trinkett | Eighth Dispatch: The Malnosso Have Answered My Plea, They Must Want to Hire Me

Is anyone here good at fixing things? [Because Richard Sharpe's precious pistol is still in pieces and she can't go to the Smithy because Sokka -- whom she has no idea is gone -- is Katniss's ex-boyfriend and there's awkwardness there. Also, she sounds absolutely cheerful and not like she's terrified for her life because of the aforementioned Sharpe.

Effie might be somewhat out of touch with many of her emotions and what's considered normal, but she knows Sharpe well enough to realize that he might very well shoot her on sight for what has happened.

That's why, when she goes out walking later, she has her new enormous dog towing her along. She got him for Christmas. The dog she wanted was this.

The dog she got is this:

.

His name is Jason. Effie has to carry a towel to contain the slobber. His hairs are definitely sticking to her amazing Rufus Praza midnight blue Star coat (structured with Swarovski-like crystals over the heart.) She has to pick hairs out of her very thick makeup. But he's worth it. She feels safe for once -- actually, legitimately safe to be out.

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"...Has he bitten anyone yet?"

Sharpe had very little faith in dogs.

"I haven't been in danger lately, have I?" Effie simply assumed that Jason would turn into a savage teeth tornado if anyone tried anything against her.

"You don't like him?"

"It ain't that, Effie," he grumbled -- though he certainly wasn't looking to make best pals with her mutt. "But from this side of the book, he bloody well looks more fur than muscle."

More style than substance. "Will he do you any good? Have you trained him yet?"

Here cometh Richard Sharpe, the rain for anyone's parade.

Basically they've sat on the couch a lot.

"...Today. I'm training him today. Then you can match wits with him, if you like!"

Ooooh. Low blow.

You think I wouldn't simply gut a dog...? But Sharpe held his tongue. Cranky and unhappy he might be in the mornings, but he wasn't about the verbalize a direct thread against her precious pooch. But he does offer up a tetchy growl.

"Just bloody well be careful. And don't bring im 'round the house until you're damned certain he won't bite the girls."

"I'm ALWAYS careful!" Now he was offending her pride. "Stop making me out to be a liability, Major. I'm not some broken toy." It was quite purposeful, this rejection of Loki's term for her. "I'm capable!"

"...So you've handled dogs before, then."

"........No. But I've handled politicians. And Tributes."

"Well. I've handled'em. And they're no bloody French picnic. What are you feeding him?"

The questions built a little confidence in the Chaperone that perhaps Richard Sharpe really truly did want to help. Also, it distracted him from asking about his pistol. "This morning he had some tinned ham. And some peanut butter. And part of the sofa but I got that out of his mouth before he had much of it..."

Edited (trying to get some continuity with my verb tenses SORRY. ) 2014-01-02 14:59 (UTC)

"Ham is good. Try to get it fresh. Talk to bugger running the farmlands, if you must."

That made her nervous. "Farmlands?" Effie Trinket was a worldly woman, but she didn't do farms.

"Better to get your meat fresh. And better yet to get it raw. You don't want to have Jason between you and some bastard, only to learn the pup prefers his meals cooked and cured. Eh?"

Gruesome. But true.

"Richard, that's terrible." She preferred not to think of Jason as one of the dogs that were sometimes thrown into the Arena. "This isn't the GAMES!"

"Is he yer pet or your guard-dog? He can't be both."

Oh? Did she hang up? Sharpe peered at the book a moment longer and waited -- not daring to ask whether she was still there.

Sorry -- she was being licked.

"He guards me," came the short reply. "I'll PROVE it."

"...How?"

"...I don't know how. Yet. Do you want to meet him?"

Not really....

"Orright."

"Where should we meet?" What is neutral territory?

It was cold out. He didn't rightly want to waste daylight standing in the cold looking at a mutt. So he might as well try and meet this fate in relative comfort: "Tavern. If they allow dogs in, at least."

Ugh. Taverns. Effie liked to pretend she didn't go there. "Alright. We'll be there shortly."

Usually, Sharpe sat at the bar. It was a comfortable place to sit, and he wished he was there now. But no -- decorum forced his hand and he instead took up position in a boot not too far from the door. You know, so he could be accessible when the woman and her damned dog entered,

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inyourfavor - 2014-01-31 01:30 (UTC) - Expand