That Time You Got Us Kicked Out Of Denny's
Sometimes you gotta force people to realize that they need you. Pokémon characters, modern world setting.
Hey all. Got something new for you guys, see the accompanying journal for more about me and the logistics/reasoning behind my posting this. It involves pokémon; if that's not your jam, something non-pokémon should be posted in whatever constitutes the "near" future. Enjoy.
Tuesday, 5:26 pm
"Have a nice evening," the nidorino yawned, a flimsy piece of paper fluttering from his paw.
Stephen stuffed the receipt into his pocket, juggling his two drinks and bag of chips. "You too," he mumbled. Pinning the bottles between his arm and side, the electabuzz tore open his chips, and pushed open the door with his shoulder.
A warm, humid August met him, full of the sounds of traffic and trees, rumbling and rustling. An older truck idled before the gas station, its occupant a tall and haggard arcanine. Beyond the fuel pumps lay a chain-link fence and a couple of townhouses; some kids were playing in the empty lot separating the two. The salty taste of sour cream and onion crackled in his mouth. A breeze kicked up, playing with the leaves of the oak above, and Stephen slitted his eyes as the refreshing gust ruffled his thick yellow fur. Perhaps they were due a storm after all -- the sullen heat seemed to be stirring, reluctantly allowing the weatherman another victory. Good riddance, no?
Stephen dodged around the side of the building, into a dingy alleyway that ran back behind lofts and shops. It was several blocks to his apartment, but the electric-type was loath to occupy his car for such an insignificant outing, particularly on a day warm to the brink of discomfort. An empty coke bottle skittered across his path; he kicked it with bare footpaws for several steps. He wished he'd remembered to wear shorts; jeans did not suffer the breeze to pass.
The electabuzz popped a potato chip into his mouth, chewed, swallowed. He was starting to sweat. A dull clang sounded from down the alley and around the corner; someone was speaking quickly. Stephen unscrewed one of his sodas and took a slurp. It was Tuesday, half past five in the evening, and when he got back to his apartment, he was going to --
"...fuckin'bitch! rrrrrrRRRRRRRAAAAAGH!"
-- jump out of his skin as a flying blur halted abruptly against the asphault five feet from him. With a comical pop, it burst into a sparkling cloud, which rained sideways across the lot.
"FUCK!!"
Stephen had come to an abrupt halt, and backpedaled slightly. From around the corner came a resonating clang, and a roar.
Holy shit, did I almost walk right into a fight?
Blinking, his mouth full of un-chewed potato chips, the electabuzz swallowed. And winced, contorting his face, as he realized he was swallowing un-chewed potato chips. That'd sting for a couple days. He folded the bag gingerly, staring at the scattered mess of shapes on the pavement. He picked out a dark rectangle, and many smaller rectangles of the same size.
A cell phone? What the hell... Stephen leaned forward, and peeped around the corner.
In the back alley behind the gas station, a large green dumpster stood within a small enclosure of wooden fencing. Not to be outdone by the half-ton piece of iron, a charizard stood before it, wearing jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt with no shoes.
"fffFFFFFFUUUUUUUUCK!"Clang. BOOM.
The fire type's immense fist slammed into the side of the dumpster, so hard that it lifted the whole thing an inch or two off the ground. A millisecond later, it came crashing down, and Stephen fought not to hold his paws over his ears, as the resulting slam was joined by another roar, this one more clearly pained. He could feel the ground quaking underneath him.
When he looked up, the reptile was snarling and biting his lip, cradling his fist and looking down at it. With a furious bark, he gave the dumpster a sharp kick, and then stumbled and landed on his knees.
"Jesus FUCK, dude! Shut up!" Stephen shouted.
The fire type scrambled to his feet, eyes burning, and the electabuzz realized what a dumb idea that had been. "Who the fuck -- "
The electabuzz was saved from having to come up with a rapid exit strategy, however, by a flash of recognition that left him slack-jawed. "Malcom?"
The charizard's slitted eyes widened, and for a moment he looked equally floored. "Steve? The fuck are you doing here?" In contrast to his earlier profanities, this one was of entirely different tone; he sounded quite bewildered.
Stephen raised his bag, and shrugged in a can't-a-guy-go-buy-some-chips sort of way.
Malcom eyed him. He didn't seem to appreciate the electric-type's attitude, or indeed his presence. Scowl returning, he turned back to the dumpster, seeming of a mind to give it another punch.
"Uh. Something wrong?" Stephen asked, somewhere between nonchalant obliviousness and blatant acknowledgement of what he'd walked into.
The charizard opted for a kick. This one, however, was a good deal lighter, and served only to jar Stephen's eardrums. "Mind your own fuckin' business..."
Annoyed, the electric-type inserted one finger into his right ear and rotated, attempting to work some feeling back into the numb canal. "Not trying to do otherwise, asshole, you're just disturbing the peace right where I'm trying to walk. I haven't seen you in months by the way, hi wassup."
Malcom gritted his teeth; his fists were balled. "Now -- is -- not -- a -- good -- time."
"I can see that, you're clearly too busy breaking your phalanges and giving yourself impacted claws. Not to mention destroying my -- "
CLANG. BOOM!
" -- will you fuckin' cut it out?! Jesus, what the hell?!"
"I'm sorry," the charizard spat, rounding on him. "You are free to walk right on past me. You have nothing to do with anything happening in my life right now. You still have a fucking job, you still have a fucking car, and YOU did not just get kicked out of your apartment by your two-timing cuntwhore of a girlfr -- EX-girlfriend, who just told you she's craigslisting all your shit! So unless you have a better suggestion of something to beat the shit out of besides the dumpster, or you want to volunteer, SOD THE FUCK OFF!"
Stephen, who was now staring an extremely angry charizard in the teeth and taking stock of the amount of spit that had just been expelled onto his fur, blinked at least twice. "Holy shit, dude," he said, tone considerably subdued. Unable to contain himself, he slowly unfolded his chip bag, reached into it, and popped a couple chips into his mouth. It felt rather like he'd stumbled onto a soap opera while channel surfing.
Malcom stared at him.
Nonplussed, the electabuzz offered him the bag.
The fire-type regarded him for a second, completely incredulous, and then snarled and stuffed his paw into the chip bag, wings rattling.
"You really think she's serious?" Stephen asked.
"She changed the fucking locks," Malcom spat.
"Ooh. Ouch."
"Yeah, no shit," the charizard growled.
Clouds were rolling in above. A small gust of wind pushed the bottle Stephen had been kicking past them; abruptly, the charizard roared and punted it, sending it sailing across the lot to break against the chain-link fence. "DAMN it!" His tailflame surged as though doused with gasoline.
Wordlessly, Stephen offered the bag again.
Malcom stuffed a paw into it brusquely and crunched. "These are good chips," he grumbled. His flannel shirt rippled in the wind, blowing out behind him like a cape and baring his white undershirt.
"Help yourself," the electabuzz replied, handing him the bag. Malcom probably needed comfort food more than he did, right now. "You really shouldn't do that shoeless, though, you could hurthhholyshit your paw's bleeding."
"Yeah," Malcom grunted, not looking at his right paw, which had been hanging by his side and now held the chip bag. It was a bit... drippy. There was a noticeable patch of blood on the asphault. "Busted my knuckles pretty good."
"Hell, Malcom, you better get that cleaned up, that's bleeding a lot."
"Shut up," the charizard growled. "I have to figure what to_do_. Ugh, the fucking WHORE, I'm gonna go over there and -- " The charizard extended his paws in front of him and clenched them.
Stephen listened to his chips being pulverized. "Hell no, the last thing you wanna do right now is talk to_her_."
Malcom rounded on him. "The fuck you on?! I just got kicked out! She is_going_ to craigslist my shit -- "
"Dude, think about the situation you're in! A domestic violence charge is the last thing you need! You go over there in a state like this and you're just asking for more trouble."
The charizard growled, snarled, and dumped the remaining chip crumbs into his mouth (a significant number ended up running down the sides of his face). "What the hell am I supposed to do, then, General Stevius? Just sit here on my tail and beat the shit out of a fucking dumpster?!"
"Well, you really need to calm down, first of all."
"Calm down. You tryin' to get punched in the nuts?!"
The electabuzz ignored him patiently. "Did you eat lunch?"
"Nah, was kind of busy being locked out of my apartment for no immediately apparent reason," was the caustic reply.
"Figured. You're gonna need something more to eat than potato chips. You got any cash on you?"
"Singles."
"That'll buy Denny's, I guess, you'll feel better after a proper meal." Stephen glared at him for a second, before giving a resigned sigh. "Come on."
"Like hell, I don't need your help -- "
"Oh for the love of -- " Steven threw his paws up and started pacing. " -- fuck, would you shut up with the macho asshole act already? Says you, you've got no job and no car, and unless something_big_ has changed in the last few months, you've got no friends neither -- "
" -- Steve -- "
" -- so unless you're planning on living in the street or getting arrested for assault and battery, it'd be a fucking grand idea to accept my help before I come to my senses and remember what a_huge douchebag you are_ -- "
"STEVE."
"What?!" The electabuzz spun back around from his tirade.
Malcom was staring straight up at the sky. "Uh... It's raining," he said, voice flat.
The electabuzz blinked; he'd felt a couple drops, now that he thought about it. "Oh, yeah, I guess it -- "
The fire-type looked down at him sharply and siezed his own tail. "Uh, hello. If this goes out I'm going to need a lot more than fucking Denny's!" he growled, waving the flame in Stephen's face. "More like a defibrillator!"
"Oh, shit..." the electabuzz grumbled, feeling like an idiot for having forgotten his type weaknesses temporarily. "Come on, my apartment's not far, it's not raining hard..."
The two shuffled off into the ensuing sprinkle, Malcom stuffing his tailflame under his shirt -- though it was, in fact, quite capable of setting things aflame, the fire-type could also keep it from doing so in situations where a normal flame would prove highly incendiary. Behind them, Malcom's blood mingled with the water and remnants of his cell phone, and the plink-plink-plink of rain on the lip of the dumpster seemed almost a victory dance.
Tuesday, 6:08 pm
"Just go sit in the bathroom," Stephen growled, wiggling his key to get it out of the knob. "I don't want you dripping blood all over my apartment."
Malcom complied with minimal guff, paw currently located in the shopping bag that had held Stephen's soda. The former contents of the bag bounced once when tossed onto the couch; Stephen ducked into his bedroom to stuff his wallet and keys into the drawer of his nightstand, which was not their usual place. Not that he didn't trust Malcom... but, well, he didn't trust homeless and angry Malcom.
The charizard was leaning on the sink when he entered. He'd found the first aid kid, and had washed his paw decently; he was now attempting to apply ointment.
"Here, give me that," the electabuzz muttered, taking the tube.
"I can do it myself, I don't need a fucking nurse!"
Stephen just gave him a look. "Really? You can put a bandage on your right paw securely with your left?"
Malcom glared. "Yeah," he said defiantly.
"Think it might be a little easier for me to do, you know, with two paws?"
The charizard scowled. "Shut up and do it then."
The electric-type rolled his eyes and grabbed the other man's paw. Neosporin on, roll of gauze, anchor around the wrist, wrap wrap wrap. Finish it off with some medical tape.
"Uh. Thanks," the charizard muttered. He could be a real asshole -- Stephen recalled only too well now -- but his temper didn't always have the better of him. Just usually.
"No big. Come sit down, relax. Jack or UV?"
"Oh god," Malcom groaned, flopping on the couch. "Jack. You're the best..."
A glass clinked as ice landed in it; liquid glugged. "Drink up, man. You've had a shit day."
Malcom downed a third of the glass in one massive gulp. He drew in an ice cube and crunched it between his sharp teeth.
Stephen set the bottle on the coffee table, within easy reach of his guest, and then took a seat on the edge of the easy chair facing it from the other side. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, paws folded. "So."
Malcom looked at him, and made a low grumble, swirling his whiskey in its glass. "At least turn on the TV, wouldja? Gonna be awful fuckin' quiet in between me talking."
The electabuzz nodded and grabbed the remote. He only had over-the-air, because it was all he needed -- a burst of static, and then the afternoon news broadcast was blaring. He dulled the sound to background chatter.
Malcom took a drink.
"Really wasn't much of a surprise," he growled, teeth showing. "I mean, didn't see it coming, but... We've been on the rocks for months. It's been hell."
"How come?"
The charizard gave him kind of a sharp look, and Stephen considered that perhaps he shouldn't pry into a relationship so newly finished. "There were... breaches of trust." He coughed. "Cheating. Other things."
"Ah."
"Yeah. That just kind of set it off. But I mean..." He sighed, swilling. "It's just been a whole shitload of things all at once." A brief, slightly shamed glance. "I ain't, uh, had a job since I got fired."
"Wow, really?"
"Yeah. Economy. Lot fewer shit jobs than there were a couple years ago, eh?"
"Yeah."
"How's fuck-wad-ville, same as when I left?"
"Dunno, actually. I quit not long after you got fired." Considering the whiskey idly, Stephen instead opted to grab one of his sodas.
"No shit, really? You were the only guy there with any sort of job security, heheheh."
The electabuzz rolled his eyes. "If you call not talking back and being to my shifts on time job security."
"So why'd'ja leave, then?"
"Because it was a shit job, like you said. I only had it to pay the bills, anyway, and my freelance projects finally picked up. As soon as I figured I could keep writing rent checks without it, I was outta there. Didn't even give notice, fuck that place."
"Heh, sweet."
On the TV, a feel-good story was playing; something about a charmeleon with an incurable disease who loved surfing.
"So... where is it you work now?"
"From home, mostly. Meet clients sometimes, but I do all my 'work' right there." Stephen gestured vaguely at the large monitor atop a folding desk in the corner.
"Fuck. Rub it in, why doncha," Malcom growled.
"It's actually not as cool as you'd think," was the reply. "You have to concentrate on work shit even when Crysis is right there, and it's hard to keep to a schedule. It is nice not to have to commute, though."
"Wish I knew how to do that shit."
Stephen wasn't really sure how to reply to that grumble. The two men sat in silence for a moment, tuning out the television.
"So I guess getting fired didn't go over well."
"Hell no." The charizard huffed, swallowing the last of his whiskey. "Weren't the first shouting match we had, but sure as hell wasn't the last either. She didn't bring it up for a while after that. Was pissed about it, but the quiet bitchy kinda pissed. Didn't start riding my ass over it until a couple months ago, 'When the fuck you gonna get a job,' you know. Never mind that I've been_looking_ and there's fuck all."
"I hear ya, man."
Malcom rolled the glass in his claws, glowering. The teenage charmeleon on the TV was doing his thing, tailflame encased in a protective plastic bubble with its own small air tank.
"Shit, it's been almost a year, dude," Stephen mused. "You must be totally broke."
Malcom scowled. "I don't wanna talk about it."
"She was paying bills, then?"
"Yeah." The big charizard didn't look like he appreciated the observation. "Like I said, it's not a surprise, it's just... Ugh, fuck!" He reached for the bottle of whiskey and began pouring himself another glass. Outside, the drizzle had become a downpour.
"What exactly happened between you two today?" Stephen asked, soothingly.
Malcom grumbled up a storm. "I had an actual interview! First one in months! Left at like eight to walk downtown, since no cab fare and I wasn't about to ask_her_. She knew about it, of course, no way she couldn't."
"How'd it go?"
"Not great. Sweating from the walk, kept getting distracted, and I don't think he liked the jeans," he growled, looking down at his pants. "Kind of... put on some weight, I haven't been able to afford anything more formal. Said he'd call me." Malcom snorted, gulping alcohol. "Waste of time. Then I went back home, another two hour walk, and boom, she's gone and my key don't work. I had to piss pretty bad and I was thirsty after the walk, so I went to the gas station. Then I called her and she says 'I'm kicking you out of my life' and we fight for a while, and then when I gave up and told her to let me in to get my shit, she says she's putting it on craigslist, and then hangs up on me, and I chucked my phone and started beating up the dumpster." Fuming, Malcom gulped aggressively. "Fuckin' BULLSHIT."
"Couldn't you have gotten the landlord to let you in?" Stephen asked calmly. "She had to have cleared the lock change with them, you can't just swap it out."
That only seemed to make the charizard more angry. "Fuckin' bitch transferred the lease to her name when it was up for renewal last year."
"Ouch."
"Didn't think much of it at the time, just after I got fired and all; was a better excuse not to pay rent than anything I could come up with. Not like I couldn't get back on it when I found a job, right? That fucking slut must've been planning this for months, I can't beLIEVE her! She's sure I'm out of the house and has the fucking locksmith over and then takes off to some girlfriend's house and waits for me to realize I'm homeless and call her like a fucking lost puppy! Probably with a fucking martini in paw, god damn if I only knew where she was, I'd..."
Stephen gave him a look.
Sourly, Malcom sucked on Jack Daniels's fluid. "She's enjoying this, believe me. Bet she wishes she could see me beg in person. Too much of a coward, though. Bitch. Maybe if I'd had a car she wouldn't've had enough time."
"What happened to your car, anyway? You had one last year."
"Totaled, bit after I got fired," Malcom grunted.
"Holy shit."
"No kidding. Some idiot in the parking lot, slammed into each other at an angle. Insurance company decided it were my fault, which was bullshit. I only had liability on it, though, so I got fuck all. Couldn't afford another one since I got fired, not to mention my insurance rates would be sky high now." Malcom shook his head. "Not even angry about it anymore, so much stupid bullshit since then, and now_this_ -- ah, fuck dude, sorry." He'd gestured aggressively with his drink, slopping whiskey onto the carpet.
"No big." Stephen's eyes were a bit wide. "You're really in the shit."
"No job," Malcom mused. "Really low on cash, been trying to save it. Did a couple odd jobs here and there, nothing steady, and not often enough. No car, cause of that fuckin' asshole. Relationship went to shit, haven't heard that much screaming since I was a kid. And now I guess nowhere to live neither," he growled. "And no cell phone cause of that stupid bitch. Fuck." He was getting drunk; Malcom could hear it in his voice, and supposed that perhaps whiskey hadn't been the best thing to offer an angry charizard with an empty stomach. Still, it seemed to be mellowing him rather than heightening his discontent; he'd lapsed into a slouch, and his voice had gained a lazy tone rather past caring about anything in particular.
Stephen regarded his friend -- if indeed the other male truly qualified as such -- with a critical, somewhat disappointed eye. It wasn't really fair to blame the guy, but he had managed to get himself into a spectacularly bad situation. The electabuzz couldn't help thinking that, with the innumerable ways that Malcom could have prepared better for the things he was now dealing with, surely some of his predicament was due to negligence, poor choices, or downright stupidity. It was probably terrible, but it was probably the truth. There was a point at which someone had to be accountable for his actions, even in the face of outrageous fortune.
And yet, despite his harsh thoughts, the electric-type found himself feeling more uncomfortable than he expected, given he'd never much liked the guy. The fact was, douchebag or not, Malcom looked... rough.
He was right, he'd gained weight for sure. As a pretty tall guy with the typical broad-hipped, narrow-shouldered build common to charizards, he'd never been 'slender', but he hadn't looked noticeably out of shape back at the convenience store. Now... He wasn't fat, he was just bigger. More imposing, but also somehow less impressive, like he'd been built up with wax and would melt if exposed to excessive heat. The typical bowed charizard belly was broader and protruded more; his thick thighs were meatier and wider-set; his massive tail positively bulged out of the sleeve in the back of his jeans. There was no flab, just a general, uniform softness, a blurring of skeletal lines and the subtle hints of muscle.
Perhaps that was an unfair assessment as well, though. The charizard was slouched back on the couch, resting on his sacrum, legs splayed and tail flopped between them; an unflattering pose even for someone in good physical condition. Was it too harsh to say Malcom had let himself go? Probably, he wasn't obese.
It was more than that, though. His skin looked... drawn, sort of dry and inelastic. Though he had always had a rather light, golden-tinged complexion for a charizard, he seemed even paler, having almost a dusty cast. His eyes looked sunken and dark. There were visible wrinkles on his face -- small, but present. Stephen couldn't recall those being there when they'd been co-workers. How old was he again? Early thirties? Charizards were hairless, and yet the electabuzz found himself picturing the other male with unkempt, untrimmed chinfur. That was the aura he put off.
His clothing was further unremarkable, looking at best well-used. Stephen thought he remembered the other male's wardrobe as a bit less... shabby. The long-sleeved plaid shirt, bunched up at his elbows, and wifebeater tucked into his jeans were straight off a thrift store rack. And he'd just come from an interview? Stephen wouldn't've looked twice if he'd walked past the charizard somewhere downtown. Slumped in a gutter next to a bottle of booze.
That was probably too harsh. Thinking thoughts, at the very least.
On the television, Mr. Surfing Charmeleon did a flip to emotive music, while a voiceover revealed that the chronic disease that had driven him to pursue his dream of surfing had claimed his life since the making of this documentary.
The dilapidated charizard stared at his drink, not leaning forward to pick it up again. His eyes were burning with a quiet flame much like that at the tip of his tail. His stomach rumbled audibly.
Stephen peered out the window, where the sky was an odd shade of orange from both the late afternoon hour and the stormclouds in the sky. "Looks like it's mostly past now. You hungry?"
"Starving," Malcom growled.
"Let's hit the den." The electabuzz stood, going to grab his wallet again.
"That's what I'm talking about." Malcom grabbed his glass of whiskey and swigged.
"I'll pay if you need."
"Like hell you will, I have enough for fuckin' Denny's," Malcom grumbled. "Barely, but." He gulped more alcohol.
"Maybe you should leave that," Stephen remarked somewhat disapprovingly, shutting the TV off.
The charizard shot him a glare. "The fuck happened to I've had a shit day?!"
"Hauling your belligerent drunk ass out of Denny's isn't really how I want to spend my evening. You've had most of two whiskeys on an empty stomach."
"You gave me the shit, dude."
"Hey, you wanna get smashed, fine by me, just do it tonight, and somewhere I don't have to be respon... si... "
Defiantly, Malcom tossed the remaining contents of the glass back. His large jaws slammed shut, pulverizing six ice cubes with a series of squealing cracks. "Fuck you," he snarled out, between them. "We going now, or what?"
Stephen gritted his teeth, watching his more-or-less-unwelcome guest return his glass to the table with unnecessary force. "Sure."
The two stalked their respective stalks out of the apartment, door slamming behind.
Tuesday, 7:49 pm
By the time their food arrived, both were too hungry and too bored to hold any grudges from their spat. Malcom tore into a grand slam with frightening voraciousness, and seemed unimpeded by his considerable inebriation.
"So yeah, that was a huge deal after you got fired, company was in and pulled all the books, whole staff was shuffled around. Bob was all condescending and authoritative for most of it, and then boom he was out of there." Stephen was chewing scrambled eggs noisily; some part of him was telling him he shouldn't talk with his mouth full, but he was hungry, and seriously: it was Malcom. "Kind of hilarious in hindsight, wish I'd seen what they got him on."
"Asshole. He damn well better have had as hard a time findin' work as I have."
"Manager, bro, I'm sure he just waltzes into places. Compared to us, at least."
"Yeah. And then right back out when they realize he's so incompetent." Malcom brandished half a pancake on his fork. "Bet you anything he was the one who took it."
"The official story was management as a whole was inflating loss reports. Not a peep about where the money went, they all got shuffled around except Lewis, and he was demoted to shift leader." Stephen found himself smirking. "Your old position, technically."
"Man, fuck him, how come he got to keep that shitty job and I didn't? I didn't even do anything!"
"Late to work at least once a week, arguing with Bob constantly, cussing in front of customers and getting complaints about it..." Stephen ticked off fingers.
"I only got a couple," Malcom grumbled.
"Not mopping up after your shifts, teasing Miranda until she almost filed a harassment lawsuit..."
"She 'almost filed it' against everyone on the staff, you included; I wasn't even the worst. I didn't even really hit on her, she was just a ditz. With huge titties." He guffawed a syrupy guffaw.
"Refusing to stock the fridge, refusing to clean the bathroom..."
"There was a fuckin' turd in the sink!"
"Yeah. I know." Stephen glared. "I cleaned it so you wouldn't get written up_again_, remember?"
Malcom grumbled. "Still... Lewis, really?"
"He probably just was aware of what was going on and didn't report it; I'm sure if he was involved he would have been booted."
The big charizard chewed on a breakfast sausage pensively. "I mean, why didn't they offer you the position?"
Stephen snorted. "Me, really? My last performance review included the words 'hostile', 'zombie', 'monotone', and 'unhelpful'."
"If being bad with customers meant you shouldn't be managing, none of those assholes woulda been doing it."
"Maybe so," Stephen allowed. "Still, not really my idea of a good time."
"Fair enough, dude."
Malcom had mostly polished off his plate of breakfast food; Stephen was a bit behind. Outside, the cloudy sky was growing dark; gentle rain continued in starts and stops, and the wind had kicked up considerably. The table behind Malcom was a bustle of harried parents and three children of various ages settling them.
"So."
Malcom looked up at him. "So?"
"Cheating, huh?"
Malcom looked down again. "Uh. Yeah."
The electabuzz slurped egg off of his fork, trying to suppress judgment for the moment. "Guess it was already pretty bad," he allowed.
"More falling apart," the charizard agreed. "Just... kept doing what we were doing or someshit."
"Who with?" Stephen's voice was colored morbid curiosity; much as the idea filled him with distaste, it was strange and somehow fixating to consider his proximity to someone who had dodged a mate's trust for passion.
"Randos, mostly. Rampardos. Creepy-ass Banette. Seviper, I think. Look, do we have to talk about this?" The charizard stabbed his last bit of pancake.
"Nah, forget it."
"Wasn't really serious, just one-offs. If it'd been serious, I wouldn't be sittin' here_now_, now would I? Heh."
Stephen smirked a little, noting how the charizard continued to discuss the topic in spite of his protest. "Well, since you're bringing it up... You got anyone you can stay with? Parents?"
Malcom blinked, and jerked his head no, tossing an opaque look at the electric type. "Haven't seen dad since I was a kid; mom's dead. Told you that at some point."
"Ah, that's right, you did." Stephen squirmed a bit in his seat. "No... siblings, anything?"
"None I speak to," the charizard said shortly. He chewed for a moment. "I got a couple friends I can try I guess."
"Well, that's something." Stephen fumbled in his pocket for his phone. "You know their numbers?"
Malcom's chewing ground to a halt. "No," he groaned. "Aww shit. They woulda been in my phone." He raised his paws, muzzle sinking to meet them.
"Ah. Facebook maybe?"
"Don't use it much. I could try though." The charizard huffed, and drained the remainder of his cup of coffee, before covering his eyes and forehead with both paws. His head reclined back to rest against the wall. "Fuckin' everything was in that piece of shit."
Stephen felt a weird tingle in his spine, remembering seeing Malcom's cell phone exploding into a shower of silver plastic, before he'd even discovered what exactly that visual signified. "It was pretty stupid of you," he agreed.
"Shut up," the charizard grumbled. "Think I don't know?"
Stephen sighed.
Malcom glowered.
"Separate or together?" the waitress chirped.
"Separate," both men said, in irritated unison.
Malcom was breathing hard. As soon as the waitress had left, he slammed his fist down on the table, making the silverware clatter. "Ugh, that fucking bitch, she was so smug... All this is her fault, I wouldn't'a chucked my phone if she hadn't been such a goddamn whore!"
"Easy, man," Stephen said; he'd jumped as his plate rattled. "You can't do anything about that now." He hesitated. "You're in this situation now and it's not going to resolve itself today, and probably not tomorrow either."
"Thanks for stating the obvious, genius," the charizard sneered, crossing his arms huffily.
The electabuzz gritted his teeth. "You don't have anyone you can call? Nobody you're on good terms with I suppose?"
Malcom opened his mouth angrily, and then hesitated. "...No, not really," he grunted reluctantly, avoiding Stephen's eyes.
The electabuzz frowned, shuffling the last of his eggs around on his plate, and then sighed. "Alright. Well. I guess you can crash with me for a couple days," he groaned, reluctantly.
Malcom slowly looked up at him, bewildered. Then, abruptly, the sides of his muzzle tightened into a snarl. "Didn't ask if I could, did I?"
"I'm telling you." Stephen rolled his eyes. "Since there's literally no one else you can -- "
"Shut the fuck up!" the charizard said, rather loudly.
"You're homeless, dumbass!" Stephen reminded him, more quietly but with equal irritation. "You need my help, even if you don't want to admi -- "
Malcom was on his feet, hunched over the table. "I don't need your fuckin' help!"
The restaurant had gone abruptly quiet. Everyone in the building was very still, staring in their direction, many of them with their mouths slightly open.
"Bullshit, you don't!" Stephen found himself on his feet as well. "You're in a hell of a situation and_guess what_ -- " Something in him snapped. " -- It's all your stupid fault, you prick! Your life is a shitstorm because you're an asshole who can't fucking control himself, so you get fired over and over again and wreck relationships and when you fuck up you have no one to fall back on because you're such a fucking DOUCHE to everyone!"
The mother sitting behind Malcom covered her nearest son's ears.
"I got myself into this situation, I'll get myself -- "
"HOW?! You have literally no plan! You never do! You're just ranting and bitching, it's like you don't even realize how fucked you are! If you weren't such an idiot you'd be_begging_ for my -- "
"I DON'T. NEED. YOUR FUCKING. HELP."
Stephen flung his arm out toward the window, as though dismissing Malcom's obtuse fury. "Look outside!"
Malcom stared at him, seething, teeth bared and tailflame bright, sure to light anything it knocked against ablaze. Then, he glanced toward the window, a short, quick glance, and then a slower, longer one. Rain was flowing down the glass; the parting lot outside was dark and gloomy, lit by a few wide-spaced halogen lamps.
"Where are you going to sleep tonight, Malcom?!"
The only sound was the hiss of rain outside. Their waitress was halfway back to the table, a bill in one paw, a pot of coffee in the other. Her grip had gone slack, and the pot was tilting enough that there was now a small brown puddle beside her foot.
"What are you going to eat tomorrow?" Stephen huffed, struggling to stop shouting. "How are you going to get a job, or a car, or a damn cell phone again? If you've even thought as far as getting ANY of that stuff back." The electabuzz was panting. "I'm offering to help, not because I like you or think you're worth the effort, but because you're so colossally fucked that I feel like I have no choice. If you really want to tell me I can just walk away, then_good fucking luck_ because I will not look back."
Malcom was still staring at the window. His fists were clenched.
Slowly, he looked back at the table, and then up at Stephen.
It was clear he was still angry.
It was also clear Stephen had won the argument.
"A, uh, a-hem."
A short, nervous lopbunny in a neat dark shirt and dark slacks was standing beside their table. Stephen glanced at her, and then sighed. "Yeah, yeah, we're leaving. Uh, you. That's our bill."
Wordlessly, the waitress skittered up, and the two men fumbled in their pockets and slapped cash on the table, before skulking out of the restaurant. Everyone was still staring.
Stephen shoved open the door, pulling his jacket tighter around himself as the first raindrops hit him, and made his way toward the car. A moment later, Malcom sprinted past him, tail stuffed under his shirt again. The charizard huddled against the passenger side of the car, squinting up at the sky and shivering, as Stephen made his way more slowly around to the driver's side.
They piled in. Stephen started the car, lights flicking on and illuminating the falling droplets. Malcom pulled his tail from under his shirt, casting a dim light around the cabin.
They pulled out into the night, Stephen steering as though his car was larger than it was, and going the speed limit for once.
About three turns into the commute, Malcom's gruff voice sounded over the revving of the engine. "Uh."
Two more turns.
"...I can, uh, still crash with you, right?"
The rain splattered against the windshield and rushed around the wheel wells. Stephen edged around a storm drain that had backed up in the earlier deluge.
"Yeah."
The streetlamps transitioned from halogen to LED, and then back to halogen. Stephen cruised past the gas station where Malcom's phone lay in pieces, and turned right, circling the block. The rain had lightened somewhat, but the charizard still ran up the steps of his apartment building, and pressed himself against the facade.
Down the hall, up the stairs, double back. Stephen performed the ritual -- insert key, jiggle, turn, jiggle. The apartment was dark and somewhat foreboding, until Stephen flicked the kitchen lamp on, and it suddenly became cheesy.
"Get smashed if you want," Stephen muttered, indicating the whiskey. "I don't care, I have more than I should. I got some shit to do for this commission." Pacing past the couch, he hopped into his computer chair and poked the power switch.
It was quiet, after that. Mouse clicks and keyboard clacks. He didn't normally work this late, or this much in one day. At least he'd be ahead on this project, come tomorrow.
When he glanced over at around ten forty-five, Malcom was sitting on the couch, in the same spot he'd been earlier. He was staring in the general vicinity of his knees, eyes unfocused. He hadn't touched the whiskey.
Stephen watched the charizard for a moment, and then stretched. "You wanna go to bed?"
Malcom looked up after an abnormally long moment, and then nodded. "Yeah," he grumbled. "Tired."
"You had a hell of a day. Couch is all yours." The electabuzz hit 'Shut Down', and made his way over to the short end of the L-shaped studio apartment, where his bed was. He turned on the light on his nightstand, and then attacked his bed, pulling the top blanket off and removing one of the pillows.
Returning the few feet to the couch, he handed them to Malcom silently, and then went to flick off the kitchen light. The charizard was still sitting, holding his blanket and pillow, when he returned to the dimly lit space. A moment later, he sighed and lay down sideways on the couch, fully clothed. A roll pulled the blanket over him and left him facing the couchback, away from Stephen's bed.
The electabuzz flicked off his bedside light, and the apartment was dark, lit only faintly by the single window. The rain had finally stopped, but it was still cloudy outside. There was no moonlight.
Stephen stripped off everything but his boxers, and crawled into a bed one blanket lighter than he preferred it. With a long breath, he settled himself comfortably. It was quiet.
"...Uh... we cool, dude?" Malcom muttered.
Though hardly a literal apology, Stephen understood it as such. "Yeah," the electabuzz yawned. "We're cool."
Ten minutes later, the only sound was Stephen's even, soft, slightly snoring breaths.
In extreme summary, this story started out based on a setup another author wrote a very long time ago on AGNPH, which I used to frequent. It's changed considerably since then, and is now more of an exploration of temperament and how it's possible to feel complex emotions - sympathy, affection, caring, worry - for someone who is unquestionably a raging douchebag. And, as always with me, an exploration of the quirks of sexuality. There will be more, assuming I write it.