(no subject)

[tu_vas_triompher]

No matter what else may be happening in Milliways, some constants remain. Among them, the need to walk the dogs, or at least let them out, before going to bed. So Feuilly is out in the last light of the evening: just enough light to see the white tip of Lady's tail when she runs off to the edge of the mowed lawn and starts weaving in and out of the longer grass. Hector has no such flighty notions. He's a self-respecting lymer who likes his leash and likes to plod along at the length of it, nose to the ground, while he finds a suitable spot to do his business.

Comments

[heartbeneathastone]

"How did you come by them?" Marius asks. Hector is sitting still enough that he ventures a tentative pat.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Ah--they came from my friend's home," he answers vaguely. "But they live here now. --They're English, in fact." Yes.

Hector allows the patting, and even goes so far as to sigh and lean against Marius's legs. "I, I hope we're not--disturbing your walk--"

[heartbeneathastone]

"No, no, not all, I was only-- walking." He shakes his head, embarrassed (for the usual Pontmercy no reason). "The-- the weather is finer here than in Paris. Though I suppose these two prefer these lawns to any city!"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Yes." He smiles fondly at the dogs, and then more thoughtfully. "Well--Lady, certainly. She's, she's a dog that likes to run all about and start half a dozen different hares at once. Hector wouldn't mind a city, I think. Even a place like Paris. He likes a walk, but he likes just as much to, to nap on my feet while I work."

It's Feuilly's turn to bend down and pat the old hound, a fond ear-rub. And then of course patting for Lady, who has wiggled herself frantically out of anything like a sit. "Yes, he's a quiet sensible companion."

[heartbeneathastone]

"He seems a fine one, too. They are-- that is-- you never kept a dog in Paris, did you?"

That definitely seems like something he ought to already know.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"No--no, I never did. It's just as well--I mean--" You know. What with dying and all. But also with being too busy. This all seems awkward, so he hurries past it. "You could keep a dog, though. It's--it really is a kind of companionship." His ears go a bit red. "Not that--" Pontmercy is married, well-to-do, not in need of Feuilly's insights into sociability.