(no subject)

[tu_vas_triompher]

In the mad world of Milliways, it's nice to have some constants. Like Harry leaving his shoes all over the floor--really, how can a single pair of shoes manage to be in so many places at once? And like arguing with the dogs that they don't sleep on the bed, and the dogs sneaking up onto the bed anyway a few minutes after the lights go out, and then arguing with the dogs that they're at least supposed to stay at the foot of the bed. And then adjusting to fit around Hector's very bulky bulk because dogs don't understand French or English.

In the mad world of Milliways, the bedtime rituals are constants. And waking up is generally much the same too these days. Dogs taking up too much space, Harry loudly still asleep, the still-delicious knowledge that Feuilly can wake up and lie abed as long as he likes, watching dawn light come in around the curtains.

Of course, in the mad world of Milliways there's also the constant awareness that anything might interrupt any of that at any moment.

Comments

[harryhotspur]

But for now, Harry is still asleep. Loudly.

He is far from a peaceful sleeper, but snoring is not usually one of his vices. He's doing it now, though, that very loud, snorty kind that almost inevitably gives way, as he drifts into sort-of-wakefulness, into a sort of wheezy sound, and then, abruptly, he sits up coughing loudly into his arm. And then he flops back onto the pillow with a groan, his other arm flopped over his face to block the light.

"Ah, Christ," he mutters. His voice sounds-- different, the accent is just slightly different, but it's perhaps not enough for either Feuilly's English or the Milliways translation field to pick up-- and more conspicuously, he just sounds like he's caught a cold.