Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Dogflesh for Dinner ❯ Chapter 1

AN: Hey, for those of you who live in America (of course, would fans from another country really be reading a Thanksgiving fic...?), what do your families normally eat for Thanksgiving dinner? I guess pretty much everyone does turkey and mashed potatoes, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the other dishes probably vary a lot... like, does anyone else have beats, or are my parents just weird? (sweatdrop) We never have corn, either; it seems like maybe we should have corn... What's worse, though, is that they went Atkins a while back, so for the past couple years, we haven't even had mashed potatoes - instead, my mom makes - are you ready for this? - mashed cauliflower T.T And on a completely different note, how sick would this holiday be if the turkey had actually become our national bird like it was initially supposed to...? I wonder if we'd still eat it at all, or if that'd be illegal? (sweatdrop) Other than that, this is my first PSoHs fic, can't imagine why I haven't written one before, but I hope it isn't too cliché or OOC or anything :) Enjoy, and have a happy Thanksgiving, ya'll!

 

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They really made the most comic of pairs, in a macabre sort of way, D reflected, as he observed them without being observed. The lady was - there was no possible way of phrasing it eloquently - fat, grotesquely so... seams stretched taut and skin hung loose... Then, overshadowed by her great bulk, was the dog. D felt a thrill of horror chase up his spine to see its ribs standing out in low relief.

 

“May I be of assistance...?” he inquired, pleased to see the lady jump.

 

“Ah... yes...” She seemed rather flustered at his sudden appearance, and she tugged absentmindedly on the dog's leash as if to remind herself what she was here for. “I know this is really something I should be asking a vet about, not a pet store owner, but a friend of mine recommended you so highly... she bought a parrot here last week, I believe...?”

 

“Ah,” D said mock-thoughtfully. “I think I recall... She had some sort of illness, didn't she? Is she feeling at all better, by any chance?”

 

“All cleared up, actually,” the woman boomed; she seemed to be regaining her footing now. “Anyway, about this dog... he has appallingly bad manners; no matter what I do, I can't seem to train him. He eats anything - books and furniture, even!” The beast seemed to shrink even further into the shadows at the woman's feet as she spoke. “Is there anything you could recommend? Some special training, or medication perhaps...?”

 

The Count smiled sadly. “Actually, I'm afraid some animals are just like that; it's in their nature,” he said gravely. “However, perhaps I could interest you in a trade-in...?”

 

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“But, my dearest detective... are you sure this is really appropriate?” D murmured worriedly.

 

“Aw, come on, it'll be fun,” Leon assured him, with just the slightest hint of a smirk.

 

Just do it! Chris chimed in enthusiastically.

 

“But...” he repeated, thoughtfully feeding half of his tea biscuit to the rather emaciated-looking dog on the couch next to him, “but, isn't the centerpiece of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner generally... a turkey?” He glowered at Leon. “You can't possibly expect me to eat that.”

 

The detective held his hands up defensively. “Naw, of course not! But we'll have mashed potatoes and cornbread and all that stuff, too...” His smirk was much better defined this time. “...and there will be home-made pumpkin pie for dessert...”

 

D smiled brightly. “What time?”

 

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“Mr. Orcot! I can't believe you!”

 

Leon sweatdropped. “Well, we could always buy the stuff if you really want... if there's still anything left in the stores by now... I just thought you would prefer home-made.”

 

“I thought it was suspicious that you asked me to come over for dinner at three o'clock,” D hissed, “but it never occurred to me that `home-made' would mean `made by me'!”

 

Leon sighed dramatically. “Alright, fine. I might be able to figure it out myself, I suppose...” He contemplated this, and grimaced. “If I burn anything, though, I'm blaming you-”

 

“Outrageous-!”

 

“-or I could just call Jill or something...”

 

Chris tugged on his shirt. Hey, don't get mad... D looked down at him, and sighed as well. “You can't do that!” he said firmly. “She's probably getting ready for her own celebration right now...” He scowled darkly. “You're helping, though. You can cook the turkey, since I won't be eating any.” From the guilty expression on Leon's face, that might have been precisely the task he'd been hoping to get out of.

 

Even though Chris volunteered to help too, the tense atmosphere followed them into the kitchen. Leon, who had been reading the direction on the turkey's plastic wrapping with a somewhat dubious expression, suddenly set the carcass down again with a `thunk'. “You know, Count...,” he said in a warning tone, and D found himself having trouble not smiling; it was so easy to tell what was coming with this man, sometimes... “Yesterday, I handled a case where a woman was found mauled to death by her dog... or at least, her friend that we interviewed said she'd had a dog, and the teeth marks were there, but we never found a dog, even though she was found inside her house with all the doors shut. But you know what's really interesting? That same friend also said that she'd recommended your shop just a little over a week ago.” His gaze was piercing, challenging... D arched an eyebrow wryly.

 

“Hmm, a woman with a dog...” he said, stroking his chin. Leon rolled his eyes irritably.

 

“Name of Rona Lovelace,” he snapped. “A... um... big woman... Hey, not like that! I mean... er...”

 

“Obese?” the Count supplied smoothly. He arranged his face into a study of innocent perplexity. “Ms. Lovelace? Well, how odd. Very odd indeed. She did come by my shop a few days ago, saying that her dog wasn't eating right... I offered her trade in - but it turns out that she hadn't really considered just getting rid of the dog before.” He chuckled pleasantly. “A rather simple mind, but what can you do? I was happy to simply take the poor child off her hands, since she didn't seem too fond of it...”

 

Leon's brows wrinkled. “So you're trying to tell me that... Rona didn't have a dog...?”

 

D's expression was downright angelic. “Not unless she got one somewhere else, my dear, no.”

 

“Ug, you... one of these days...” Leon muttered mutinously. Nevertheless, after that some of the heaviness seemed to lift from the air. Chris helped D assemble the ingredients for the pie, while Leon struggled with the innards of the turkey.

 

Have you ever celebrated Thanksgiving before, Count? he asked curiously. I suppose you probably don't have it in China, huh...?

 

D chuckled. “Hmm... Come to think of it, I'm not actually really sure what this holiday is supposed to be about. Other than turkey, of course.”

 

Leon nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, you gotta have a turkey. You're missing out. You hafta eat until you're sick to really get in to the spirit of things...” At Chris' glare, he laughed nervously. “...But, uh, I suppose what it's really about is right in the name, after all. It all started when the first people came to America-”

 

“The first people?” D raised both eyebrows this time. “Surely you mean the first Europeans...”

 

Leon waved a hand carelessly. “Yeah, yeah... So, the first winter looked like it was going to be really hard, but then the Indians brought them food, and they had a feast for everyone because they were so thankful.”

 

D laughed. “Is that so... wouldn't it have made more sense to store the food and make it last...?”

 

Leon shrugged defensively. “Hey, that's just what I remember hearing. Besides, they were hungry! So anyway, now everyone has a feast of their own to celebrate that, and all the other things they have to be thankful for...”

 

D's smile was rather peculiar as he stared into the bowl of half-mixed pie filling. A celebration of survival and thankfulness... is what it appears to be on the outside, but... a never-ending cycle of feasts, more food than anyone could possibly need - is this merely survival, or...? “And what, Leon, are you thankful for?” he half-whispered.

 

Leon grinned a childlike grin. “Well... tons of stuff, I suppose. I've got a house - okay, an apartment - and a job. I'm young and healthy, and then there's Chris, and y-you - and, um, I've got all this food, of course...” D grinned rather hugely himself, and Leon suddenly became very busy with the turkey.

 

Chris, giggling, tugged on D's shirt again. And, what are you thankful for, huh? he asked, rather suggestively.

 

Looking rather distant, D swooped a finger along the edge of the mixing bowl and stuck it in his mouth, eliciting a scandalized gasp from Chris. Hey - me too, me too!

 

Thankful...? He observed the shifting contours of Leon's back as he worked. Oh my; could it be that I am thankful for... simple minds...?

 

Owari