the deft movements of one who is overly familiar with crashing out on this particular couch. Pan watches all this from her bed (thick faux-fur lining with a green and blue plaid exterior - stylish and representative of her favourite couple from Kis-My-Ft2, thank you very much). With her head thrown back, one paw languishing over her snout, she believes she does really rather a good job of acting ‘asleep’ and has wondered if she doesn’t take after Uncle Tsuyoshi in some respects.
She waits 4 minutes and 40 seconds precisely, having long determined this to be the optimal amount of time to allow for her dad to fall asleep. After that, she creeps out of her bed, taking care not to disturb the chewy bone or the squeaky Ferrari. (The latter is mildly offensive to her since the bodywork in no way represents Ferrari’s latest engineering innovations). She pads over to her dad, licks his hand a couple of times and, having confirmed for herself that he is comatose, squirms in delight.
Hurriedly, she tiptoes back to her bed and noses and old stick out of the lining. She found the stick on a walk one night a fortnight or so ago. By some miracle, her dad allowed her to keep it and, over the course of an evening’s gnawing, inspiration struck her. That night, she construed to make a hiding hole in the lining of her bed (an unavoidable sacrifice). Just as she’d hoped, seeing the stick was no where to be found, her dad convinced himself that he’d already thrown it out. As she takes the implement in her mouth and trots to the kitchen, these memories cause pangs of guilt to stab Pan’s heart. She’s a good dog, she realy is. However, there’s this beagle down the road and he sent her a message which she picked up last time she and her dad went for a walk. Her tail starts to wag as she thinks about it. Taking a deep breath, she stands a moment to steady her nerves. In order to get to the kitchen window to jimmy open the handle, she needs to jump from the footstool to the chair to the table to the counter to the windowsill. She needs to do all this without spilling anything including herself. Besides, it’d be no good to look too excitable when going to meet a boy. Even a boy who’s promised you pizza with pepperoni on it and fishy flavoured rope for playing tug-of-war with, she reminds herself, wriggling happily at the thought.
She pulls off the trick and, within a few minutes, is standing outside on the window-ledge. From here, she can easily get to the wall, down to the dustbins and then e to the ground. A pool of disappointment wells up inside her - this is seriously the coolest trick she knows how to do, but there’s no way she can ever show it off to her dad. With a shake of her ears, she forces those feelings away because, man, she really is stoked about this tug-of-war she’s been promised.
She’s just about to begin the decent to the street, when a figure appears on the ledge. Four arthritic legs, masses of fine brown hair brushed neatly, a snow white beard on his snout.
“Uncle Kenshiro!” she squeals in surprise. He says nothing. She shuffles in embarrassment. The much older dog has a habit of doing this when she’s a bout to do something stupid or, during her puppyhood, whenever she was feeling especially lonely.
“Er… Are you going to tell Uncle Tsuyoshi or Dad on me?” she blurts out at last. (Pan is a meticulous kind of bitch and she doesn’t like to accept a hypothesis without rigorous experimentation. Unfortunately, no matter what she tries, she can’t seem to prove conclusively whether or not Kenshiro can communicate with Koichi or Tsuyoshi. Kenshiro himself is not the sort of dog to give straight answers, as she’s more than aware).
After a long pause, Kenshiro laboriously turns his old body away from her.
“Be gone, young one,” he says, voice like dusty paper.
Pan grins from ear to ear, her little tail beating the kitchen window in releif.
“Thank you, Uncle Kenshiro!” she yells as she leaps for the street.