Errands

Saturday was hardly full of adventure, but Arnaud did have to run a few errands and Meyer didn't feel like being alone in an unfamiliar apartment, so he tagged along. They piled into the aardwolf's dented-up 2007 Subaru Forester and hit the road early in the morning, after the two of them shared a light breakfast and Arnaud had a chance to take a shower.

Their first stop was Mead's Drugs; it had turned out that Arnaud didn't actually buy any melatonin, and he needed a refill on his anti-anxiety meds anyway. While Arnaud was at the counter putting in his refill, Meyer waited in the stop smoking aids aisle, looking at the various products on offer: patches, pills, lozenges, gums.

"You should get some," came Arnaud's voice from behind him. He jumped a little. "They worked really well for my dad," Arnaud said, helpfully.

"Smoking was, like, your dad's religion. I never thought he would ever quit," Meyer replied, without looking over his shoulder.

"Neither did he, heh. Television production's stressful enough, but he managed. Once you couldn't smoke in the studio anymore he really didn't have a choice."

Meyer frowned. He could hear Arnaud continuing to nag him in the back of his head, but he should be a good houseguest and at least make the attempt. New year, new me, he laughed at himself. He grabbed a package of Nicout Cool Mint flavor and Arnaud's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, Meyer, I'm so--"

"I'm warning you right now, Arnie. If you make this a whole thing it's just going to make it harder, all right?"

"All right, all right," the aardwolf said. His tail wagged anyway, betraying his promise to not get excited.

Their next stop had been the Hollyhawk branch of the Plymouth County Library System. Arnaud had a few books to return. It also happened to be where Arnaud worked, so naturally he got caught up in conversations with his coworkers while Meyer waited in the car, staring at his pack of nicotine gum and playing with the box flap.

He instead got out of the car for a cigarette. He managed to finish two before Arnaud had finished up, carrying a fresh stack of books back out with him.

"I thought you had books to return," Meyer said, dropping the butt of his cigarette and crushing it out with the heel of his shoe.

"I did, but then I heard they got in some new books about late renaissance European colonialism so, you know, I just had to check those out, and then my boss Gretchen wanted to talk to me about our upcoming Books for Kids drive, so naturally that conversation took forever, and anyway, I'm sorry, but I'm back now. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"No, not too long," Meyer said, visibly frustrated.

Arnaud didn't pick up on that at all.

Their final stop of the morning slash afternoon had been the local video store. Twin Spindles had managed to survive the Licensing Age by trading in new and used physical media; internet access in Hollyhawk was okay if you had cable, which most people did, but the tape and disc was king.

Ted, a malinois who'd run the store since his dad retired, greeted the pair as they'd come in. "Hey, Arnie! Who's your friend?"

"Oh, this is Meyer, an old high school friend back in town for a little while," Arnaud replied. Meyer lifted a sheepish hand; Ted replied in kind, though a bit more enthusiastically.

"We got the new Captain in, if you're interested!"

"That's tempting but I'm still watching it on TV. I was actually wondering if you had any..."

Meyer let the two of them catch up. He ran his fingers along the spines of the DVDs on the Romance rack, letting his eyes wander. The store smelled musty, like it'd been here for a hundred years. The walls were covered in old movie posters clearly taken from the town's only theater, with a few racks devoted to selling theater candy at less-than-theater prices for the enterprising home movie buff. Rows and rows of DVDs, Blu-Rays, and even VHS tapes extended the length of the shop.

He made his way to the Thriller section and found a copy of Four and Twenty Blackbirds, shrink wrapped. He pulled it off the shelf and examined it. This must've been sitting here since it came out, back when Meyer was in what he'd called his "gap year." He remembered (barely) getting sloshed (yeah, yeah, he was 19) with a couple juniors from Plymouth County Tech. The movie itself wasn't that interesting, some unsolvable murder that turned out to be the detective the whole time, but it made for great background noise while the three of them lazily fooled around with one another. Eventually the movie had stopped and the beer had ran out but the hands were getting handsy. Meyer didn't remember much after that, but he remembered it was a great hookup.

Didn't remember the movie, though. Maybe now was a good time to give it a watch?

"Nah," he said aloud, mis-shelving it.

Arnaud came up next to him. "You ready?" He caught a glimpse of the case Meyer had just put back. "Four and Twenty Blackbirds, eh? I remember that being kind of 'ehh'. Good acting, bad writing kind of deal. I think I have a copy at home." Arnaud gingerly plucked the DVD from its wrongful location and placed it in its rightful one.

"Did, uh, you get what you came here for?" Meyer asked.

"Nah," Arnaud replied. "Got something else, though! Classic Thundercats. Someone recently sold their whole collection, can you believe it? I was only missing the two discs, myself. I hate to break up a set, but if it means finishing mine, well...anyway. Ready to go?"

"Yeah, yeah, I mean, I was born ready" said the hare.

They got back to Arnaud's (their? thought Meyer) apartment and unloaded the goods before turning right around and heading back downtown, towards D'artagnan's.

D'artagnan's could best be described as a dive bar if only because it was slightly run down, though it was the largest music venue in the area. Having been in the town for over 60 years, it was on its third generation of ownership. It used to be one of four bars owned by the same literary-obsessed people, though the other three shuttered long ago, so now only D'artagnan's remained.

Arnaud managed to nab a parking space close to the front and the two of them went in.

The inside of D'artagnan's was a lot of wood paneling and wooden booths with cracked vinyl seating around the perimeter, with a reasonable sized stage occupying the back half of the bar. Some tables dotted the floor, mostly two- and four-tops, whereas the bar itself had about thirty or so stools for regulars. The configuration of the bar itself would vary depending on the type of show they were putting on; tonight it was just the house band, so there wouldn't be any special setup needed.

"Mickey!" Arnaud chirped; the pangolin behind the bar turned around and smiled at Arnaud.

"Arnie! Good to see you again, kiddo," he gruffly shot back.

"This is Meyer, he's a friend from high school, he'll be in town for a while." Meyer managed a sheepish raise of his hand.

"What brings you down here this early on a Saturday?"

"Looking for Cliff."

"Hmm. House band ain't here yet m'afraid. Might wanna try waiting around for him. Can I get you something in the meantime?"

"Ah, darn. No than--" Arnaud began, before Meyer interrupted him.

"Vodka soda bitters?" the hare said. Arnaud rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break, man, I need some...revivification."

"Single or a double?" the bartender asked.

"Single, please, God," Meyer replied.

"Rough night?"

"Rough couple of years," he said sullenly, sliding onto a barstool. Arnaud joined him, reluctantly.

"Arnie, you want anything?"

"Um...well, how about a Sprite, I guess?"

"Haha, sure."

Mickey got the pair their drinks and stepped away to take a phone call. Arnaud and Meyer nursed their beverages in silence for a moment or two. Arnaud was the first to break the silence.

"Hey," said the aardwolf.

"Hey what?" replied the hare.

"I'm sorry about all the stuff you're going through, My."

Meyer felt the fur bristle on the back of his neck. "I sense a 'but' coming."

Arnaud frowned. "No 'but.' It sucks you're going through all this. I'm just happy to help how I can."

"I know," Meyer replied, pulling the straw out of his glass and taking a longer-than-usual pull from his drink.. "I'm just...not used to help."

"Yeah, it takes some getting used to. You may not realize it but you were always there for me. You were sort of like, I don't know. A firewall? Between the jocks and me. I would have taken it on the chin a lot more often if you weren't there backing me up so often."

Meyer sat in silence for a little while. Arnaud took that as permission to continue.

"So, you know, I see you, and you're struggling, and it just. I just want to give back a little. Maybe help you feel a little safe." And loved, he didn't say.

Meyer looked over and tried to lock eyes with Arnaud, who was playing with his straw, staring at it as if it was the only thing in the world. His expression was a little incredulous.

"You know. The way you helped me."

"Well. Thanks, I guess," Meyer muttered into his glass.

The sound of a barstool clattering across the tile floor got Arnaud's attention. A lemur climbed onto it, then loudly scooted the stool back up to the bar. They tapped Meyer on the shoulder a few times. "Well, now. If I didn't know any better I'd swear that was Bradmeyer Leveret-Hasenkamp deigning to show his face in our little backwater," they said, "but that can't be! He's on to bigger and better, right?"

Meyer sighed. "Hi, Cliff."

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