Dusk, outside

[scots_wolf]

Urquhart is outside, watching the early sunset.

He's not shooting anything right now. The black fur rug he was making is finished.

Instead, he stands, with a mug of mulled wine in his hands, feet planted deep in the snow, and watches the daylight fade into the odd brownish yellow typical for snow clouds, and then, darkness falling, along with more snow.

It settles on his shoulders and in his hair.

Comments

[young_womble]

Wellington doesn't like the sound of that. He'd go pale if it wasn't for the fur, and as it is, curls back up inside his bush.

[scots_wolf]

"What's the matter?" Urquhart says.

[young_womble]

Wellington wipes his nose on his paw.

"It makes more sense if you're furry." he whimpers.

[scots_wolf]

"Oh," Urquhart says. "Was that word I just used very offensive to you?"

Why Milliways is weird, reason 144: you need to know the etiquette when talking to a furry creature. No mention of religion, sex, politics, or fur rugs.

[young_womble]

"No, the concept of having one's fur removed and turned into a rug was something, I believe, that modern folk of your species would respond to by asking for the metaphorical 'brain bleach'."

[scots_wolf]

"That bad?" Urquhart says. "I apologise, in that case!"

[young_womble]

"Thank you." Wellington says quietly, trying not to be mentally scarred.

[scots_wolf]

"I'd never harm anybody who works in the kitchen, anyway," Urquhart says.

[young_womble]

Wellington doesn't answer. He's trying to think of nice calming things that don't involve death and skinning. Like books. And the smell of books.

[scots_wolf]

Urquhart finally gets up again and discovers his empty cup, and the pink stain in the snow.

"I seem to have lost my mulled wine," he mulls.

[young_womble]

"There's some in the kitchen." Wellington says, quietly.

[scots_wolf]

"I'll get more later," Urquhart says.

[young_womble]

"I-I should probably get home." Wellington says, inching out of the bush. "It's always much harder to do our jobs when it's snowing. We can't leave tracks, you see."

[scots_wolf]

"You need a brush to cover your tracks?" Urquhart says.

[young_womble]

"We usually wear tennis rackets on our feet." Wellington says.

[scots_wolf]

"Why would you do that?" Urquhart says. "Do people think that you're not wombles but specimens of the rare tennis beast instead, and that's acceptable?"

[young_womble]

"They assume it's a human in snow shoes."

[scots_wolf]

"But the prints wouldn't be deep enough," Urquhart points out. "You're much lighter than a human.

[young_womble]

"Yes, but human beings don't tend to think like that."

[scots_wolf]

"I would, if I was on a job," Urquhart says. "Tracks that seem odd or fake would make me very distrustful."

[young_womble]

"You don't get many assassins in Hyde Park."

[scots_wolf]

"I don't know," Urquhart says. "I've never been there."

[young_womble]

"It's somewhere for human beings to enjoy. Unfortunately they respond to that by messing it up as much as possible."

[scots_wolf]

"A mess is rarely enjoyable," Urquhart says, "but that's what people are like. Some of them would just live in pigsties."

[young_womble]

"I don't know how they would survive without us, sometimes."