dollsome | The Weekend Pastimes and Practices of Dwight K. Schrute (Dwight/Angela)

Title: The Weekend Pastimes and Practices of Dwight K. Schrute
Characters/Pairings: Dwight/Angela, Mose
Rating: G
Word Count: 574
Spoilers: None, really. Pretty darn general.
Summary: Because really. What does Dwight do on his weekends off?
Author's Note: Bwahaha, I posted a meme where people on my flist could ask my fandom opinion about anything, and

delleve asked what Dwight does on his weekends off. And, er, it turns out I apparently feel more about this subject than I'd thought. Ergo, random ficlet.

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Five o'clock on Friday rolls around, and the first thing Dwight does when he gets home is spend some time out in the fields, amongst the beets. It centers him. Makes him remember who he is and where he comes from. Inspires him more than any power rock ballad ever could. (Except Don't Stop Believin'.)

Then, he practices his paintballing. Mose is usually the target. It's more challenging, when you're shooting at something that moves. And Dwight won't lie to you -- he's pretty damn good. Mose never sees him coming. He's like a gazelle, and Dwight? Dwight is the lion. All he has to do is open his jaws and roar, and the gazelle is left quivering in fear, overwhelmed with the inevitability of its own destruction.

Not that Dwight actually roars. Not usually.

He has dinner with his uncle and Mose. Friday night is beet night, and they all eat in solemn silence. Then, he and Mose spend a few hours in front of the TV. Mose doesn't appreciate Sci-Fi Friday the way he does, and Dwight thinks he'd rather watch Gilmore Girls reruns. Sometimes, when Dwight is feeling particularly merciful, he lets him.

(Lorelai Gilmore reminds Dwight of Michael. She is dark haired and funny and charming and talks very, very fast. If only she existed, she would surely be Michael's perfect equal and soulmate. When he'd tried to tell Michael this once, though, Michael had just scoffed at him and called him something that certainly wasn't applicable to Dwight. Maybe Oscar.)

On Saturday evening, at precisely 6:30, Angela comes over. She always brings cookies, brownies, or some other delectable baked good. Mose makes dinner and then scurries on out. Angela frightens him.

There's no need to delve into how Dwight and Angela spend their time alone together. It's their business and nobody else's.

There is frequently physical contact, however. But you didn't hear it from him.

Dwight drives Angela to church the next morning. Gas ain't free, but sometimes she reaches over to clasp his hand in hers, quickly, before she climbs out into the parking lot, and that makes it worth it. One day, he might actually go to church with her like he knows she wants him to. (He would sit three pews behind her, of course, and they would never make eye contact. Their love should be kept clandestine before the eyes of God, she likes to tell him -- usually when his hands accidentally make their way to her blouse buttons.) Sometimes, judging by the stuff Angela tells him, he thinks Jesus could be considered one of the most kickass superheroes ever. Better than Batman, no question. Maybe not Superman.

He has never actually mentioned this to Angela. He thinks she would take it the wrong way.

After driving her to church, he goes home and psychs himself up for the coming work week by jumping around his room while blasting Foreigner.

Dust falls from the ceiling down in the workshop on the first floor, where Mose sits at the table whittling. He bobs his head slightly along to the music and muffled shouts of "I AM AWESOME! AWESOME!!!"

Dwight wakes up at 4:30 on Monday morning, refreshed and ready to endure another week of work at the mightiest paper company in the state, not to mention the world. And this week, Jim's not getting away with any of his idiotic shenanigans. Dwight will see him coming a mile and a half away -- no, scratch that. A mile and three quarters.

Easy.

Current Mood: silly
Current Music: Hot Blooded (Foreigner)