Hello. Victor Trevor. Last time I checked I was 39 years old. I was born in Hertfordshire, and attended university in Cambridge where I met one of the smartest men I've ever known. My terrier, Ginger, actually gored his leg. Wouldn't let him alone after that. Sherlock Holmes, his name was.
We had a bit of a falling out in our mid twenties, but I won't talk much about that. Led me to leave England in favor of the exotic. India, to be exact. Got a job there developing vaccines and other substances on a freelance basis. It was a laugh. Plenty of women... and men... to go around. Now I'm back where I belong--the Mother Country. She's always been good to me, London. Couldn't very well desert her.
I fully intend to reconnect with Sherlock. Seems he's gone down an interesting path after we drifted apart. Wonder how he'll feel about an old friend.
(This is a Victor Trevor RP blog)
Victor burst through the door of his flat. “Lex,” he called. She was supposed to meet him at five thirty. It was a little past, but she knew where the key was if she ever beat him to the flat. He waited for a response. “Lex,” he called again. Nothing. She must be late getting here from the museum, he thought.
Shrugging, Victor hung his coat on the hook before extracting a little baggie from the pocket. “Where’s my other favourite girl,” he called. “Daddy’s got a bit of a treat for you.”
Ginger would most likely be lying on the sofa. On his way home from his new job, Victor had spied a shop dedicated to gourmet doggie treats that he not encountered before. Ginger had so few nice things in her old and tired life now, so he had decided to treat her to a nicely sized peanut butter bone.
He stepped nonchalantly into the sitting room, the bone hidden behind his bag. “Hello, old girl,” he said brightly, flopping down beside the dog.
When his hand landed on her belly to stroke it, Victor stiffened. Something was wrong. The familiar warmth of the furry body was completely void. She was cold. He sat up. “Ginge,” he questioned, giving the dog a shake. Her body gave a sickening little flop, but there was no response. Panicking, Victor fell to his knees to grab at the dog’s face. Her eyes were closed. “Ginger,” he said loudly.
It only took a moment to register that the dog wasn’t breathing. Victor shook the dog’s body again. “No. No, don’t do this to me. Come on, girl. Wake up.”
Of course the animal didn’t comply. Finally, Victor choked on his breath. “God,” he said. He let his front half fall across the still animal. “Love you, old girl,” he said thickly.
It was bound to happen eventually. She was over seventeen years old. Somehow, Victor just wasn’t ready for it.