Pater Noster, Qui Es in Caelis, Lupa
Dec. 25th, 2011 05:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackofknavesTitle: Pater Noster, Qui Es in Caelis, Lupa
Author:jackofknaves
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: The ongoing tales of a zombie fighter and her hapless sidekick.
"What is this?" he asked curiously, flipping through crisp pages turned brown at the corners and riddled with writing in between.
She glanced over, then went back to watching the road. "My dad's journal."
"Oh." He stopped at one page and squinted to decipher the scribbling. " 'Nothing smells worse than a hell hound being burned. Take Febreeze with you.' Anyone ever tell you your dad is a scary person?"
"Yep," she said with a nod. "All the time."
"So... where is he now?"
"Dead."
He felt a genuine pang of regret at that, and covered one of her hands with his own. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely.
She shrugged, jerking her hand away and fiddling with the volume on the radio. "Yeah, well, he died doing his job."
"Hunting demons?"
"No, insurance salesman."
"How ironic."
She grinned. "You really are gullible, aren't you? Nah, hunting was his hobby. He died in the line of hobbying, though. A vampire got him from behind, nearly tore out his throat."
"Right," he said, sensing he was back in familiar territory. "Do you miss him?"
"Well, he doesn't call as often as I'd like--"
"I imagine it's hard, from a graveyard."
She looked surprised. "Oh, he sleeps in his house, not in a graveyard. I mean, a coffin and all, since he is the living undead, you know, but--"
"I swear, if you say his name is Blade..." He trailed off, glaring at her.
She flashed him a quick grin, turning up the music to full blast and flattening her foot on the gas pedal.
Author:
jackofknavesRating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: The ongoing tales of a zombie fighter and her hapless sidekick.
"What is this?" he asked curiously, flipping through crisp pages turned brown at the corners and riddled with writing in between.
She glanced over, then went back to watching the road. "My dad's journal."
"Oh." He stopped at one page and squinted to decipher the scribbling. " 'Nothing smells worse than a hell hound being burned. Take Febreeze with you.' Anyone ever tell you your dad is a scary person?"
"Yep," she said with a nod. "All the time."
"So... where is he now?"
"Dead."
He felt a genuine pang of regret at that, and covered one of her hands with his own. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely.
She shrugged, jerking her hand away and fiddling with the volume on the radio. "Yeah, well, he died doing his job."
"Hunting demons?"
"No, insurance salesman."
"How ironic."
She grinned. "You really are gullible, aren't you? Nah, hunting was his hobby. He died in the line of hobbying, though. A vampire got him from behind, nearly tore out his throat."
"Right," he said, sensing he was back in familiar territory. "Do you miss him?"
"Well, he doesn't call as often as I'd like--"
"I imagine it's hard, from a graveyard."
She looked surprised. "Oh, he sleeps in his house, not in a graveyard. I mean, a coffin and all, since he is the living undead, you know, but--"
"I swear, if you say his name is Blade..." He trailed off, glaring at her.
She flashed him a quick grin, turning up the music to full blast and flattening her foot on the gas pedal.
