Knick-knack paddy-whack, give a dog a bone

[gaueko-erebus.livejournal.com]

[Just after sunset, Friday October 24th, Day 145]
[Silk Road, not far from the Whitechapel]


One thing that a dog is good at is finding his way back into a routine. I'd grown accustomed to spending days at the manor, sleeping or prowling or fucking Anushka, and then wandering at night, whether as a dog or a man. My nighttime activities haven't changed much, but now I sleep a lot more than I once did during the day, since I'm less inclined to let Valmont or his servants see me as a mortal. Did have to scare the bloody maid out one day. Housekeeping my ass.

But the night is still my time. And while I must admit the Whitechapel common room is an enjoyable diversion from time to time, the old wanderlust still hits me. So after about a half a bottle of whiskey I step outside and light a cigarette. The late October chill is just sinking into the air, and dead leaves are gathering in the streets. Fall is settled in, and winter is peeking in the windows.

I love this time of year. The nights are getting longer, the air is getting colder, and the boundaries between the light and the dark, the dead and the living, are stretched thin and clear. It's no wonder this time of year is when humans celebrate Samhain and All Hallow's and all those other festivals honouring the dead and the demonic. Spring may be a time of renewal, but winter is death, and fall the slow illness and decline that comes before.

I'm whistling as I stroll down the street.

[OPEN]

Knick-knack paddy-whack, give a dog a bone

[gaueko-erebus.livejournal.com]

[Just after sunset, Friday October 24th, Day 145]
[Silk Road, not far from the Whitechapel]


One thing that a dog is good at is finding his way back into a routine. I'd grown accustomed to spending days at the manor, sleeping or prowling or fucking Anushka, and then wandering at night, whether as a dog or a man. My nighttime activities haven't changed much, but now I sleep a lot more than I once did during the day, since I'm less inclined to let Valmont or his servants see me as a mortal. Did have to scare the bloody maid out one day. Housekeeping my ass.

But the night is still my time. And while I must admit the Whitechapel common room is an enjoyable diversion from time to time, the old wanderlust still hits me. So after about a half a bottle of whiskey I step outside and light a cigarette. The late October chill is just sinking into the air, and dead leaves are gathering in the streets. Fall is settled in, and winter is peeking in the windows.

I love this time of year. The nights are getting longer, the air is getting colder, and the boundaries between the light and the dark, the dead and the living, are stretched thin and clear. It's no wonder this time of year is when humans celebrate Samhain and All Hallow's and all those other festivals honouring the dead and the demonic. Spring may be a time of renewal, but winter is death, and fall the slow illness and decline that comes before.

I'm whistling as I stroll down the street.

[OPEN]