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Chapter Text

January Fourth, 1993.
...

Burning rubber through an open wndow catches the twitching sensitivity of a rodent's nose, singeing her nostrils with the unfamiliar, yet striking scent. The sound of tires squealing into the ground doesn't catch her attention, but the voices that follows does.

"MITZI! MITZI MITZI MITZI GIRL COME DOWN HERE PLEASE! PLEASE WAKE UP HON! QUEENIE! QUEENIE ARE YOU HOME?! MINI?!"

Mitzi's nightie twists around her legs as she stands, running even before her feet touch the ground. She's already sprinting to her bedroom door just by the sound of Billy Bob's voice, strained and desperate and clawing out towards her satellite dish ears on this cold winter night. She can hear her mother yelping with alarm on the floor below her through the hard-wood, similarily jumping to her feet. Mitzi slams her door open and throws herself down the stairs, her bare feet stomping dents into the old wood of the old house. She skids to a stop just halfway down, taking a hold of and hurling herself over the railing, skirt billowing around her waist and all. Mitzi bolts to the front door, wrenching it open, just barely avoiding slamming the solid wood into her mother's face as she peeps through the little hole. The fox doesn't flinch, side-stepping straight out of the way like she's done it all before.

Mitzi's bare soles hit the cold concrete of the front porch, wet and icy, slighty white from the snowfall that started up just a few hours ago. Her heart sinks with the face of the grizzly before her, fist raised and even wavering in a knock, halted by the opening door. Billy Bob throws himself into the arms of the young-woman, collapsing to his knees without anything to support him. The start of words come out, but they're quickly blubbered over, falling into nonsensical gibberish that soon brings way to gut wrenching sobs. "Mitz--" Billy Bob bellows out with a wail. He buries his face into her shoulder, wracked with shakes like a broken down washing machine. Mitzi's heart jumps into overdrive, releasing this numb sort of adrenaline. A familiar adrenaline. This has all happened before.

"Where is everybody?! Are they okay?! Are you okay?! What happened????" She grips the other. Billy Bob's sounds prove to become even worse. "The BLAST! THE BLAST MITZI! It--!! Oh--!"

The grizzly bear's warbling becomes muted to her as he sticks his spinning head into his hands, ringing in her ears but not processing. Her emerald green eyes scan the enviroment, centering on the one thing that sticks out in the snow. A different van. it's not that beat to pieces half-silver 1976 Chevy C20 Dook owns, the name of which remains forever burned into her head by the amount of times it's been said, with a spacey mural swatched half-finished across it's side. Gloria. But it's not her. The back-passenger side door opens with Rolfe tumbling out of the cherry-red van, landing on uneven feet, stumbling forward to remain standing. Fatz's hand sticks out after the forceful push, turning to then grip the exterior. The gorilla hefts out of the van with much resistance but little heed, stomping to the ground with his feet firm and moving. "Watch the paws, King Kong, we're all  RUSHING!" The wolf snaps uncharacteristically mad, using his bare paw to slam the door shut, rattling the van on it's wheels. "AND STILL! HOW CAN YOU BE SO GOD-DAMNING-LY STUPID??? BOTH OF THEM!"

Looney Bird jolts out of the van... through the driver's side window. Mitzi counts the members as they arrive, briefly eyeing them. Her dread increases. The back trunk to the van opens, and it dwindles. 

The back door closes, and there's nothing. The words being thrown around by the group only faintly register in her head, words like. "Gone." and "Took off." and "Count-down." and "Dead."

Her eyes focus dead into the van, scanning the inside, trying to glance through the unshining windows as the van sits beneath the one street light on this rural road, snowflakes falling down on top of the red vehicle. She shifts, peering through the...

The windows are busted out. Gone without a trace. Just like...

She opens her mouth, readying the words that would cut through the,, the arguing. The arguing of the two bandmates in front of her, snapping at eachother's necks like rabid dogs, a few of her most closest found-family growling and baring fangs at each other. Like they didn't know who anyone there was. They only know that something happened.

Her lips part, though silenced by her own volition. Her ear perks. Beach Bear steps around the van slowly, dressed in a way not unfamiliar to their Magic Nights they hold in the restaurants. Bowtie, black shorts. But really, the similarities die there. Especially the similarities in expression that the polar bear holds from between then and now. Beach Bear trudges through the snow, shoulders shaking in her sight even despite the distance the two share. His arms wrap around his waist in a way she's never seen, gripping his own fur, the strands stabbing through the gaps in his fingers from the rough treatment. Billy Bob lifts, exposing his cherry-red and wet-streaked face. He babbles some more, in a more coherent way, though Mitzi scoots her head past him, still trained on their second-youngest in the band. A hand rests on her shoulder, past Billy Bob's arms, one she recognizes as her mom. Her mother bends, collecting the man in her warm embrace, taking him from Mitzi. Rolfe and Fatz push eachother's limits, oozing with anger. But stress, worry underlays their tones.

Beach Bear's knees buckle as he walks, hoofing him to one side. He stands strong after the stumble, gasping wetly before he can right himself. He takes a few short steps towards the group, head turning very slightly side to side, reflective cat-like gaze jumping quickly between every member. The man stands there still, then takes another step. Just a couple of feet from the rest of the band, Beach Bear falls to his knees, paws cinched over his mouth like a muzzled cage, a wail piercing through the night no matter how muffled it brews. The polar bear collapses further, forehead pressed to the ground. Soon he loses even the effort to stay up and out of the cold, flopping into the snow like a frost-bitten animal. Choked and guttural sobs and whines echos from the small sparkling blanket Beach Bear buries in, the heat-loving beach bum of an animal succumbing to the cold, cruel, unforgiving touch of the ice-cold snow of the life they all know he can't stand. He curls, dark claws burying into mussed, blonde curls, yanking the pretty silk like a tattered rug.

Fatz lunges in the side of her vision and she gasps, yelping out as Rolfe hits the ground on his back with the gorilla saddled on his waist. A big, meaty fist jams around the wolf's throat, jimmying him back and forth. "I'M SICK A'YER BELLOWIN'! WONT'CHA SHUT YER DAMN MOUTH FOR ONCE YA COWARD!?"

"Ehhhhghh----!! You--!!! Earl----!!" He wavers the puppet in the air, miraculously able to manuever Earl to kick the other despite currently being unable to breathe. "GET OFFA HIM YA BIG NEANDERTHAL!"

"FATZ!" Mitzi jumps out of the fugue settling into her brain, jumping over Billy Bob and her mother, jamming her own arm around the gorilla's neck, though not yanking. "STOP STOP! FATZ STOP!"

The big man's hands fly off, to his own neck, and to Mitzi's arm. "I can't take it anymo'!"

"Please!" The mouse wraps and pulls on the gorilla's arms, yanking him back with a surprising amount of force. She may be newly twenty-three and still the same weight as her teenage years, but that didn't stop her from building good muscle. Fat compilies with little resistance, lifting himself off of the winded comedian. He points down at the other. "I don' wanna hear a WORD about stupid, nothing! How DARE you find a way ta blame him when he's GONE!? DEAD! JUST LIKE THAT AND YER STILL SHIT-TALKING HIS DEAD NAME!! HOW CAN YOU ACT LIKE YOU CARE?!"

"DID I EVER SAY THAT I DIDN'T?!" Rolfe snaps right back, hoarse and raspy. He coughs hard, wheezing after. "It's stupid to build a death contraption thinkin' it's gonna work!"

"IT'S HIM ROLFE! CAN'T YOU PUT THAT ASIDE INSTEAD OF BITCHING ON THE DAY HE DIED?!?!"

"Who's DEAD?!" Mitzi cries out, shaking Fatz violently. "DEAD?!"

"Can'tcha see who's missing?!" Fatz yowls, stabbing his hand towards the unfamiliar vehicle sitting abandoned in the flourescent streetlight. The rodent shakes her head. "No. Where is he? Y'all can't joke ta me about that kinda stuff! Y--- You know I can't take it! Not when that happened! You guys now how bad that-- that messed me up--!" Her voice chokes. "Please don't tell me he's-- He's not really,, not really--!? Y'all are gunna--" Mitzi laughs wetly, a disturbing smile creeping across her face. "Y'all are gunna tell me he's just sittin' in the back waitin for me ta come up, right!? Jump out and,, scare me like ya always do! When I was a kid! He's gunna jump right out!" She nods, looking down towards the ground, already struck with the visions of it happening in her head. Mitzi sniffles, scrubbing her palm across her eyes. Fatz grabs her wrist, soft. She YANKS out of his grasp, stepping down the porch with ease, like she's just going for a walk. She trains her eyes straight on that unfamiliar van, storming up with a goal in mind. She steps softer the closer she gets to Beach Bear, however, uncertain. Mitzi watches him carefully, curled and shaking, gasping like he's sobbing. No matter how hard the sight hurts her heart, she just,, can't believe it yet. She needs to see him. Needs to see his stupid face when he realizes this prank didn't work.

Beach Bear doesn't try to stop her, doesn't even say anything. He lifts his drenched eyes to her own bittered gaze, panicked and frenzied with his hands in his hair. He pants without a solid intake of breath, huffing and puffing on the ground like he's been punched right in the lungs about fifteen times, by a truck. Beach Bear's blues fog towards the fridgid white beside him, still panting and wheezing in the snow around him.

Her eyes well up but Mitzi passes him on with a shank in her heart, stomping right up to the rust-bucket. She stares down the windows, and yeah, they sure are broken. Probably that shockwave that hit a couple miles away from the state they're in now. She lifts her fist.

"*BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!*"

"DOOK! YOU BETTER GET OUT HERE BEFORE I DRAG YA BUTT OUT BY YOUR EARS! YOU DOLT! WHERE D'YA GET OFF JOKIN' LIKE THIS?! I'LL REALLY MAKE YA DEAD IF YOU WANNA PLAY LIKE THIS! DOOK!!!" Mitzi jams herself into the empty window-well, jerking her head around the backseat. Beach Bear's sobs become harder and louder, soon muffled by his clutching hands. "Mitzi hon..." Billy Bob calls quietly with a sicky tone, bated slightly, only enough to talk and strained like he's holding back vomit. The rodent stays unhearing, leaning to peek in the driver's-side window. She hops out and all but runs to the back of the van, wrenching open the doors. She slams them shut soon after, coming back around to the side. Mitzi wrenches open the door and throws herself in, angrily jamming her nightgown down where her spindly tail wants to lift to match the straightness of her tail-bone. 

Rummage after rummage comes, and enevitably she starts throwing things out of the van, a toolbox, Looney Bird's old and now destroyed computer. A bass drum is yanked, but doesnt budge, so she leaves it with an angry squeak. A blanket, her ever present magazine from inside Dook's van, a bottle of cologne and a wrinkled tie stuffed together. A gold chain. The glass vial shatters on impact, Mitzi's throw misjudged. She invites the crashing of glass splitting apart anyway. "Hear that? Better come out or it's more things!"

No sound comes.

...

The longer she looks, the further her heart sinks towards her toes. "No... No, he's here! He's here somewhere I know! Where'd y'all tell him to hide?!" Her voice bellows out of the busted out windows. Billy Bob blabbers into her mother's chest, clutching the woman in a vice grip. "Who's gunna tell me?! I'll force it out!"

"Mitzi. Come over here." 

Her mother's voice rings like a final toll, chilling Mitzi's fired bones. She stares, thinking. "Do you know?" She attempts.

The ginger-furred woman shakes her head. "Come here, baby. It's okay."

"No he's-- He's here. He has to be here, I don't... I don't know where else he'd be. Y'all are lyin' ta me, I know. I know." She repeats.

Her mother's mouth goes flat, pulled across her face. "I know these guys. YOU know them. Do you really think everybody here would be crying like they are now if it was just a silly little joke? I think he's gone, honey." Her own eyes become wet. "I've only met him a few times. I'm really, very sorry. To all of you. I... Does Dingo know? His family? Do you,, care to say what happened?"

Billy Bob shakes his head. "It's all ova' the radio, the television."

"What?" Mitzi drags herself out of the van, slapping the door shut, even though it doesnt really halt the snow falling into the vehicle. She begins forward, slowing closer to Beach than the rest of them. "What's on the radio? What are you talkin' about?"

"Queenie,, I don' know if they broadcast it ta where Dingo's at. That's London ain't it? The don' even know what it was." The grizzly sniffles. Mitzi's mother sighs. "I'm not sure. He's from Liverpool too, not London. Chances are... he's with the rest of his family. Dook... he was... in that Blast? Yes?" She tilts her head, a tad bit tired, seeing as it's brutally late. "How?"

Beach Bear whines deeply, coughing. Looney Bird, who's sat twiddling his feathered fingers, standing on his two shaking bipedal legs, singed and tattered lab coat draped on his small-statured body. "Me. I did it. I ffffffflubbed it all up. The computer lagged. I pushed it anyway. Sent the whole thing blowin' inta the sky." He stares deep into the ground, hollow. "There was a little bit of chance when it first happened, but, at this point... I think I killed 'im." 

Looney bird's eyes drag into the sky, gazing into the deep black. "I'm sorry."

Beach Bear sniffles hard, taking a good deep breath through his mouth. And another.

And another. 

He parts his lips for one final time.

"He finally made it up there-- N-now he's... Now he can be happy living in the stars while his c-c-corpse  deteriorates into stardust. He probably burnt up in the atmosphere-- I just can't believe I never got to tell him--" Beach Bear's face hides in the security of his paws. "Dook! I just wish I could've seen his face one more time before he went! I was going to see him I-- I never got to tell him one more time. I never got to tell him, I didn't--- He never told me---"

Mitzi stands there.

The morbid thought brews in her head that this snow isn't even snow. 

Maybe it's ash.

A wretched howl sounds from Rolfe's parted lips.

...

Space. The final frontier. 

That's what he always thought of it to be. Since he was a pup, since he was able to think, to feel. Brewing and bubbling, toiling in in his mind like the one true answer for everything in life. That's his final chapter in this normal, unfulfilling trek he's lead, leading into the glittering and gleaming story that is the stars and beings beyond Earth's sight. It's been everything he's ever wanted. And yet... something he could never have. Thought he could never have. Five long years. And it all added up to... this. 

Every story has a start, right? And for one Dook Monroe LaRue, well, it'd end up being a really long start from the day he was born. But this start isn't exactly too nice either. 

...

Five years before The Blast. 

...

The sounds of heaving and bile splattering across the pavement mark this occasion, Dook's face shoved to the ground from the force of all the liquid courage,,, liquid suppression flooding, jumping up his airway, tearing at his eyes. He heaves heavily into the emerald strands, spitting that foul taste that never washes away onto the road the concert stood right over. A hand clutches his ears, soft in it's securing grip. The other's voice only serves to bring more tears to his glazed over navy blues, punching through his bleeding heart. "Dook you told me you stopped." Beach Bear tones aches with worry, hurt, dissapointment, maybe even anger. Dook can't bring himself to look, nonetheless begin to speak. They'd only be the words of a sodden, drunken, pathetic hound dog. The words of a fool. Regardless, the sludge spews. 

"I'm sorry I'm sorry-- AUGH--" His stomach clenches hard, the mess is added to. The canine gasps, sucking in as much air as he can. Beach Bear wraps his arms around his shoulders still with his hand curled around soft brown ears. "I don't care, Dook. Please, please. Just stop hurting yourself like this, man!" The man's voice pinches desperately. It simply draws the both the tears. "I'm so fucking sorry--" "Just stop! Is it so hard?!" Beach Bear clutches him like the embrace of the heavens above, the heavens he doesn't deserve. The love he won't ever deserve. He can't even try to make up another stupid excuse, another lie that he tells himself every time the acrid taste sticks in his throat, soothing his mind by killing every sensible cell in his body. "I'm sorry Beach Bear I'm sorry. I'm fuckin' stupid, I've always been fuckin' stupid--" Dook's arms wobble as he's on his hands and knees, shaking from his stupidity and from the alcohol clouding his system. He whines pathetically from the pain in his gut, choked past his cinched lips. He pushes against the ground, raising his chest. Beach Bear pushes between his shoulder-blades, pinning him there in this embarrassing position before he can stand. "You're not stupid! Just stop! You're gonna throw up again if you try to push yourself like this! Why?!" "I AM!" The spaniel's voice strains, burning from the acid in his belly. "I'm STUPID! JUST GO!" He snaps. "Hell no!" 

It's obvious to the both of them that it wouldn't happen, that neither of them would let the other leave their sight for even a moment. Neither of them were in any state of mind to tackle such a strong addiction, a year long abuse that spanned each and every day, every hour, every minute of every moment that he was away from this wonderful, beautiful person he'll never have in the way that doesn't twist his brain and heartstrings into corded knots. 

They never left each other's side that night, never left each other in the next two grueling days of the concert Dook got dragged into. In fact, after those three days, those hours they spent together, wandering life, finding their way. They never left each other's side after that. Through thick and thin, summer to winter, dusk to dawn... 

Beach Bear never left him. 

...
Four and a half years before The Blast.
...

It was... a very simple sentence that spawned this event. 

"I've never really,, Yeah, I just never really got the full appeal of Christmas as a kid. I couldn't tell you." 

It was the way that Beach Bear said it, not the words exactly. The tone. The... smallest feeling of... loss. It broke Dook's heart. The band's collective heart. It was when they were on stage, y'know. Tossing jokes around, poking the occasional jeer at eachother, and all in good fun! It was a comment from Fatz outside of their very loose script for the night, just a couple weeks before Yuletide '89. The season of Eggnog, and being around family, sitting together near the fireplace with stories and good memories to share. And for some, well, the season of gifts. 

"Well, don't y'all out there partake in some off traditions ya'selves? Dont'cha got an unusual activity?" And that spawned a jumbled mess of words from the members of the band, squeakings from Mitzi and yaps from Rolfe's repitoire of fancy words he couldn't help but show off. Words, all except for Beach Bear. Not exactly an uncommon occurance. It wasn't an uncommon sight and sound to hear them all chittering along, only devoid of one. It wasn't like he was nervous, no. Simply waiting for a lull in the voices unlike the others. So when Fatz finally got through the rest of the band's ramblings, he pointed to Beach Bear with a question rolling off his tongue. "What aboutchu BB?" 

And that''s when Beach Bear said it. 

That's when Dook nearly swore on stage for the first time. "You've never--?! You-- How in heeeeeeee---- eeeeercules have you neva' felt tha Christmas Spirit??? Ya twenty-six fo' god's sake!" To that the polar bear had shrugged, a simple lift of the shoulders as his fingers twiddled along the taught strings of his pride and joy. "When you got folks like mine, it's always a bit of a toss up." Dook's hands slid through the air like a hot knife to butter. "Y'all are comin' over to the LaRue Christmas Party and I'm not takin' no fo' an answer unda' any circumstances." And even through the short complaints and the few enthusiastic shouts. Dook could never forget the stabbing grin threatening to split Beach Bear's face into two joy-overwhelmed halves. 

...

When the band stood outside the giant home that the LaRue's owned, it was a mix of emotions for sure. 

"C'mon ya guys, they're gonna love ya, I'm tellin' ya!" Dook jabs his open palm hands towards the big, quite clearly antique house before them, decorated to the nines in winter and Yuletide festive items galore. Strung up lights, blow molds of The Nativity set up and glowing peacefully in the powdery snow falling to the ground, an outdoor fan blowing paper ribbons dazzled with classy white-sheet snowflakes. There's reindeer balanced precariously on the sloped roof with no visual answer to how they were put up there and there's a pair of Santa legs thrown near the porch, smoke billowing out of the red brick chimney above. Past condensation frosted windows, multitudes of canines, and a few others meander in front of the glass, passing by eachother and some stopping for warm embraces. The stars are dark in the sky, blanketed by the soft white clouds illuminated by the full moon above. 

Beach Bear is the first to deny the offer, a hand lifted with words to follow. "Yeah, sorry, uh... that's a lot of stuff going on in there. I don't know what's happening and I kinda gotta know what's happening before I walk into somewhere. Kinda,, eight feet tall." His hands waved up and down his body. "And I hate to use that excuse but,, that's a lot of eyes." "Oh, Beach Bear, It'll be okay!" Mitzi had chirped happily, attempting to beckon the rest of them along. She bounded in front of the tall man, essentially taking the hound's side. "Won't you try? I can be a distraction!" She jittered excitedly, still just as hyper as she was at eleven years old till now at nineteen. "Please??? Just one try!" She begged. Dook had nodded to that, eyes aglow with a similar, inviting warmth even in his dark blues. "Ya don' hafta, but I know they'll leave ya be if that's whatcha really want. Ya not the first tall person they eva' met. My Aunt Joanna's around." His head shook slowly in reassurance. Billy Bob's way of reassuring Beach Bear involved a clap on the back and a bottle of indeterminate liquid he took cautiously, the bear wobbling just slightly with a boisterous grin on his face. "Why don'tcha celebra'e wit' the rest of us, Beach?" Surprisingly, Looney Bird raised up his wing from behind the grizzly bear, also with an excuse to bear. "Uh actually I think I left my shed on. My stove! I left my stove on! I'm leavin'." The bird turned tail, running in the same patch of snow, since Billy Bob has grabbed him. 

But out of all of them, the one to approach the door and ring the doorbell without a bit of hesitance was Rolfe, Earl held firmly at his hip, likewise with the other hand. "I thought I'd freeze my tail off if I had to hear one more complaint. Get on with it or you'll never do it." Dook had shrugged to that. Earl remained at the wolf's side, merely crossing his thin arms. "Y'all got problems makin' excuses fo' these nice folks." The spaniel jabs a thumb at the puppet. Beach Bear puffs a visible breath past an exhasperated smile, crossing his arms over his bare, scarred chest. "You're not helping." "I kno'." Dook grins right back, warm and welcoming enough for Beach to be set for the entire rest of the day. The door opens, swung with a paw by a relative of Dook's. A pitbull, dark brown and graying in color with white swatches across his face and hands. 

The man's hands raise, knocking the door further open. "Dookey!! And unannounced arrivals! We love ta have em!!! Whatcha'll animals doin' standin' in the cold??? We got a nice ass porch right here!" The dog jeers loudly. "AYYYY!!! Uncle Fido!!!" Dook points back at him. He swings the point backwards "This my--!" "*ROOF ROOF ROOF ROOF ROOF!!!*" In an instant three dogs, four legged dogs, peek their heads out of the bottom of the doorframe and then bolt outside barking a storm, two big mutts and a little one respectively. Nearly the whole band jumps to scramble away from the fast approaching animals, huddling close together out of pure instinct. Dook claps his hands together, though muffling the noise are his winter gloves. "AY! Back inside! Lula! Bad girl, go inside, don't chase 'em!" 

"ROOF ROOF ROOF!" Uncle Fido's barks trigger the dogs, all three of them whipping their heads back. They bound over to the anthro pitbull, waggling and whining happily when the man pets them between the ears. "Ohh, they're softies, it's alright. There's a lot more where that came from. Come on in, won'tcha? It's colder than a witch's tit out there! I'm boutta become one!" He luaghed boisterously, beckoning them along. "C'mon, c'mon! The snow's tryna join!" "Right--!" Dook rushes up to the door, jumping up the step, tripping, then pulling himself up to adjust his loose-fitting pants and wave them all inside. "It's chill! It's late so ya don't gotta worry about the screaming puppies." As Dook turns and walks into the house, the sounds of "UNCLE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKKKKKKEEEEY!!" comes past clearly audible in the screams of what sounds like a million different children, along with a "*THUMP!*" and a groan. Fido shakes his head, jabbing a thumb into the house. "If ya wanna take the back I get it." 

Beach Bear and Fatz both raise their hands. "Yeah I'll take tha back." "Honestly yeah, I'd rather not be mobbed like Dook was." 

"Mmhm." 

...

Through the back door the rest of the band comes, being lead around the back of the house and through their frankly massive back yard. Fatz takes up the lead, gently brushing Rolfe away from the stairs to trundle up them first, even despite the complaints that pop up from Mitzi and their in-house comedian. His slow gait leads Fatz to open the door past Fido, since the man has stepped to the side to allow for the gorilla's wider posture to fit comfortably between the rickety rails. It leaves Uncle Fido to be trapped between the door and the rail, although the pitbull takes no offense to the potentially rude action. He simply takes the handle and pulls the door closer to him to hold it open. "Ahhh, I gotchu, need a doorman to the event." Fatz tips his head to the similarly-aged gent. "Well I thank ya kindly! Thank ya for inviting us to ya home." Fido waves his white-fingered paw. "Oh, naww, this ain't my place. Might as well be. But naw, Fifi was the one they passed it down to. Uhh,, Dook's Ma. If ya didn't know. My sista'. I'm sure ya heard, Uncle Fido, Fido, call me whatcha want. Just not late ta dinna'!" He waves his own words away. "Anyway nice ta meet y'all! Fatz, right? It's the accent I'm hearin'." His pointing finger lands accurately. Fatz nods again as he twists the knob to the backdoor, swinging it open cautiously, then wide. 

"Sure am. Fatz Geronimo, but I don't care ta hear it in full, y'know? Gen'ral introduction stuff." He holds out his hand. Fido takes it after he shuffles and reaches past the door. They shake hands, though briefly. Uncle Fido wiggles his hand. "Sorry ta rush y'all but that chill's comin' in and that fireplace won't keep it toasty fo' much longer." "Right, my mistake." The pianist takes the hint and steps into the house, shuffling near to the side of the doorway. There's waves of dogs, anthro and full-animal beyond the eye can see, far too many for him to simply walk a line across the house. The man stands there with his hands folded, looking behind his shoulder towards the rest. "Well come on then! Ya wearin' out ya welcome!" Rolfe steps into the house next, offering the pitbull a "Rolfe. This is Earl. Happy Holidays." As he sets his bare paws on the hard-wood floor. 

"Howdy there!" Billy Bob comes up next, arms open wide, but, the door is still in the way. "Oh! Oops. Well, I'lllllll just,, offer ya a hello! Howdy! Mah name's Billy Bob, my friend here is Looney Bird." He points to the red bird balanced on his shoulder. "And uhhh... Oh Christ where's Choo Choo?!" The grizzly snaps serious all of a sudden. Mitzi offers a hand from the back of the "line" into the house. "I got him! You told Looney Bird to give 'im to me, Billy!" She giggles. Billy Bob sighs a big ol breath of relief. "Hooh! Thank goodness. I 'bout near had a heart attack." He sets a hand on his chest. Uncle Fido laughs full-bodily, like a bark in the fridgid night air. "Oh, I see ya started the party already! Not a problem. We usually save the drinks for when the tikes head ta sleep though. Again, not an issue." He holds up a hand. "Just teasin'. It's in mah blood." The grizzly's cheeks heat up with a hot honey glow. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn' mean ta overdo it. I'll be quite honest, it slipped my mind I was goin' anywhere today. I usually knock out visitin' family on Christmas Eve so I got the day ta m'self 'n Looney." He rubs the back of his neck. "Nice ta meet ya, Fido." "You as well." The dog nods. 

Looney bird waves to the man while Billy Bob steps into the warmth of the hearth, bringing him into what looks like a dining-room past all the people. Next up comes Mitzi, with the little bundle of joy that is the still youthful Choo Choo, held to her chest despite his age. "Hi! My name's Mitzi! It's good to meet you! I'm really excited to meet all of Dook's family!" "Aww, well thank ya, sweetheart!" Uncle Fido smiles broadly. "I'm happy ta meet such a pretty face too! Aren't you just the talk of the school?" He compliments. Mitzi nods with good confidence. "I'd sure hope so! Thank you!" She hefts Choo Choo higher up her hip. "This lil' guy is Choo Choo. He don't talk much. Actually, he can't exactly..." She raises and waves her green and red nailed hand around one of her big ears. "Hear anything. But he's an excited lil' bear!" She giggles, tickling the cub lightly with her nails. The bear giggles along in this gaspy tone, a laugh for sure, though unheard in his own ears. Uncle Fido points at the cub. "Ohhh! One of them deafs, right? Didn't know it happened so young." 

"Enhhh, uhm, yeah you could say that." She grimaces. "I don't really think..." 

"Oh. Duh!" The man slaps himself in the forehead. "I'm sorry, that came out like a bag a rocks. That's none-a my business. Why don'tcha just come on in? I apologize. We got plenty of different bodied folks in here that are gonna love that cute little booger." He brushes the back of his fingertips across the black bear's arm. Choo Choo startles, his head turning swiftly. Uncle Fido raises his hand defensively. "Woah! That's a cute face for sure." The little cub catches sight of the dog and he grins like the brightness of the sun, leaning away from Mitzi with his hands out. Uncle Fido smiles bright. Mitzi gasps. "Oh! Do ya wanna hold him? He's looking like he wants to jump right on you!" "Ohhh, well if it's alright, I don't mind ta take 'im. Choo Choo his real name?" He asks. Mitzi shakes her head. "No. It's just a nickname. I can't remember what it is honestly!" She leans closer and Choo Choo clutches Fido's blank t-shirt, anchoring himself to the new-friend he's made with the help of Fido's arm under his thighs. 

"Tends ta be that way around here." 

Mitzi steps inside. Fido steps forward, moving the door away from himself, then stepping in front of it, looking behind himself briefly before he pulls the door open again to go inside. His head whips back, bringing it to a double take. Uncle Fido's brows jump to the night sky. "Oh! God! I completely fo'got you were there, my bad! You blend right in with the snow! That's my fault enti'ally." Beach Bear laughs nervously, rubbing his hands together. "Yeah, sorry. I kinda do that. I can come in, right? I'd h-h-hate to be left in the cold." He shivers very lightly. "I know I look like I'm made for it." The pitbull waves his hand. "Of course! But ya look like a proper Beach Boy out here in the snow. A Beach Bear? So what's ya name?" The polar bear snickers, much like a snort. "Beach Bear. You got it dead on." "Ahhh... really? Another nickname, is it?" Uncle Fido looks him up and down, his eyebrows furrowing. "Uh... can ya step up here for a second?" "Oh, yeah." 

Beach Bear takes his hands out of his pockets, taking a hold of the railing with his right. He begins stepping up the tall stairs, and with every step Fido's neck cranes and his expression grows wider. "My God! Well ain't you the tallest banana tree in the jungle??? I thought Joan was the tallest in the house!" He eyes him up and down. Beach Bear chuckles lightly. "Yeah,, I get that a lot. It's kind of a problem to be honest with you." He offers his hands as a shrug. The pitbull hums to that. "Mmh, yeah, I'm sure it is. What'cha got goin' on here--" Before the polar bear can even react Uncle Fido reaches out, leaning down to peek under the fur he pushes away from the bottom of the other man's pectoral. It sets a dread into Beach Bear, weighing further by the eyebrow Fido raises at him. 

The pitbull raises his hands up, standing up straight. "Ohh, shit. Goddamn I'm sorry, I'm just on a roll with these fuck-ups today. Will lets me touch all over that kinda thing and I've just kinda desensitized it." He clears his throat. "Uh. I don't mean to pry, but." Beach Bear cringes hard, already unsure about this whole Christmas thing, along with this man he just met finding out about one of the bigger things in his life that he hates. "Yeah I don't really wanna--" "Wait, wait!" The pitbull's hands go down, shocking Beach. He slaps a hand over his eyes out of instinct. "I'm GOOD man." "No no not like that! Just look!" 

... 

Beach Bear opens his eyes after a long minute, slowly sliding away his hand. "Dude, I just met yyyyyy-- ohhhhh..." 

Scars. The same scars. Uncle Fido's shirt is pulled up just enough to show long-healed purple streaks under the man's pecs. The pitbull grins heavily. "Am I right?" Beach Bear's jaw slowly sinks open. "Wwwwwhaaaaaaattttt????" That shirt is pulled down and Uncle Fido points inside past the screen door. "Used ta be Fifi and Feli. Neva' rolled off the tongue quite right. I don' get why she got that kinda name when I got more of that dog in me than her." He pats his belly. "I'm gettin' real hungry 'n I already got inta the spread. Ya hungry?" The polar bear's eyebrows couldn't get any higher. "Damn. I mean. Yeah, you're right. I had no idea. I did not expect that." Fido raises his hands. "I didn' think a damn thing 'till I saw those scars peeking unda' there. Where'd you go for it?" "Somewhere as sketchy as your attitude." Beach Bear snorts. Fido shakes his head. "Ah, gotcha. Where else can ya do that kinda stuff?" The pitbull holds his fist out. Beach Bear returns the gesture with his knuckles bumping. Fido holds the screen door open. "Nice ta make ya aquaintance, Beach Bear. So. Hungry?" 

"Oh you know it." He makes his way into the house, expression slight like it couldn't be more obvious. By the time Beach Bear comes into the house, Dook has found has way from the front door into the dining-room, a woman standng close to his side along with another pitbull similar to her next to them as well, adding up to three different pitbulls Beach has seen so far. The only differences between the three of them are the lightness and darkness of their bronze furs, ranging from a graying chocolate, to a toasted marshmallow hue, and lastly a pale tan on the woman. An older woman besides the other pitbull sits in a wheelchair, skinny and frail with coke-bottle glasses on her thin snout. Uncle Fido points between Dook and the three, narrowing them down in order. "Guy to the left a' Dook is Teddy, that's mah sista' Fifi." Beach Bear points to the other male pitbull. 'What's the relation?" Beach Bear offers with curiousity. "Mah nephew. Dook's brotha'. The rest of 'em are around here somewhere. Grannie LaRue." He gestures to the little chihuahua sitting in the wheelchair, shivering away naturally. She lifts her thin paw up from across the room, eyes squinting hard. "Oye! ¿Me s-sirves una copa?" Dook's head whips to his grandmother. "Abuelita! No! Muy pronto!" Uncle Fido shakes his head while Beach Bear's face warms into a fond smile. The pitbull chuckles. "She's already askin' me fo' her Christmas scotch." "Really??" Beach Bear snickers. "I wouldn't have thought that in a million years." "Oh yeah. She's a drinker alright. It's kept her alive this long." The woman's hand falls slowly, turning her head to her great grandson. "¿P-p-por qué n-no?" 

"The kids, Grannie. Niños." Dook insists. The woman slaps her paw through the air. "N-never stopped. Y-y- you grew. Still aaaaaalive." She enunciates it hesitantly, unsure, pointing a shaking finger to her chest. Dook shakes his head with a sigh. Catching onto that sound, Beach Bear whistles a short high-pitched whistle, trying to grab the other's attention under all the sound. 

Every eye in the house settles onto him immediately.

His hands go up, and his ears slide back. "Jeezums." 

A cacophany of laughter bursts across the house, followed by howls. The laughter being the adults, and the howling from the kids, who are shushed soon after for fear of spawning complaints from the neighbors. But that whistle also spawns a gaggle of children to rush after the polar bear in the house, some bounding on all four while others run forward on their toes. "Oh-- God no--!" "*THUMP*" "Kids kids kids!" Mrs. LaRue ushers forward hot on their heels with a surprising rush, bare paws slapping on the hard wood floor. She scoops up three of them, but there's just so many, and they're wiggling hard, straining her weak back. Dook comes forward with help to offer, though his efforts are in vain, as he's soon swallowed into the pit by the excited puppies. "Agh! They got mah legs!" He stabs his hand out before he's consumed entirely. "Speak for yourself!" Beach Bear calls from the ground, flat on his back after being knocked down by the rampant amount of children. He picks one up by the armpits, settling the kid on the ground next to him. 

The child simply flops back onto the polar bear. "YOU GOT US BEACH BEAR FOR CHRISTMAS??????" One of the children shout with the piercing screech only youth can make. Beach Bear groans, raising a paw through the sea of fur. "Nooooo..." "Kids come on, off of him!" Fifi pleads. "Beach Bear!" "Beach Bear!" "Beach Bear!" "Beach Bear!" "Beach Bear!" "Beach Bear!" 

They scream and scream and finally a booming "HEY!" shocks the air. Everything goes silent. Dook's mother clears her throat, rubbing it gently, flicking her paw towards the direction of the living room and another flick towards the back door. "I told y'all to stop doing that, go on, living-room or outside! That's the fifth time tonight! I don' wanna make y'all go to bed." "Noooooooo!" They all collectively whine. Fifi shoos them again. "Go on. And no, a person cannot be your Christmas present, they all are guests. Now if y'all can have some manners and maybe apologize to Mr. Bear like good puppies. And kittens." She points out the two children sitting atop Beach Bear's thigh. The feline-dressed dog meows back at her. The biological kitten barks. Beach Bear snickers. "That's not my last name." All of the kids eyes shoot back. He rushes to speak. "It's Bear, It's Bear!" "So?" Momma LaRue continues. 

The kids eyes bounce between the two adults, then eachother, then back and forth. "We're sorry Mr. Bear." "...Mr. Bewr." Beach Bear's smile wobbles hard, even being knocked down to the floor he can't help but find it a little charming. "Aww, thank you. I've had worse happen, though." He snickers. Dook shakes his leg violently, dropping a child off of the limb. The kid bounds away on all fours. "They ain't trained yet." "Yeah, I can see." The polar bear's head shakes with a smile. "Is this how you acted?" "Nah!" Dook denies immediately, expression pinched. "I was a goo--" "Oh hell no you weren't." 

A tan hand with white patterns and fingers sets firmly on Dook's shoulder. Teddy's head jolts forward from the smack his mom gives him. "Stop swearing in front of the kids!" "Ow." He nips sarcastically. The pitbull shakes his head free of the short ache. "We all acted like that. You just refuse to believe it." "I don' refuse, I don' rememba' that." "Cause' you were up Neil Armstrong's ass." "*Whack!*" "Damn, Ma that hurt! Clapped me with your ring." He rubs the back of his head. She raises her hand back up, a threat. "I swear ta you Teddy I'll put you in the corner at thirty-one. Leading these kids wrong. And I'm sorry. But still." Mrs. Larue's arms cross. Teddy sighs. "Fine. Still." Dook rolls his eyes. "Right." That rewards him with a flick to the forehead. Dook growls back, his puny whine of one. "Christmas." 

"You're no fun." Teddy turns around and begins walking off, slinking into the sea of dogs, and others, before him.

Rolfe opens his big ol mouth from across the dining-room, mostly out of sight from the pups from all the other people circling around. "Wow, no love for Rolfe-y?" 

"*THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP*" "AGH--!" "*WHUMP*" 

"Ya just had ta say it. Geek." Small yellow arms and Earl's head peek from beneath the wolf. Droves of tails wag and whip, but Rolfe's own thick gray is noteable for how it matches their paces. Mama LaRue sighs, slowly drawing her hand to point at the dining table. "Help yourselves. Nice ta meet ya guys. I'll be sitting down whenever you wanna introduce yaselves. Or if ya don' want to, that's fine too. Just enjoy the holiday." Dook's face draws with concern. "¿Estás bien?" He offers.

His mother nods, rubbing his fingertips across her forhead, a soft, but worn smile on her aging features. "Oh, It's alright. Yeah, I'm okay, Dook. I just need to sit down with your father for a bit." "Yeah, okay!" Dook nods, his eyebrows pinched. "Ya want me ta get ya somethin'?" Teddy raises a hand as well. "Yeah." Her smile grows. "Maybe a cup'a coffee." "Yeah okay." The pitbull immediately gets onto task, ushering across the dining room and towardswherever their coffee pot is. The tail on the mother of the two men swishes slow, long and tired. "I love my grandkids, but they're a lil' rotten sometimes." She speaks into the air, rubbing her temples with her almond shaped nails. Beach Bear lifts his shoulders, pushing himself upright. "It happens. I'm fine." He pulls himself to his feet and off of the floor. "Better rioting then crying." "Lord yes." She smirks. "The amount of times I heard Dook wail, ooh. It's enough to make me wanna rip mah ears off." Her paw drops to her belly. "Always made me ache somethin' fierce hearin' em scream." "Oh, man. I'm sorry." Beach Bear rubs his hands together idly. "That's gotta be rough." "Yeah." Fifi spins the ring on her finger. "I'll stop badgering you, it's Christmas afta' all. Plenty of food, y'all can come hang out in the living room but I can't guarantee there's any spots on the sofa left." She offers. To that Beach Bear shrugs. "Well I don't mind to listen. I know it's awful to be stressed out on Christmas." 

The woman's face softens, dropping lax at the edges. "Oh. I'm sorry. Here I am blabbering about nothing again. Are you alright?" She reaches out, though not touching, like she's sensing something. Beach Bear hums. "Mmh, honestly? I'm trying," For whatever reason it just feels,, alright to be able to say it to this woman. Dook's mom. "It's kind of a lot. I... kinda spend Christmas in my apartment now, never with this many people. It's fine. But..." He twiddles his claws together. "It gets a little stressful. Winter's always stressful. I've never had a Christmas in a house with a bunch of people." He rubs his hands together and over eachother, like he's cold. Fifi sets her hand on the man's arm, only really similar in age to her own sons, yet she draws close to him with her arm sliding around the bear's back. "Well, ain't that an awful way ta live? Whatever you need, you can come get me. And the rest for your,, band. I'm sorry you don't like winter. It's one of mine 'n Will's favorite holiday seasons." "Oh, Willie?" The polar bear asks, the name popping to mind and outh without hesitation. Fifi's hands draw to her chest, over her heart. "No. No. Will's my husband, Dook's father. Has he told you about Willie?" Beach Bear cringes. "Oh, uh. Sorry. Um. Only a little bit. I didn't know that was his Pop's name too. I'm sorry to bring it up." "No, it's alright." The woman brushes her palm across her eye, though it's dry. "You reminded me of somethin'. I gotta do it before I go to bed." "Okay." Beach Bear nods, not wanting to pry further. 

In the few moments of lull, Teddy returns, bearing a lightly steaming mug. Momma LaRue turns to the sound of bare footsteps, holding her hands out. "Oh, thank you baby." She takes the mug into her thin hands, warming her palms on the glass. "Where's your brothers?" "Outside." Teddy points towards the back door. "They went out back a while ago, but I saw em move up there. I dunno what those two are doing. Dook's around. Might be out there too." She slides a hand towards herself in a beckoning motion. "Why don'tcha bring 'em in? Guests to meet 'n such." The mug raises to her lips, greeted by a nose twitch, and Teddy cocks his head. "I think I fo'got ta put yer seasonin's in." To that she lifts her shoulders, taking a sip off the coffee anyway. After a moment Fifi tilts her head to the window. "Gen'ral's fightin' ya brotha's." Beach Bear's grown out locks brush past his shoulders when he moves to see. Two other dogs are piled atop Dook, though there's only one out of the two of them that isn't struggling. The biggest of them all. Looking more like a Beagle and a Pitbull compared to the mix that Teddy and his mother resemble. Beach Bear tilts his head, squinting, as he alreadys knows this question might come out wrong. 

"I don't mean to be rude, but are you two full pitbull? I'm just kinda curious, I mean, I was always curious about what kinda dog Dook is. I could never pinpoint it down. Not like it matters! I don't know if it's rude to ask such a thing." He lifts his hands defensively. "Just intruiged." "Whatta you, a racist?" Teddy jokes with a jab at the other's belly, too short to poke a rib. The man's mother rolls her eyes with a hard sigh. "Do you really hafta be like that just meetin' him? Yes it's fine to ask." Beach Bear chuckles a tad. "Oh okay. Good. But really, I know how he is." The polar bear raises a brow, eyes shifting between the two of them. "We talked on the phone sometimes. Not much. Mostly just... When I'd try calling Dook seeing how he was." "Jackass." Teddy snips. 

Momma LaRue growls lightly. "Christmas. But, no, I'm not full pitbull and neither is Teddy. All my boys have a little bit a' everythin', I feel. Me 'n Teddy look the most like my father, he was a Boxer mix. Gran Gran was a Pit." She sets a hand on her boy's back, pointing a slightly chubbed finger out the window. "Gen's a bit of beagle on Will's side and a bit a' Pit. Major's a boxer mostly, but I dare say he's got a bit of Chihuahua in his snout." She smiles with a light in her grin. "Willie,, Admiral, looks just like his father, spittin' image. Will's a whole buncha things, jus' like me, but I've narrow'd him down ta Beagle and King Charles Cavalier-- Spaniel? Cavalier-? King Charles Spaniel? It's real long." She shrugs. "Dook's some of that too 'n some beagle. But I feel like there's some kinda breed mashed in there too with all my boys. I just never could get a straight answer outta Will. Says he can't remember-- we'd have ta go through his whole family tree ta find out." 

"Pinch of Labrador." Rolfe appears out of nowhere behind the woman, snapping his fingers. Fifi startles briefly, jolting in place. "Oh! Well isn't that a'bright smile full a' teeth! I'd reckon ya might be right. I'll hafta look inta it." "Thank you." The wolf puts a hand on his chest. "Yer inflatin' his ego." Earl gripes. Dook's mother laughs lightly. "You'll have to keep that away from the puppies unless ya want 'em to rip it to shreds." "Ma'am, I'd personally love to see them try." Earl's arms cross. 

Rolfe rolls his shoulders. "I'll make sure to keep him away from them, I assure you. Rolfe Dewolfe's the name!" He holds out his free hand. "Earl's my lil' buddy and comedy's what I do.I have a card if you're interested?" In a flick the little shiny paper appears between his fingers. Beach Bear scoffs playfully. "Dude, nobody here wants that." "Well,, maybe I want one." The pitbull plucks the rainbow shining card from between his lithe digits. "I happen to collect the buis'ness cards from the stands outside'a Wal-Mart 'n Harp's." Fifi looks around the room. "I'll go put this up. Teddy be a doll and get your brothers please? I can hear Dook trying to howl out there and it's gettin'' a tad pathetic." She snorts, head shaking. As she walks off her little chop nub of a tail peeking out waggles with her slow footsteps. "I don' know why he won't bite them anymo'." Teddy rolls his eyes. "Eugh. I probly know." Beach Bear glances out the window with a cringe, trying to narrow the brothers down without success. 

"Them white teeth'a his. Too prideful to break 'em or stain 'em. Again." The dog turns to go towards the door. "But yeah. ya never know if ya need a lawyer. Or a comedian." "His teeth are pretty white." The polar bear lifts his shoulders momentarily, eyes unmoving. The shocking blue meets chocolate once again. "Yeah court ain't fun. I mean, I haven't been to court, but some of the people I've kept up with from school tell me about their escapades." "Nah, I bet you been to court, jailbird." The mutt bites. Beach Bear scoffs hard. "Egh! That's all you. Not mopping the goddamn gas station floors." "Goddamnit!" Teddy scorns in a whisper. "How many people is he gonna tell that to?! It's not my job!" He storms off in a huff, yanking the front door open with a small vengeance. "Get out here and save your boyfriend, Beach Bear." "*WHAP!*" "Man, fuck you!" "Not on your life, short-stack." "Uh! That's my nickname!" "Dook your nickname's Shortie Slick-Hips I'm callin' yo daughter if you can't remember me callin' you that witht them thick ol' hips a' yours." Even If Lula can't understand Beach Bear, she howls regardless behind the door, bouncing on her four digigrade-pet paws. 

"I swear ta God, what did I say about it being Christmas?!" Momma LaRue's bark bellows across the house. "Agh!" Beach Bear yelps loudly and scurries to the door, shoving Teddy through the doorway and ducking to jam himself past the frame, not wanting to face the wrath of a southern mother. Fifi meanders through the living-room, taking slow, easy steps towards the couch. She takes up the spot that opens on the farthest side of the couch, next to a table and an occupied, stained and worn recliner. The man, grey with some white spots and with ears,, mostly similar to Dook's, reaches over the table between them, taking her paw to place a kiss atop the back of it. His voice is gruff and raspy, fingers gentle as he rubs them across her work-worn knuckles. "That back a'yours givin' ya trouble?" 

She sighs, her folded ears twitching on her short-furred head. "A little."

...

"Yagh--!" The moment Beach Bear steps outside he's stabbed with regret, shrieking like a stuck pig, hands flinging towards his mouth not only to mute himself, but they also slide there as he tries to huddle all his limbs close to himself in an attempt to cease the sprinting of the warmth from his body. "Oh holy crispy crackle it's cold!" "Ain't it? It don' ever snow out this far south!" Teddy steps down all three of the thick steps with just a lean of his body, stepping away the leftover momentum, then taking a few hops to start making his way to the pile of dogs Beach Bear can now see. "Hey!! Y'all started the pile without me! You bitches!" "Beach BEAR!" Dook yowls from beneath two meat slabs of muscle balanced atop him, looking like football athletes stacked on top of Dook's, at least in comparison, pitiful muscle mass. The man howls out, baying into the night air. A light-brown paw appears above him, wavering without sight. "Man-- shut--" It snatches Dook's snout, dropped open into a O, then cinched. "Shut up, man, it's late. Drama queen." 

Beach Bear snickers from the top of the stairs, shaking in his sandals. "W-W-W-W-Whoooh-! T-the F-F-Florida in mmme is CRYIN'! Whoo!" He shivers like a dead tree in the wind. "D-Dook I c-c-c-c-c- Hooh-! I ccccan't save ya!" "Yo! Who's that back there?! The one sandwiched between the two barks out, wiggling ferociously to try and see through the others. Dook wheezes beneath the two. "hhhheeeeeaaaavvvyyy..." "You're one ta talk, junk intha trunk." The biggest of the four makes a move to stand. Teddy plows through the snow and bounds into the air, slapping down on top of the other three dogs. Dook groans out, forehead thunking into the snow. "Uhhhh, god have mercy on meh!" "Ohhhh-kayyyy..." Beach Bear sighs with a puff in the air, still smiling, slow as he trudges down the steps. "I wasssn't no ath-th-thlete back in scho-ool but I'll--! EEEEEEHH!!! It's so cold!" The polar bear squeals as he steps into the snow, sinking ankle deep into the powder. "AH! Fuck! COLD! GOD! OOOH!" Regardless he continues forth, jumping through the snow like a finch on concrete. "IIII'ma comin'!" "Is that George?" The second lowest of the brothers calls back, still on a roll trying to wiggle free. Dook yelps. "Ow Gen'ral that hurts!" "Oh shut yer trap, Dork. Let up, Corporal'." The boxer huffs, pushing against the two underneath him. Teddy holds strong however, mighty in how he shoves the other down. "'S Teddy, man! I hate it when ya call me that!"

Two thick arms stab underneath and grip Teddy, swinging him off of the others with absolutely no trouble. He sets Teddy on his feet, who stares dumbfounded. "What."

Beach Bear continues and grips the other dog below, hooking his elbows underneath the eldest's armpits and heaving him up and off, struggling a little. He holds the man to his chest, groaning with the effort. "Oooooohhhhh--- Nice to meet you name's Beach I'm settin' ya down--!" The polar bear turns and attempts to rid himself of the hefty man, his arms going slack. General's arms stab upward and wrap tight around the back of Beach Bear's neck, pulling him and dragging Beach onto the ground on his hands and knees over the other. General pushes and flips the two of them over, flipping himself separately and pinning the tall man down with a knee on his chest. "Oh I'm gonna have fun gettin' you on the ground."

"I'd rather hear Dook say that." Beach Bear churrs in his throat, like a grumply huffy purr, eyes training onto the fallen spaniel. Dook's cheeks flame visually, despite that he huffs like he's mad. "Sounds a lil' fruity ta me."

Beach Bear snickers. General rolls his eyes, lifting up and off of the man. "Man, get up! What's goin' on here? How fucking tall are you man?!" "Oh I'm well enough touchin' the clouds! How's eight feet for ya?" He remains on the ground. Major pops up in his vision, grey, bare arms crossed.

A paw grips and yanks Beach Bear off of the ground like he weighs nothing, making his head spin. He stumbles. Dook jumps to his feet now that he's free, though he almost immediately flops to his ass back down in the snow.  "Fuck mah ribs hurt."

"Oh my stars you dropped one!" Beach Bear points at the spaniel. "WHOOF--" He nearly barks from the force punching into his stomach, knocking him on his ass. "Ugh..."

Major's tail whips in the air ferociously over top of him, audibly slapping on his blue jeans. "Oh you're right. This is gon' be fun."

Dook lifts his hand. 

"I'm callin' it now, you're gonna fuck 'im up and I'm not gon' be able ta step in. He don't fight. Take it easy on 'im."

Beach Bear shrugs, even though his lungs are still trying to catch up on all the lost air. "How bad can it be?"

...

Beach Bear walks in the front door holding his hands to his face after Dook rushes over and pushes it open for him, swinging the door shut after and then huddling close to the other, hands pressed to one side of the man's hip and another that lands on his wrist, all but holding his hand. "'M sorry! I shoulda told 'em no in tha first place, I'm sorry! It's all mah fault, I'll get ya fixed up!" The front door bangs against the wall once the other brothers jolt past it, kicking it shut quickly. "It's not that bad! It's not that bad!" Major yelps. "Just put it on ice!"

"Ya gotta stop the bleeding, Numb-Nuts!" Dook snaps and growls, much deeper and snarly than before. "I told ya ta take it easy!" He barks. 

"I was, White-Nut! Maybe ya should mind ya business I don't hear 'im complaining!" Major bites back. "You shut it about that! It is my business, it's MY band 'n MY guitar playa'! You betta watch it." The two of them set into growls, snarling deeper at each other the longer they stare. Beach Bear hums with a warmth in his heart, regretfully as it pains him, though the ache is duller just by the clear display of protectiveness. "Mhh-- Ow! Izz not tha' bad. I gott'eh woise in worse circumstances." 

"Still it's--" Dook starts.

Firm footsteps rattle the old house, though it's not a hard thing to do. Dook freezes up. But it only lasts for a moment. The grey-furred man appears, up from the specific recliner, which is now occupied by a feline relative from what Teddy glances over at. Beach Bear lifts his gaze, eyebrows jumping with a jolting back of his head. He heard that the guy had scars, but not to this extent. Obviously he doesn't focus on it too long, staring the man in the eyes instead, but he definetly saw a glint of teeth while the man's mouth remains closed. Half of Dook's father's face is taken over by what looks like burns and possibly shrapnel, marring the left with patchy pinkish-purple marks that bald the fur around that side, along with a cloudy film across his eye. Both of the man's ears are tattered and burned, hanging uneven with chunks missing. The other side of his face bears fewer, less severe but still quite visible scars. It's not those looks that strike him however. The man and Dook share a very similar face, quite obvious seeing as they're related, but it's the way they both hold their resting expression: Quite blank, though if you look harder you'll find an ever-present, slightly quirked eyebrow with a small part at the lips, exposing pearly teeth. Though in this case, Dook's father doesn't hold it in much of a smile. And actually,, now that he's looking, this man's eyebrows are laid with both of them high up now. Maybe he's just looking for the things he likes from the man he loves in the people close to him. And frankly? His father looks like a wicked cool dude. Must run in the family.

Regardless of the mental run-around in Beach's head, Will, presumably to Beach, crosses his arms, though instead of intimidating, it rings more like a guy trying to look stern. "Whatcha doin' messin' up ya brotha's friends?" His voice growls, rough, most likely from his previous injuries. Beach Bear's eyes shift between their father and the two brothers who may have gotten,, a little too rough and slammed his face into the ground when one of them jumped on his back. Major, if he's placing them right. His blues then glance back to Will, and then to Dook. In the silence, Dook's already looking at him. Looking into his eyes with such a fondness Beach Bear can't help but completely untense under those deep dark blues and flash a smile towards him. Still, there's concern written all over the spaniel's face, his voice so soft compared to his father's in a way that goes beyond the other man's vocal-affected past injuries. His father's tone still shines past the gravel if you focus hard enough, and yet even still, Dook's own holds such a melodic pitch Beach's rarely heard on a man before. Though it's unfair to compare the two so much, visually they're very similar, but everything else is a toss up for how it is. "Ya wanna get tha' cleaned up?" Dook asks low, drifting a few steps in front of the bear. His paw rests atop the polar bear's warm, fluffy and strong arm, soft mittens on his hands with the fingers exposed past a knitted cap.

Beach Bear holds still for a moment, training his vision on the remaining family members. His father speaks again. "Ya know 'm not mad. Jus' keep it cool, alri'h'? Maybe tone down the wrasslin', least 'till they get some food in 'em." The man rubs across his throat. "Settle down a lil'. Don' want no mo' bloodshed tonight. Ya got that?" 

"Yeah that's cool!" General nods, raising a thumb. Teddy mimics the motion, wordless, since he wasn't actually a member of the bloody part of the fight. Major rubs his hands together. "I'm real sorry, I didn'--- I got a little carried away, yeh." The grey boxer peers toward the polar bear, similarly dark blue eyes peeking under a heavy brow. "I'm sorry again, man. Rough introduction, huh?"

Beach Bear laughs, a short "Ha!" that sounds a bit like a grouchy squid past the blood in his nose. He pinches the bridge below his eyes in an attempt to staunch the flow, holding just above his big ol' sensitive nose. "Oh yeh. Izz o-kay." He enunciates it with his small injury in mind. "Had worse." The man turns back to his drummer. "Yeh cleanninn' soundz goo'. Bloodz drippin'." 

Dook barely catches a glance before he gags, holding a palm over the side of his eyes. "Coulda' kept that to yaself." "My baa." Dook starts walking without watching whatsoever. "C'mon I'll help ya."

Will jolts, turning quickly to his youngest. "Dook. Bring 'im back around when ya done, will ya?" He lifts his head to the tall bear. "Good ta meet ya finally, I won't keep ya any longer." Their father waves a hand at the other spaniel. "Get goin', I've scrubbed enough of y'all's blood off these floors 'n I won't do it again long as ya grown. Any blood I see I'm callin' y'all ta clean it. Fair?" He points to the three eldest siblings. Various agreeances as exchanged. Will lifts his hands up and turns on his heel, walking off with only a bit of trouble, looks like something happened to his leg as well, since he's wobbling. Beach Bear takes notice of the cane in the man's hand, something he didn't catch before. The wood blended into the floors just a bit too much to be striking. 

Beach Bear nods to the older man, finally with a chance to talk. "Good to meet yew." He pinches his the bridge of his nose a bit tighter, though it aches. "I'm real sorry, you look cool as hell, man. Wicked."

Will chuckles. "Heh, thank ya." He holds his hand over his blinded, dull brown eye. "Got a Frag-Grenade thrown in the trenches I was fixin' mah buddy up in. Got stuck inna awkwa'd position tryna keep him safe 'n it blew in mah face. Caught the blast for him, though." The man shrugs, palms up. "The things ya do fo' the people ya love."

"Youchie. Buh admirable. I get what'cha mean." Beach Bear winces. "Hey, sorry, 'm bleedin' down mah arm."

"Yeah, damn." Dook's father rasps. "I might follow ya up. Dook'll pass out." "That's a pretty likely thing too, 'm not gonna lie ta myself anymo'. Quit the drinkin' and I stopped the fibbin' wit' it. I think." Dook looks towards the wall. Beach Bear's brows furrow heavily. "Wazz that s'posed ta mean?"

"Nuthin', nuthin." "Wait dude hold on--" Dook reaches over and simply takes the polar bears hand without thinking, rearing back with a gut-wrenching gag forcing his stomach to clench. He drags his hand down his pants in a frenzy, shaking his paw out wildly with a cacophany of different whines and gags. The spaniel races out of the house through the back door before anyone can think to move an inch, the retches of soon-to-be bile ringing past before the screen door slams shut. Beach Bear cringes, bringing his hand back up where it's collecting the dwindling drips. "Yeh, sorry. I needta clean it up." 

Will turns, walking off into the over-crowded living-room. "C'mon, I'll help ya there. I help ya fix it if ya want. 'mma trained medic too."

Beach Bear holds up his paw off of his nose for a second. The warmth flows into his hand. "I rather that then mah own hands."

...

About ten minutes is all they really needed to get the blood off of Beach and to get his nose to stop bleeding, leaving him with a wicked red mark punched across his snout and a small headache. Dook's father talked his ear off about the extent of his injury, why it happened, why it happened on a biological standpoint, and pointing out each and every little line on Beach's face and showing him which ones of them was caused by his skull structure. An interesting conversation, and an eye opening experience, one that explains a lot about where Dook's mannerisms came from, since they most certaintly were not from his brothers, at least not this part. It's the obsession, taking the tiniest details about one little thing and hoarding it in their brains to the point where it can't help but bust out of them, leading to these conversations Beach Bear's come to love, that enivitably doubled the time they sat in the bathroom. When he stood up off of the lip of the tub, Will followed him right out with a brightness in his soul that hadn't existed prior. 

"It ain't botherin'' ya?" The man offers, following behind the polar bear, craning his neck up. Beach Bear lifts his shoulder. "Nah, not really. I'll live."

As he slowly manuevers down the rickety stairs, Will's voice lilts with curiosity, he goes down the stairs slightly faster, used to the uneven steps. "I won' pry. Ya mention an injury worse? Would that happen ta be part of the surfin' thang?" He makes his way to the bottom of them, eyes still on the bear. Will holds his cane with his hands folded one on top of the other, leaning his weight on the sturdy wood. Beach Bear tilts his head carefully. "Not specifically that, more a broad range of injuries in different circumstances. Surfing's pretty safe. I'm real bouyant, but I've crashed close enough to a rock to bust up my shins somethin' horrible."

Fatz's voice pipes up from below, peering past the railing to catch eyesight of the tall man. He's sitting on the couch, the only member of The Rock-afire whose procured a seat on the furniture. "Ya talkin' like Dook! Steal my culture a lil' more, ya vulture!" The gorilla guffaws. Laughter echos through the house, there's so many people there that it rattles the house a bit. A multitude of conversations are happening in the over-crowded living-room, packed almost shoulder to shoulder inside the antique house. Dook's own accented voice comes from the left of Fatz somewhere, a paw shaking from beneath the stairs. "Sorry 'bout that! Ya good?" Mitzi's high pitch also becomes clear, centered in the kitchen. "What's there to be "good" about? Somethin' happen?" She calls upward. Rolfe responds to her without waiting for an answer. "I smelt the blood from the other bathroom. I was fixing my tie." He slides a hand under the bowtie, meticulously straightened. "I heard no commotion so I assumed it was handled already."

Earl grouches audibly. "How are ya s'posed ta know who's alive or dead based on a crowd's reaction?"

"If they're laughin' they're alive, but if the crowd starts screaming, you're doing a good job!" The wolf cackles to himself. "Silence means ya killed 'em, and they're dead." He turns towards another member in the household, jolting momentarily. "Where's that old bear? Bustin' the house down stumblin' I bet." Rolfe turns around without an answer, calling across the already loud house. "Billy! Make yer stripes known! Yes, they're garish, but make it more garish-i-er!"

Crashes from the other side of the kitchen bang like a metal pot on tile floor. Which is what that is. Billy Bob sits there on the ground, covered in a light layer of liquid, covering his mouth as the LaRue family members in the kitchen turn to him. One woman sets her drink on the table they've spread the banquet across, ushering over to the fallen bear with her arms out. Her long, fluffy tail trails behind her like a lacy black and white curtain, similar tufts of fur on her pointed-feline ears. "Oh goodness! That was rough, are you okay? Do ya need help?"

"Oh I'm alrigh', 'mmmm sorry fo' knockin' ya chili over." He slurs a tad drunkenly, pushing a hand on the ground. Billy Bob slips a little, wobbling on his hands and knees. "Oh it's alright! It's Gumbo. We have a smalla' pot of it, it didn' all fit in tha big one." The woman bends down and holds out her hands, which Billy Bob takes. She helps him up, and as she does Billy whinges hard. "I'm really ssso sorry, I may needta sit down. 'm sorry if I smell funny, it's the corn-squuezin's. Got into it too early. Oh, I'm so embarrassed!" He settles on his feet, hiding his face in his soiled hands. He takes a breath, and then bends down, swaying on his feet. He picks up the metal pot, lifting it up and settling it back on the table. The feline woman holds onto his upper arm, a surprising amount of strength beneath her thick salt and pepper fur. "It's okay! I've gotten a little too sloshed before, it's nuttin' to be embarrassed about! Soon, half the people here's gonna be actin' the same way."

"Oh, yer so sweet." Billy Bob swoons, falling head over heels, quite literally. He tilts to one side and begins dropping fast, thankfully caught under strong arms. "Ooh! Careful there. I'll help ya over so you can get you cleaned up a bit, alright?"

"Yer all so niccccceee..." Billy's cheeks heat up even more. "I oughta bring the family down ta meet y'all. Ya'd all fit in like,, catfish inna bucket!" He giggles to himself. Red feathers sprint through the house with barks following hard. Looney Bird rushes into the kitchen and he claws into Billy Bob's overalls, hoisting himself up onto his shoulder easily. The dogs all but slam into Billy and the woman, but they don't jump. They sit there. Waiting. "Lula! Ajax! Coconut!" A couple snaps ring in the living-room and the dogs all rush into the room. "'Bout nearly killed me!" The bird huddles close.

Beach Bear takes himself away from his view into the kitchen, turning to the huge, but still packed sofa. Men and women, children and pets all line every inch of the sofa. There's some on the cushions, some huddled together with blankets across their laps and some simply sitting, but there's others sitting on top of the back of the couch, some resting atop the arms of it. Fatz finds his place on a cushion while Mitzi wanders in and sits on the floor next to him, the only other member of the band besides Beach Bear himself being Dook, who sits atop the back of the floral sofa, one leg hitched on it and the other holding his balance on the floor. Only wearing socks as well, having taken off his boots somewhere in the house without being seen. 

Beach Bear migrates to the spaniel without much thought, walking by the side of the stairs, then ducking to fit beneath them. He stands there, hunched under the curve of the stairs. Dook scoffs a laugh and scoots backward on the couch, opening up a space where Beach Bear can fit his neck comfortably. "All ya gotta do is ask me fo' somethin' and I'll do it, Beach."

The polar bear's brows jolt high. "Why are you saying it like that?" He lowers his voice, eyes peering towards the rest of the family. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you changed your mind about that date, Dook."

The drummer raises his hand, lowering it down. "Don' play wit' me. Don' talk like that here. Not right now."

Beach Bear flushes with red-hot embarrassment. It's easy to forget that his loose-tongue way of talking wasn't always a great thing to let free just anywhere. "God, I'm sorry. I keep forgetting. I just..." He wavers his hands around his head. "Everything I'm thinking of wants to come out as soon as it pops up, I can't help it, man. Ya too damn pretty. Last flirt. I'm sorry. I know you're not into me."

Dook lifts his hands. "I know I love you physically. I'm not gon' play wit' yer heart though. So." He shrugs. "Sorry. Don' wanna break ya heart. And yer four years younga' than me."

Beach Bear clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes to himself. Yeah he's not gonna act like a bitch to the other man, but still. He can be a little disappointed by that. "You have literally been with three different women five years younger than you. That kind of stuff about blind physical attraction never stopped you until it came to me and you know it, man. Like I seriously don't mean to push, but that logic is flawed. Is there some OTHER reason?? I-- Like I'll stop pushing, it's just. Why do you still seem so interested in me?"

"I wish I could jus' tell ya yes."  Dook trains his eyes on the ground. "Like y'know,, I wish it was easier. 'M sick of all these weird thoughts and feelin's and all that crazy junk. Kinda just wanna go whacko like a hound-dog. Throw all my resolve out the window and jus' try it out. But I just can't bring mah'self to. 'Specially not with you. It's not because-- I mean it is because it's you. Just not the way you think, Beach."

The polar bear whines hard in his throat, muted under the chatter of generations of dogs and a few other animals alike. He holds his hands up while he takes a deep ol' breath, mentally recollecting himself before he can mess everything up. The breath washes out of him like a deflated balloon, and he claps his hands together, holding them there. 

Dook sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry. 'M feelin' restless. I just don't... I know I'd fuck everythin' up. And I'm still not sure if I wanna bed ya or date ya. And I don't wanna use you either." He cringes exponentially hard. "I really can't be talkin' 'bout this in my folks pad, Beach Bear." 

The polar bear lifts his paws in defense, bowing his head. "Alright... Alright. That's fair. Cooler than cool." Beach Bear's fingers lift, itching slightly at the edge of his forming facial-bruise. "I'm thinkin' I'mma take this confusion-causing hot body of mine and chill out." He sneakily points a finger downward. "You prolly need chillin' somewhere a little more specific, Dook. I'm going outside for a bit. I'm not mad!" Beach adds before it can be taken the wrong way. Dook's head jolts back. "I didn' think ya was mad. You good?" 

Beach Bear shakes his head. "Oh nah I'm good. I'm cool. Just gonna take a breather."

"Beach Bear." Dook's expression quirks in such a specific way, nose rising to reveal thin divits where smile lines should rest. "We both know ya hate the snow more than anythin'. Jus' tell me you don' want me around. I can take the hint."

The polar bear lifts his paws. "I'm not. I'm just gonna step out." He continues to try, vying for just a small chance to recoup his thoughts. Away from the source of them. Dook's nose twitches wildly, a small fang peeking in and out from his slightly jolting lip. "I hate it when ya lie ta me. I'll go outside. Betta' me than you when I actually like it. Torture yaself ta get away from me why don'tcha?" The spaniel stands up off of the couch, eyes dark with no shine besides the small dot of a lightbulb on the side. "Sorry fo' fuckin' wit' ya head." 

Dook pushes past him, though, for his anger he merely shimmies between the polar bear and the sofa, footsteps surprisingly quiet. The front door is opened, and then closed, shutting with a small bit of force past the wind. 

Beach Bear sits there without much to do, nothing to say or think. Other than that he fucked up, once again, constantly pushing for his affection that he'll clearly never win. And it's not even just that. Beach's ruining it for himself.

Mitzi's head follows the sound of the door, eyes trailing out of the window. She watches Dook go, walking firm across the newly-redone porch. The spaniel drops down into one of the rocking chairs, drawing his feet to hook on the wooden beam raised up across the bottom. He holds out his hands and drops his face down, smoothing his palms across his rounded head. Without thought, Mitzi swivels her head to the polar bear, eyeing him up and down, clearly concerned. Beach Bear frowns deep, turning his head to avoid the rodent from picking that up too. 

As sickly as it feels for Beach Bear to leave it like that, that's really the extent that their little "spat." went. Just a couple minutes later Dook came back in without an inch of frustration across his features, clapping his hands together with a big announcement that it was proper time for some photos. Photos lead into home videos, which lead into more Christmas movies, different from the ones playing idly on the screen before. Then movies lead into the afforementioned small drinks being passed around. Dook's great-grandmother finally got her scotch.

And another thing happened. Dook came up to him, just him. None of the rest of the band were following him, all doing their own things. Chattering with relatives, with eachother. Enjoying the warmed food left on the long table now that the evening has died down, crawling heavily towards the middle of the night.

"Lemme show you somethin'."

And of course, he followed. Till the ends of the Earth. How could he not? Nine whole years of knowing the man, and nine whole years of falling head over heels for the hound each and every second Beach Bear lives on this beautiful rock. 

They ended up in Dook's childhood room, sparse in furniture, but unlacking in decorum. A rocket ship tacked to the ceiling, stars painted neatly and some sloppily across the wall. The bedsheets are bare and covered with plastic, but Dook sat down all the same, hands resting between his thighs, folded together, rubbing gently. Beach Bear stood, but he soon joined the other there when offered the seat with a few pats on the crnkly plastic. In an instant Dook leaned into him, head resting on the other's arm. 

"'M sorry." The man had offered, ginger ear splayed over the bear's fur. Beach Bear sighs. "Yeah, me too. Sorry. Lil' bit too much. I'm sorry to keep pushing like that. I'll stop."

"No, don't. It's okay. It helps. I'm so confused all the time." 

Before they can spend even a moment in the silence, Dook reaches up, standing off the bed to snag, and bring the rocketship off of the ceiling. He unwraps the string, letting it fall, holding the dusty, but unmarred, handpainted plastic in his hands. 

"I'll do it no matter what."

"Sleep with a guy?" Beach Bear's brow knit. Dook slaps his arm. "No! Space, Beach Bear! How rotted is ya brain in ya skull? The stars, Beach Bear!" The spaniel bounds over to his window, unlatching, then jamming the thing up, the metal squealing as it rubs together. Dook sticks his upper half out of the window, looking out at the stars. "Dook! Man, what are you doing??" Beach Bear's eyebrows jump as Dook lifts his knee and rests it on the windowsill, hoisting himself up and outward, into the cold of the night. Beach Bear tries to not deliberately eye down the full sight that gives him under the man's waggling tail. The spaniel faces the other through the frost, his voice muffled past the glass. "C'mon! I know my way up."

Beach Bear approaches the window as Dook climbs higher, off of the sill, his ears whipping in the icy wind. Beach Bear shakes in the chill, fur white as snow as the moonlight. 

Soon they both arrive on the roof, taller than anything, covered with dead leaves and snow. The arctic man sits, shivering. Beach Bear hums. "This seems like a cool way to break your leg."

Dook rolls his eyes, stepping cautiously across the roof. "Oh, shutcha mouth, Beach Bear." He stabs his hand into the snow, shuffling it about.

It's a telescope, boxed up in a tub. They set it up, taking turns peering through the glass. 

Dook points out every little thing he can think of, mapping out the night sky with familiar sights. At least to him. 

They stare up at the moon, shifting between stars they find and the planets they track down in the early hours of the morning, narrowing down constellations in the chilling lights. Dook throws out facts, stories behind the drawings in the sky. Explains with all his soul each and every twinkling dot.

Eventually... they both start to feel the effects of the late night, peeking at the telecope, though mostly gazing up at the expanse of stars above them. They lean into eachother, huddling in the cold. 

Dook huffs quietly, more of an exhausted noise than one of annoyance. 

"I'll finally make it, one of these days. And I'll finally know. Know everything I need to know about m'self. I c'n jus' feel it. Whether or not it's the day that I die,, I'll be there, finally. " He speaks out, eyes trained into the light of the moon. "I'll be up there where I'm meant ta be. Not down here wit' tha-- tha people who don' get it. Don' get me. They jus' don't get the lovers of this world." Dook sighs. Beach Bear shrugs, it's a lot of the same stuff he's heard over the decades he's know the man. It's a welcome occurence, one he loves dearly each time it occurs. But still. He shakes his head. "I'd hate it to know you spent all that time fawning over the galaxy just to never see it with your own eyes."

Dook lifts his shoulders. "I jus' need to be there. Any-way I can. On the moon... there's only quiet. There ain't nothin' on that rock but cheese 'n dust. Maybe I'll play for aliens. But I jus' feel it in mah heart that I need ta see it fo' myself." His eyes remain, unwavering. "Why'd they stop tryin' so hard? Won't NASA show tha rest a' the world what it's got to offer? In person? All those bright, be'utiful stars all a'twinklin' every single night of my life since I w's born?"

"You can always try college, man." Beach offers sheepishly. "Like, I'm sorry. I don't know any other way. You're really not stupid. I hate it when you call yourself that."

"Well." Dook throws his hand up with exasperation. "I'll either die launching myself up there, or I'll die at a desk tryin'. Which one a' you pickin' in my pos-ition?" 

Beach Bear hums, rolling his tongue in his mouth. Really thinking.

He rests his head atop the spaniel's. "I guess I'd rather just do it myself, in the off chance that school was quite literally impossible. But it's not impossible for you. I believe in you." He pauses, rubbing over the other's shoulder. "But you can't just. Build a rocket, Dook."

Dook shrugs. His hand drifts, falling across the toy he brought along with them.

He rubs his thumb across the cold, damp white. 

"Who says?"

"The government, man." Beach Bear thunks him on the head none-too-lightly. Dook stares out into the horizon, unfazed.

"...Man..."

...

Three years before The Blast.

...

It's not exactly a stretch to say that,, to Looney Bird, while him and Dook are members of the same band and all...

They never really hung out, rarely talked to eachother on stage, and usually, they'd only talk in passing whenever the band would all get together. It wasn't out of malice, nor was it of any sort of ill will on either of their parts. It just simply didn't happen. Whether it was Dook curious about where the grizzly bear went, or if Looney needed Beach Bear. There's been other things as well, like how they'll poke at eachother's odd mannerisms that crop up from time to time.

So they're still close, yes. But, more as familial aquaintances. Looney'll take the bad end of a stick any day for anybody in the band, regardless. That includes Dook, and he knows that Dook would do the same for him as well. It's just that,, they haven't gotten a chance to get to know eachother super well basically since the band started. But honestly? They didn't exactly need  to. The dynamic they have is enough already. They're just as much family as the rest of the band is to Looney, as to Dook.

So it kinda shocked him whenever Dook brought up the idea that, "Hey, howsa 'bout I head to Smitty's with y'all? Been a year or two. Maybe spend the night? If yer offerin' still?"

And that leads into now. 

Dook takes up the seat in Billy Bob's truck right in the middle. See, the window side would probably be a better option, it's easier to get into. But, the risk of crushing Looney bodes too high, especially given that Billy Bob took up quite a bit of space already just being the animal he is. Now to add into the mix is their thick legged and stomached drummer, taking up a fair bit of space just for those. He tries to scoot of course, patting the open leather, uh, rectangle. "I didn' think it was gonna be a clown car gettin' us all in."

"Ev-ery-day!" Looney bird sqwauks, hopping around and fluttering his wings. He jumps and beats his wings in the chilled air, pushing himself just a bit higher so he can grab a hold of the seat. 

"YAH!"

Or more likely, he latched onto Dook's leg. Despite the issue, Looney Bird can't let go until he's up there, lest he fall backwards on the hard concrete. Dook whinges, sharp talons stuck in his leg. Looney bird flaps hard to no avail.

"Alright alright!" Dook's arms shoot out and wrap around the bird's whole body, dragging him into the truck and reaching out to slam the door shut. "Christ, Looney! Hurt like hell!"

"Sorry!"

"Sheesh! It's fine, Looney!"

... 

The drive was close, but long. The old road Billy Bob's station lies on remains poorly paved, as it has been for the better half of a century. It jolted the truck somethin' fierce, slowing them down just to keep control of the vehicle.

The road leads them to wandering into the station, unlocking the doors and meandering through the highly-decorated store-front.

"Cool. Lotsa new stuff." Dook points across the walls. Billy Bob smiles. "'Thank ya thank ya! 'S a little pass-time a' mine."

They go through a beaded curtain, one that leads directly into a room set up like a living-room, an old, beaten up sofa pressed again the wall with mix-matched chairs thrown around a small table. There's a door to the far end of the room, but there's one next to where they've entered as well. The second garage entrance. Dook's steps lead him to the focal point of the room, plopping himself down on the right side of the couch. Immediately he stands, looking down at it with concern. Before he can be quizzed about it, Dook bends down and sticks his fat nose to the top of the couch, snorfing deeply the dingy cushions. "Ah." He simply drops back down, sinking into the soft, battered sofa.

Billy Bob lifts a brow while Looney Bird crosses his wings. "Well, what's wrong with it?" "Yeah, whuzz the matter, Dookey?"

The spaniel waves his paw through the air, bringing a bit of calm to the others. "Jus'' gas'line. 'Thought I smelt it and I did. I don' mind it. I dun soaked half mah work jeans in the shit." The spaniel slides and throws his coat off, dumping it on the arm of the couch next to him. His grown out fur sticks up in the air, damp with sweat and long over-due for a haircut. "Spring's fryin' mah fur."

"Gasoline?" The grizzly's brow knits hard. 

"Uh. Yuh." Dook shrugs. "I don' care."

Billy Bob pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, no, it's not cuz a' you. I dropped a keg the otha' day an' I thought it only spilt' on the floor. Couldja...? Maybe take a different seat? I'ma hafta clean that up."

"Oh. My bad."

...

Dook's rump found other places to rest while Billy Bob took to dousing the couch in hose-water, dragging the hose into the back-room to do so. The acrid scented water swirls down the drain in the midst of the concrete floor, running down the pipes and into their drainage system. The drain's seen worse, though never from it's own buddy, the couch. Watching Billy Bob suds down the sofa was an interesting and quite entertaining passtime, though not exactly the reason why Dook was there. But they'll get to that.

Billy Bob soaks the fabric down one last time, sticking a finger into the end of the nozzle to push to water out in a stabbing point. Looney Bird cringes back into Dook's lap, stamping wet toe-prints into his jeans.The spaniel scoots back in his metal folding chair. 

Once finished, Billy Bob rises and cracks his neck. "That shoul' do it. Jus' gon' needta leave the door open ta breeze it out."

Dook wafts his hand in the chemical-scent sticking in the air. "Go ahead, 'm not complainin'." His sweater is unfolded from besides him, then stuck right back onto the man. "'S an awkward temp'ature out there though, ain't it?" He cocks his head, squinting at the other. The other ginger nods profusely. "Oooh yeah! I'm either fryin' or cryin from the cold! I can't step two feet outside for a customer this week without doin' one or the other. Or both! Here I'll be right back, hold it down fo' me will ya, Looney?" Billy Bob turns on his heel with the hose in hand, trudging on back towards the open garage door. Looney waves his wing. "I gotchu Billy Bob!"

"Good Bird!" His voice calls back.

...

Billy Bob returns for but a moment, peeking into the back room first. He enters, smile across his face. "Oh, well aren't y'all cute? Huddlin' for warmth."

Dook shrugs sheepishly, still in the midst of nuzzling his fingers along the bird's neck who sits atop his jean-clad thighs, picking through very small feathers, some split and frayed. "Iss like mah dog, Lula. Loves it."

"Me loves it or dog loves it? Cuz' I got a couple words about it that ain't that perfect." The scarlet bird's wings cross over his white-marked chest. Dook shoves him out of his lap, accented by a choked squawk. "Alrih't tha's enough."

"Ass." Looney grumbles from the ground. Billy Bob steps forward and rights the bird, settling him on his feet. Looney shakes out his feathers. Billy Bob turns and steps out of the room, coming back after just a second with a big blue tarp. He throws it over to sofa without trying to secure it or flatten it or anything. "Should keep 'em from jumpin' down 'n goin' " "OH mah LAWD what a wet couch!"" He chuckles to himself. "Ol' miss Robinson'd think she lost her mind."

Dook's response is to not say much at all, merely lifting his paws. Billy Bob snorts. "Well aren't you one for talkin'. What'dja come down here for anyway? Not that I'm complainin', I love the company."

The spaniel raises his shoulders. "Can't come down jus' wantin' ta hang around?"

"Not without a reason!" Billy Bob snickers. "But If I'd have known ya'd come down so last minute I woulda tried ta fix ya up somethin', I ain't got a dime o' time left ta fix dinner."

Dook's hand slaps down the notion. "Oh man, it's alright. Me 'n Beach already dun' ate ourselves fat at one'a these Tennesse diners yer talkin' mah ear off about. I'm stuffed up like a carnival toy. I think it'll come back to haunt me soon."

'Oh, well thank goodness then, at least in my case." Billy Bob shakes his head. "I was worried I'd be a rude host leavin' ya hungry. Say, why ain't Beach Bear stuck to ya hip like usual?"

"Goin' home to the Keys." The spaniel reaches for and grasps his sweater, throwing the thing over his head and his arms through it. "He's got his thing like I got mine. 'M not his keeper or anythin'." He tugs the lengthy neck of his green and white striped sweater, then rests his cheek in his hand. "But nah, I'm not sniffin' around fo' dinner. I dunno, I jus' wanted to talk ta ya. And Looney Bird. Actually,,"

Dook's dark sapphire eyes land on the back of the scarlet bird. Looney Bird looks up at his name, gazes locking. Dook's near-constantly lax expression holds a deeper twitch to it. "I got somethin' I wanna ask ya in specific. Later." Those eyes drift from Looney, leaving the avian with an odd, bitter pit in his stomach. Billy Bob quirks a brow, looking first to his best-buddy, then to their drummer. "Yeah... Alright! If that's alright wit' you, Looney, I'll let ya two be ta talk about that." "Thank ya, Billy Bob." Dook nods to that. The grizzly smiles back softly. "Well a'course. I'm not a snoop. Looney?"

The bird's brows jump. "Right! Uh... Long as it's nuthin' uh,, murder-y. I don' like that face."

Dook's head shakes back along with the affronted jolt. "What a' you talkin' about? Is it ugly?" The spaniel scoffs, rubbing a finger along the sides of his static smile. He brings it back down to his eye-level, rubbing his thumb and middle finger together. "Ain't nobody told me I got musta'd on mah face, apparen'ly."

Looney Bird shakes out his feathers from the odd feeling. "Yeah, that's it! All that mustard on ya!" He shakes himself down hard, turning into a minature tornado. He stumbles once done, taking his thin legs and stepping towards the door on the furthest side of the room, not the one that leads into the garage or into the front, the one furthest from those two grouped doors. He slams into it, knocking himself back. Billy Bob gasps and he stretches over there, swings the door open. "Lawd, Looney, the door has a handle!" Looney Bird darts through the crack with a "THANK YOU BILLY BOB!" and not much else as he disappears into the darkness. Dook sucks air in through the sides of his mouth, an odd sound coming from that. "Ooh. Maybe I shoulda worded that betta'? I jus' wanted ta ask him 'bout helpin' me with somethin."

"OH! Really?" Billy Bob's face lilts with excitement, but a bit of confusion lowers his right eyebrow. "Don'tcha wanna ask me anythin' about that, too?"

"Ooh, uh..." Dook's expression pulls with a grimace. Billy Bob lifts his hands. "Oh. I got it, I'm not yer bear for the job. The animal for it, actually."

The mutt nods slowly, his ears raising to be nearly level with the top of his head. "I'm sorry Billy. It's not much somethin' ta do with that. I need that techno-kinda work. Stuff wit' computers. Now, ya know I don' got a clue how that works. Unless Looney's taught ya to the level he's at..." Dook's gaze turns to the floor. It comes back with a sheepish smile across it. "I'm real sorry Bill'a-Bob. It's jus' not that I need yer help wit' that kinda work. But I need ya support." Dook claps a hand on the grizzly's shoulder, eyebrows raising to reveal unlidded eyes, an uncommon sight for his always-sleepy expression. "Yer one'a the most cheerful peeps I know, and tha's the kinda thing I need ta come back to once we're done workin' on it fo' the day. It's gonna be BIG Billy Bob. I don' know what I'm gonna do if he don't say yes, Billy Bob." Dook's second hand rises to clap firmly on the bear's other shoulder. "This's the most important thing I've done in mah life, and I'm..." The spaniel looks to the ground for an answer. A less, unsure answer. "I'm gonna do it no matter what."

"Dook," Billy Bob smiles gently. He takes Dook's hands off of his shoulders, and he holds them in his own. "Babe. Have'ya been drinkin' again?"

The spaniel jerks his hands back, his ears flinging up. "What?!" He scoffs. "No. I'm shocked, Billy Bob. I ain't been drinkin'. Yer gonna assume I dropped mah streak fo' somethin' stupid like this?"

"No no!" Billy Bob grimaces, slapping a hand across his mouth. "That wuddn't right, I'm sorry. It's just that-- I never seen ya like this! What's got ya so set in stone about-- whatever this is??" The grizzly sets a paw over his heart. "Ya scared me! Jus' a little. Can ya jus',, maybe explain it ta me? Yer goin' a bit cuckoo ova' it-- What's goin' on here?"

Dook holds out his hands, clenching them into fists. "My life's startin'."

Billy Bob holds out his hands. "But what does that mean?"

"It's happenin'!" Dook continues, vibrating in place like he's about to take off. "MMMM--! But I can't tell you!"

"Why not?" The bear leans in.

Dook steps back, spinning on his heel. He's turned away, but Billy Bob can still see Dook's paw shoot up, lodging in his maw to be chewn on by few sharp and mostly flat teeth. It draws attention to the visual that Dook is missing every part of his space-getup besides his thick tool gloves. An odd choice for this spring weather, and also odd to be seen without the space-suit. Especially since Dook doesn't work today, seeing as he's here. So what's the reason for them? Dook slides his hands down his snout, taking in a deep breath. He turns slower now to face the man once more. "Yer gonna stop me. 'S not dangerous!" Dook's paws slap onto the other's chest like he's gonna stop him. "Not if we have everythin'. Not if we're not stopped. Please,, PLEASE, Billy. Don't try to stop me."

"Dook." Billy Bob blinks hard, slapping his own hands onto the dog's arms. "Yer startin' ta talk nonsense. I think yer gettin' sick. Lemme feel yer forehea--"

Dook snatches his wandering paw, holding it to his forehead himself. "I'm not sick. Just..." The dog's face drops entirely. He sticks the hand back on his forehead. "YEAH! I'm sick! Sick as a doggggg, Billy Bob! I may needta use ya couch. I might throw up everywhere!" He fakes a gag, bending forward with it. The grizzly lets go of him quick as the man starts coughing, paws held up high. "Yeah I thought so! Go lay down, ya know where the house is. Betta' yet, I'll take ya down there myself! I don' know what yer tryna pull but yer talkin' crazy. Ya ain't got a fever but a nap should knock that off. And if yer messin' wit' me maybe a nap'll set ya straight!" The bear snips playfully, turning swiftly to venture towards the shop section of the building. "Lemme get the house keys."Dook flops down on the ground and nods.

...

A few minutes pass...

...

The door the bird went through cracks open, squeaking visciously. It halts, then starts again. Looney peeks in past the crack, wings pressed to the door. Dook stares him down immediately, Looney jerks to door closer to himself, thinning the gap. Dook reaches out with eyes wide, halting the door's trek. Looney bird jumps, but he stays. Dook smiles with his own unease. "Heyyyyy..."

"Whatta you talkin' about out here? Needin' help? Computer help? What kind?" The avian squints, tone clipped. "Yeah! Yeah, that kinda help! Oh, thank ya Looney! I'll tell ya when,, whenever Billy Bob goes to bed. I hate ta be like that but I almost gave it away already! Yer the only one I know who won't tell me I'm dumb for tryin, Loon. I really need ya help."

The bird pulls the door just a bit more closed. "I never said yes. Yer tellin' me everythin' befo' I agree ta anythin'. Especially if ya don't want Billy knowin'." The avian squints harder. "I'll come ta ya later. Dependin' on how stupid... this idea is. I might have some help for ya."

"Thank you, Looney." Dook nods. Looney Bird nods. "Mmhm, yeah, gotcha--"

The door slams shut. Dook straightens up, staying in the position he took when the grizzly left.

The beaded curtains click together as they contact and the spaniel starts up with his whining. Billy Bob squats down next to him, gathering the dog to his chest by his armpits. "Alright. I'll get ya down there. Ya think ya gave yaself heat stroke? I'm thinkin' that, but ya didn't start actin' funny till now!" The grizzly begins to rise with him. "OOH! Yer 'bout the same weight as me!" 

"I dunnnnnoooooo..." Dook whines out, going limp. For his own sake he pushes his feet at the ground, bringing himself to a weak stance. He throws his arms around Billy Bob, stumbling fake as they walk. They go through the back door, accented by a panicked flutter of wings. 

By the time they get down to the house Dook isn't just whining to keep up the facade. The dirt and gravel path was murder on his ankles just from the length of it, especially since he had to act like he was sick on the way down. Billy Bob helps settle him on the couch, wandering off soon after. He turns over onto his stomach, hiding his face.

By the sounds of it, Billy Bob does something in the kitchen. An icy pack hits the back of his neck and Dook jolts hard, gritting his teeth against the feeling. A hand ruffles the fur on the back of his head, tutting. "I don' get it, Looney."

The bird claps his hands together. "Dirty Dog Disease. That's the layman's term, anyway. I'd say it fits. It'll blow over with a nap, his own stench made 'im crazy."

Billy Bob marks his confusion audibly with a "Huh! I neva' heard about that one. Yer sure?"

Looney nods. "Oh yeah! It's a new one alright. Only just now put it on the Web! I saw about it last night. Big coincidence, huh?" The bird looks to his friend. Billy Bob shakes his head, looking the bird up and down. 

The grizzly sighs. 

"Alright." He cracks his knuckles idly. "I'll take yer word. Just,, keep an eye on him fo' me won'tcha? Yer gonna be up 'n down watchin' fo' the Corn Squeezin's anyway. I'll try ta make my checks, but you know how I am." Billy Bob sighs. "And I was lookin' forward ta talkin'."

Dook lifts a weary paw from where its hanging off of the side of the couch. "May'beh tommorow..." He calls regretfully. 

Billy Bob smiles soft. "Yeah, okay. Hope you feel better."

"Mmhm... Night."

"Goo'night, Dook."

...

 After a bit of pause, Billy Bob's footsteps creak on the old floorboards, receeding into the hall, all the way until they stop entirely. A door opens, and then shuts quietly.

Looney Bird crosses his arms, narrowing the "sleeping" dog down.

"Ya got a lotta nerve pullin' Billy Bob aroun' like that in our own house."

Dook's eye creaks open, not even with an inch of hesitance does he rise. "God, I'm sorry. I don' want ta!" The dog whispers. He sits up on the couch, ears lifted without having to be held. "I jus' needed ta talk ta ya alone. He wouldn' eva' let me do it, let alone ask fo' ya help. I'll make it up ta him, i jus'... I had ta fake it ta get him off my back, I started spoutin' off again, I'm gonna throw this whole thing if I get started with the wrong person." Dook shoves a finger into his mouth, cringing at the taste. He flicks his gloves off, already at work chewing his long claws off. He stops briefly just to talk. "I know ya know about computers." He goes right back to it.

"I do!" Looney Bird holds out his wings. "Whatta you dancin' around it for?!?! Jus' TELL ME!"

"Stahp yellin'!" Dook snatches up his beak, Looney jerks it free. Still he remains quiet, expectant with his arms crossed. Dook hold up a finger. "Don' cut me off. Don' try ta stahp me."

Looney Bird nods.

Dook nods back. He takes in the air it takes to talk.

"I'm buildin' a rocket."

"Yer fuckin' stupid and yer finger's wet." Looney counters back immediately. Dook's face screws dark and his hand rears back. Looney Bird holds up his wing swiftly. "And I love that first part! When are ya-- When did ya think this up?!  Where are ya doin' it?! When?! Do ya got a spot fo' it cuz I got a PERFECT spot ta build one! I got ideas fo' it already! When do we start?! RIGHT NOW? RIGHT NOW!"

Dook jumps right up off the couch, throwing off the sweater on his body. "REALLY?! I don't got a spot, tha's PERFECT! I already got it drawn up, I been thinking about doin' it fo' the past decade o' my life!!! I started drawin' it up like July two years ago!!! I got it all planned out on the inside and the outside, LOOK!"

Dook jams his hand into his pocket, yanking the sheet open and slapping the blueprints right onto the coffee table. "This is the rest of my LIFE on this PAPER, LOONEY BIRD!" The bird jams his face over it, scanning it like the holy texts. 

"Whazz all that ruckus...?" Billy Bob's voice comes from the hall in the dark house. Looney Bird and Dook jolt fast into standing. Dook snatches the paper up and starts folding it quickly. Looney Bird grabs it and stuffs it in his mouth.

"*pat pat pat pat*"

Billy Bob comes into the living-room rubbing his eye, a nightcap thrown over his head and a nightshirt hanging down to his ankles like a granny gown. He flicks a lamp on, resting his hand and leaning his weight on the table it's on. "Oh. Just y'all. What's the problem? Dook, yer lookin' better."

The spaniel nods profusely. "Oh yeah! I'm feelin' great, man! I think that diner food got me delerious! I wuldn't get any of the seafood there. I kinda,, uh... I kinda gotta use ya bathroom." He clutches his stomach. Billy Bob cringes. "Oh goodness, y'all went to Sarah's on that corner from Country Mart didn't ya? Door on the left down that hall, there's a sign on it ya can't miss it."

"Sh'ure did. Thank ya thank ya!" Dook rushes off with that given chance. Looney Bird ushers after him.

Billy Bob calls after them. "Looney! We have two of them for God's sake! And yer a bird, can'tya take ya business outside?"

Dook's head snaps backwards to see and Looney Bird spins on his heel, sprinting down the hall the other direction, humming past the paper in his mouth and bolting right out the front door, slamming it shut quickly. Dook takes and locks himself in the bathroom.

...

Billy Bob shakes his head, standing in the lonely living room.

After a moment he turns around, head loose on his neck as it goes back and forth. 

"Wild animals, I tell you."

...

It's upside-down!"

"Looney Bird, It can't be upsi'-down, I been usin' it all day!"

"Turn it on and find out! Don't come cryin' ta me when ya finger's gone!"

"*BZZZT--!*"

"AHGH-!"

Dook jolts away from the heavy equipment as it slides right out of his hands and towards him, thunking on the ground and shedding a plastic shard off of the guard. The metal sheet they have laid out across two beaten up car-bumpers bares a tiny cut on the edge and nothing else. Hurrying footsteps begin to pound towards the two. Dook flips up the welding mask. Both of them look to eachother with worry.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Uncle Fido bounds up to them in a flash, lifting up the brim of the trucker hat atop his head. His cover-alls bare a canvas of dark stains, and Fido himself carries the smell of gasoline. "You break it you buy it! I let you guys have my sheet-metal, not all my money for hospital bills! What's the matter, Dook? Ain't never touched a saw? You were workin' jus' fine before."

The spaniel huffs deeply. "Barely! Ya got me workin' out here takin' cars apart, not destroyin' em! I was usin' the shears befo'. And I don' want yer money!" He grumbles, picking himself off the ground. He takes a hold of the heavy circular saw and hefts it up to chest height, spinning it around and holding the side of it to the metal. "Unless it's from workin'! This the right way around or not?"

"Start cuttin'." Fido waves a hand towards it. The mask goes down and the saw starts up, without falling this time. As it buzzes Dook begins to push the saw through the thick metal sheet, sliding it neatly, for the most part, through the line they marked down with a Sharpie. He goes through it until the black line ends, lifting the saw free. The two metal sheets fall to the sides, wobbling with sound as they settle, one flat on the ground and the other upright. Dook lifts the saw up with a "Whoop!"

"Yup, you got it." Uncle Fido ruffles the long, slightly matted and sweat-soaked fur on Dook's head. "Need a haircut?"

"...?" Dook raises an eyebrow at the other in thought, the other coming up in just a moment of hesitance. He slides off the mask, tossing it down on the ground. "Oh, you don' mean wit' the saw-- Y'know I actually haddn't gotten the time ta do that in a minute. When ya thinkin'?

The boxer-mix lifts a shoulder. "I got the buzzers in mah office. I can get above yer belly right now but yer stuck with the rest. I can't do it as well as Fifi can eitha'."

"Oh yeah." Dook shrugs. "I'll jus' do it some otha' time." He bends over, setting the saw on the ground gently. His uncle dips into his own pocket and then taps his nephew's ribs as the spaniel mix stretches. Dook squints at the man skeptically. "If yer the next one ta tell me I'm puttin' on pounds I swear--"

"Calm down, Muttley, use yer eyes."

Dook does as much. 

"Buh." He shakes his head, but he takes the item in his uncle's hand regardless. He stretches the elastic over his fingers, gathering his ears in his hands along with the long puff of grown-out fur. He wraps and snaps the tie onto his ears, pinning them above his head. Fido snickers. "That's how yer mom kept ya from chewin' on em."

"You 'n everybody else alre'dy told me that." Dook rolls his eyes, turning from the man to continue working. He picks up and stacks the sheets of metal, lifting them while Looney Bird cackles. "AH HAHAHAHA! That's nuthin'! Billy n me's momma had me strapped up in a straight jacket just so I'd eat without slappin' it all to the ground! I'd still be wigglin' around mah tail feathers hard enough ta slap a hog silly!"

Fido snorts heartily. "Yeah? How's that work? A bird and a bear comin outta one woman?"

"I'm adopted!" Looney Bird squeals out. He jumps up and down, wings a'flappin'. Fido cringes. "Oh. Sorry." and to that Looney bird shakes his head rapidly. "Oh nah! It's great! See, mah parents left me inna box! I was too young ta rememba'. Some ol' woman picked me up an' brought me home! That was my momma, Billy Bob's momma! Raised me 'n Billy together. We're as tight as brothers! Course, now I know mah real parents, but, see I hate talkin' to em!" The bird jiggles his wings in the air. "Always "Looney this!" and "Looney that!" and "We just forgot you in that box in the rain all those years ago and we still love you!" Pah! Can't stand em. What were we talkin' about?" Looney bird's eyes dart around, around the area, then between the two dogs, who've stopped working and started staring him down with matching looks of incredulousness.

"God-damn, Looney." Dook shakes his head. "Yer family life's as fucked up as Beach Bear's!"

Uncle Fido jitters back a little bit, taken aback. "Wait, huh? That guy? Really? Fuck."

Dook's teeth squeak when he sucks air through them. "Ooh, uh. Yeah. Not really my place to tell? But they kicked him out, yeah. Lotsa other stuff. Kindaaaaaa..." Dook squints an eye, tilting his hand back and forth.  "Yeah. Full on... Yikes-on-the-law-side type bad. But it's better now! Definitely some..." Dook clears his throat, though it comes out a tad squeaky at the beginning anyway. "It was a few pretty traumatizin' conversations to have, 'specially around that time when I was just startin' tryna kick the alcohol. I'm kinda good talkin' about that right now though. How's Ma doin', Fido?"

The boxer waves a hand in front of his face and towards the ground, swinging it back to his side. He cocks his hip and rests his thumb in his tool belt. "Ohh, she's doin' great. Been gettin' around ta cleanin' in Willie's room. She's not takin' nothin' out, but she's pickin' up the laundry, dustin' beyond surface level. There's decades long armpit stains that still smell like ol' Wild Willie." Uncle Fido takes in a deeper breath, sighing. "She decided she's not gonna wash those shirts. It's gross, yeah. But it still smells like him somehow. I think the old vents and the lack a' airflow let all that stuff at the bottom of his laundry-mountain take hold of the smell like hell," Fido clenches his fist. "It's ingrained in there like he never left. Fifi's waitin' 'till y'all come around to decide whether or not if she's gonna put it through the wash at all. On one side, it's got his scent. Y'all know what that means to us LaRue's. Perhaps to y'all." The pitbull nods a clipped ear towards Looney Bird. Looney nods back, even if he doesn't know the context of everything in this conversation. "Yeah, a little bit. I get it." 

"Yeah." Fido turns back to Dook, studying his unreadable lax expression. He raises a naked eyebrow at the other in question. Dook shrugs. "That's great."

Fido lifts his head briefly with rememberance. "Right, I didn' say the otha' part. She's stuck on that, but on the otha' side, I mean. She wants ta give it to y'all, you 'n ya brothers. Ya guys ain't had anything of his since that happened. Clothes wise. That's all." He shrugs as well. "Up to you whether or not if ya want anythin'. Now's not the only time ta decide anyway."

"Yeah." Dook nods. "I'll think about it." He rubs the base of one of his fingers through the glove. "I got some of his stuff. The things that matter ta me besides that. I'll look around. I'd ratha' wait until Gen 'n Major look around. To them, he was the youngest fo' a while. Me 'n Teddy came outta nowhere each time. I'll give 'em the first look around."

"Alright." Uncle Fido rubs his finger under his nose. He then points to the sheets of metal in his nephew's hands. "What's this for anyway? Ya keep dancin' around it."

"Rocket!" "Silo."

The trio of animals look between eachother, exchanging odd looks. Dook nudges Looney Bird with his foot none-too-kindly, clearing his throat. The bird scuffles back. Dook draws his eyes to his uncle. "It'sa silo that looks like a rocket. Billy Bob's out there startin' a farm in them Tennesse woods a' his. We're usin' it like half 'a silo an' half a feeder, so he ain't run down there every mornin' wit' feed. Ain't got anythin' else planned for the time bein'. Might get some cows out there, eat up all the grass 'n bugs." The dog kicks away the rocks on the ground around the other bits of metal in a big rectangle, settling the sheets down atop the others. They clack on the few remaining rocks around them. The spaniel-mix brushes off his hands. "Got too much up there."

"Got too many down here." Uncle Fido complains, lifting his trucker hat by the brim. It's adorned with the logo of his company, the scrap-yard they're standing in now. The Louisiana site anyway. The pitbull huffs. "Well why didn'tya tell me when you were down in Tennesse? It's a far trip luggin' sheet metal back and forth that far. That's a sixteen hour round-tripper you coulda saved yourself for the last ride back. You got company in Tennesse, and a native." Fido points down at Looney Bird. "Why not stay down there fo' a spell or two? Ya brothers would be rid of ya and you can pick up work at that scrapyard down there. Not like ya gotta live there anyway. Just seems easier."

Looney Bird slaps his forehead and Dook groans. "Y'know, we thought of that! But I was sittin' there thinkin' you wasn''t gonna be able ta help us do it cuz yer runnin' the 'yard down here."

Fido throws a hand downward. "Nawww, I got plenty goin' for me right now! This's my company anyway! But I done so much for this lobster down in the Florida Keys that she's got me covered if I gotta bounce for a bit. She's a whole lotta woman with all that muscle! If she wuddn't so far away I'd be barkin' up that long ol' tree she is!" The pitbull chuckles. "I'm yappin' yer ear off when the sun's going down soon. Y'all want some help? I got nuthin' but time on my hands."

"Oh thanks tha stars!" Dook groans. "I thought I was gunna hafta bring it all to tha van m'self!"

Uncle Fido laughs. "Nope. Jus' gonna have ta tell our friend Billy Bob ta keep an eye out when he's building this thing. Don't want cops sniffin' around."

"Oh, we'll be careful!" Looney Bird calls out as the two dogs get to work picking up the metal, beginning to bring it towards the exit of the yard with a fair bit of haste. Looney follows them over until a small hill seperates them, standing atop the small peak. He cups a wing to continue to be heard. "We own all the land that far out!"

"Not that!" Fido calls back. "What then?!" Looney bellows out. 

"The permits! Cops'll hound you for those 'till the day you die!"

...

"What?!" Looney Bird calls back. Dook waves a hand up in the air. "I HEARD IT LOONEY I'LL TELL YOU IN THE VAN!"

"..." 

"WHAT?!"

Chapter Text

Two years and two months before The Blast.

...

November is cold and dreary, not quite Winter and not quite Summer, tears come to fall and memories shall arise, November hugs but never pries. It's a stagnant month, though comfy all the same.

To Beach Bear.

It's a season he's come to thank.

But not on Thanksgiving.  Not on any Thanksgiving of his in this house.

This year... He has to be somewhere he's never been thankful for, never loved, never held dear to his heart. It's like the cold in November. Bitter and striking, taking away the warmth that was Summer and burying it beneath dead leaves and icy snow. That house describes everything the cold is. And everything Beach Bear isn't.

His parents house is a sight he hasn't seen in a very long time. A decade even, a few years over that.

So why is he here?

Not of his own free-will, of course.

He needs some things.

And he's going to get it from them. Be it that there's bloodshed, or just blemishes.

...

The band arrives at the front-doorsteps of his parent's house with a fog in the air and a chill nipping at everybody's noses, even from inside the van. They stop, then park. But they don't get out. Beach Bear remains in the trunk, hands folded over a garish Christmas sweater. It's of his own choice, odd as they all thought it was that he was wearing a shirt to begin with. Fatz stays in the driver's seat, as do all of the band in their own. He turns his eyes to the rear-view, gazing through the glass into the back.

The van remains in a silent lull.

Billy Bob rubs his hands together. They haven't brought Choo Choo this time, not to somewhere like this. They all know what they're coming here for. Not for pleasentries, though the band has plenty to offer. Regardless of the stories they've heard, they all need to act civil, lest the whole... "Operation" blow up in their faces.

Mitzi coughs in the cold of the air, still recovering from a bit of an after-Halloween cold. Dook begins to drum patterns across his thighs.

"Patta pat a pat pat patta pat a pat pat pat pat patta pat patta pat pat pat a pat a pat pat pat--*"

Rolfe reaches past Earl and smoothes the spaniel's hands flat across his lap. Dook stabs his nails into his jeans instead. His tool gloves are gone. He bears a pair of cut-off leather gloves. They don't match his outfit, and they're ones that none of the band have seen before, though they're worn-down as if they're been used for decades. In fact, they fit as if they're not his. Dook reaches a hand behind himself, past the back seats.

Beach Bear rests his cheek on the other's leather-clad paw.

The van remains silent.

...

The driver-side door to the van slams and the empty vehicle rocks back and forth. Dook reaches past the gorilla and brushes his fingers across the metal. "Coulda been a bit more careful." He mumbles.

Fatz rolls his head, cracking his neck as he cocks it to the side. He clutches the lapels of his big, yellow flannel, accented by suspenders. "I'm sorry. I'm too mad righ' now." The man whispers back. Dook nods, his ears are sticking up just like they have been the entire way down here to Jersey. "I'm too mad ta tell ya without blowin' a gasket."

Beach Bear approaches the two of them from the back, the only reason they even know he's behind them is when he settles a hand on either of their shoulders, stuck between the two of them, just behind. He leans down slow, hesitant. His eyes are trained at the window as he bends, unruly and dull, kind-of greasy hair falling over his face. He whispers with a chill in his voice, a blankness.

"Please try to bottle that while we're inside."

Dook reaches up with his left, taking Beach Bear's hand into his own. Beach Bear slides his paw away from the other's. Fatz nods. "I know. It's hard ta... forget every little thing ya told us."

Beach Bear's shoulders lift and drop slowly. "Yeah. I know. Just. Please don't attack my mother if something happens. I don't want you to have to fight charges against her too." His tone is underlaid with a sad level of tiredness, weighing his voice into a blandness. Something brushes Dook's hand, where it's fallen to his side inbetween him and Fatz. Beach Bear's hand grabs his own, safe in the security of hidden layers. Though not together, as much as the both of them wish to take their romance and make it blossom, one too scared to make their feelings known, now that their chance has passed them before they even knew of the love they bore on one hand. And on the other side, there's the one having already made their feelings known, having accepted slowly that they've been rejected, still holding that love, though saddened as it slowly eats away at them. Even still they hold tight to eachother, flocking to one another despite that sadness it still brings to them. This love that neither of them believe they'll ever have, no matter how close it is. No matter how easily just three little words could break the spell.

But neither of them ever say it. And yet still, they both share these tender moments, guiding themselves to eachother in these hard-ships that brew, coming to one-another for that comfort they both needed so. Fatz steps away from the two of them, looking knowingly at the spaniel.

Dook squeezes the other's hand, holding it tight to his side. "I can't promise I won't hit eitha' of them if they hit you first."

Beach Bear smiles, but he sighs. "I know. And I can't ask you not to. I know you will anyway. If the cops come, I'm prepared. I just didn't want to have to deal with it today. I just wanted to get drunk, honestly. It's the only day of the year I really drink on." The polar bear shrugs. "I just wanted to spend it with you." His eyes come back to the dog.

Dook's cheeks heat up a little more, reddening not just from the cold. "I did too. I haven't had a lotta time outside a' work recently. Jus' wanted to do it wit' you. An' mah family, and all you guys togetha'."

"I'm sorry." Beach Bear offers, looking up towards the house before them. "I didn' wanna spend it here either. They only agreed to today."

"Assholes." Dook grumbles. Beach Bear sighs. "I know. Still on their moral-high-ground bullshit. By the way? They'll get mad if you swear at them. It's a weird mix. They don't get mad at guests if they swear in context of something but ooooh..." Beach Bear shakes his head slowly. "Never at them. Never about them."

"Okay." Dook trains his eyes to the ground, taking in a deep breath. The snow bites at his ankles, soaking in through his socks. He nods to himself. "I'm ready ta go in. Like a civil dog."

Beach Bear lets his hand free. "Go ahead. I'll be behind you."

"'Kay."

Dook begins that way, going up the thin bit of the sidewalk that count's as the house's path. That brings him to the stairs, which he goes up carefully, since they are indeed slippery. There's a little platform before the next bit of stairs, so he goes across that, letting the little bit of slide take him to the other set of stairs, holding firm as he would on his roller-skates to the other side. He steps onto the next step and he slips, knocking his knee on the concrete block. He bites his lip to avoid a whimper, and he steps carefully up the rest of them, joining the rest of the band on the small platform considered to be a porch. Mitzi turns to him, stepping back a bit to give him some space on the concrete square. She's wearing a dull green and white sweater, striped across the whole thing with those colors. Dook's eyebrows knit and he points between the two of them, as he's wearing the exact same thing. Mitzi pulls the knitted fabric from her chest, narrowing it down. She drops it with a "Huh!" and she points at the dog. "Same sweater."

Dook shrugs. "Yeah. But my mah knit this. I got it fo' Christmas a bit ago."

"Oh. Me too! My mom didn't knit it, but she bought it." Mitzi smiles.

Dook takes a hold of the sweater by the back of his neck, stretching it around to see it. He feels around the neck. "Doesn't have a tag."

Mitzi holds up her paws near her poofs of curls, tied into pigtails by orange bows. "I dunno! Maybe she saw it in the catalogue. It's a pretty simple design, and it was in the catalogue for long enough that she might've seen it. Or it's coincidence! Who knows!"

"Yeah!" Dook shrugs. "It's cool."

Beach Bear steps up besides the dog, balanced on one of the slippery steps behind the rest of them. Dook pulls his sweater out, pointing to Mitzi before the other can stare at the house too hard. "Same sweater."

Beach Bear drags his eyes from the windows. His eyes brighten. "Oh sick! I didn't even see that! I saw the both of you get in the van and I still didn't see that somehow. My brain went out the window when me 'n Dook came and picked you all up."

"Aww, it's alright." Dook waves his hand. Mitzi bounces on her heels. "Guys! Did ya notice somethin' special?" She beckons. The rest of the gang all focus onto her from their idle conversations. "What's that, Mitzi-Girl?" Billy Bob offers. Rolfe holds out his hand to tell her to go on, Earl shrugs. "I ain't noticed anything." "Yeah, Mitz, what's that?" Fatz eyes her. Looney Bird gasps with realization. "Y'all got the--!"

"We got the same sweater!" Mitzi holds out her hands, gesturing to the canine besides her. Dook's ears lift with a wiggle and he lifts his hands towards Mitzi like she has him, but with Jazz hands. She catches on a and mirrors his action. "Sweaterrrrrrrr!" and Dook starts up with a noise similar to that, but in a goofy, deeper voice, similar to a man with a green striped sweater receiving mail on a kids' television show.

Billy Bob chuckles. "Ain't that cute! How adorable are you, girl?" Fatz lifts a finger to point at the two. "Now that's somethin' I needa picture of! Y'all gon' hafta do that again whenever I got a camera around."

Rolfe smiles with a swish of his tail. "Good enough ta eat! And I mean that in the cannibalistic sense, of course! Earl?" The wolf leads the other. Earl holds out both his mitts. "On one hand, ya look cute as a button. On the other? Ya still look cute as a button. Cute sweater. Dook ya look like a garbage bag."

"I get nothing?!" The dog squawks.

"Alright alright, settle down." Fatz reaches up and knocks on the door.

"*Knock knock knock*!"

The band goes silent. The atmosphere they created begins to dwindle.

The door opens.

A polar bear bigger and larger than Beach Bear opens the door, a gray turtle-neck on along with dark slacks and dress shoes. The man steps closer to the door. He comes out of the house, ducking past the doorway. He stands at his mighty height, staring the members of the band down with his piercing grey eyes. He lays those beams down onto Beach Bear. The band all look to Beach as he stares back, pupils tiny like pinpricks but his face held strong towards the other. The man snorts a breath, releasing a cloud of hot air. He turns and brings himself back into the house, shutting the door.

Fatz holds up his hands, shoulders high to his ears as he turns to look back at Beach Bear. "I dunno I think we got the wrong house if they actin' like that I'll jus' take my leave--" The gorillaz moves to get off the porch, pushing past the rest of them. Rolfe grabs him by the back of his sweater before he can, Beach Bear holds up his paws as well. "That was him, that was him! Don't say anything. Just wait. He won't talk to people at the door."

Dook holds tight to the polar bear's hand. Mitzi steps back and between Beach Bear and Dook, hiding behind the spaniel and holding herself close to the polar bear. She's twenty, yeah, but that's a big man she just saw and knows multiple horrible things about, excuse her for being scared!

The door opens again with the smell of cigarette smoke, this time by a shorter, thin polar bear, a woman without any kind of curls like her son has and piercing ice-blue eyes. Her face is disfigured, like she took a few too many doors to the face, and that's putting it lightly. She slaps a hand onto the door-frame, stabbing her eyes between all of them. "So, where is she?"

Fatz's head rears back with shock and he looks between all of them. "Only she we got is Mitzi?"

"Ah. Fantastic." She nods. She stands up straight, crossing her arms over her chest. She pinches the bridge of her bent-up and crooked nose. "So is she not here or is she telling you the same shit she told everybody else?"

"I'm here." Beach Bear speaks up. The rest of the band try to shuffle back, so he can come up. Beach Bear goes between the rest of them, smiling down at his mother as with every step he can see her grow redder with rage. His mother snuffs out her cigarette, on the doorframe this time. "You sound awful, Bern."

"I like Beach a lot better than that, Krissie. And I happen to like my voice." He smirks down at her.

"Like hell I'll call you that." She grumbles, opening the door up wider. "GET in here! I'm tired of holding this door open for your group of animals! Can't even have my cigarette when I'm off of work." She slurs.

Beach Bear steps into the house, holding his arms out. "Won't you all please enter my mother's humble abode? She doesn't like it when it's unclean, you see, so make sure to act like little robots and pick up every little thing in her sights! Wipe your shoes off with your tongue if you must!"

Beach Bear's mother yowls visciously, teeth bared in full. "One more and you're out of my house."

"Gladly." The man raises his hands palm up.

Fatz steps into the house, past their guitarist's mother. He doesn't offer much of a greeting besides a nod of his head and a curt word. "Howdy."

As they all enter, Mrs. Bear starts counting them down one by one. "Monkey." She points to Fatz as he enters. "Mad'am Friendly." He snorfs back. Beach Bear narrows his eyes at the skinny, already agrressive polar bear. Mitzi comes in with a smile and words on her lips. His mother cuts her off despite this. "Rat."

Mitzi scoffs. "Well you're full of cheer!" "Sure am when I'm dealin' with pests." His mother replies. Billy Bob comes in. She narrows him down with her finger. "Red-neck bear."

Billy Bob rolls his eyes once he's out of the eyesight of the woman, mouthing in Mitzi's direction. "Ain't she a doll?"

The mouse giggles.

"Krissie. Knock it off." Beach Bear cuts in firmly.

"Wouldn't you like that, Bernie?" His mother jeers. Rolfe comes into the house and oddly enough Beach Bear's mother brightens, ignoring the hard words from her son with a roll of her eyes. "Oh don't I love me a wolf? I'm sure I work with your brother, Wolfman? He's a peach. You must be Rolfe." She sticks out her hand. "Eugh!" Rolfe visibly shudders, jerking his hand back from hers. "You must be Kristal. I've heard all-lllllllllllllllllllllllll--" Rolfe drags it out, then into a pop. "A-BOUT you! I've heard your wretched name toted around the office like a bad case of the mumps! Be careful who you talk trash about, Miss. "I'll have Wolf-man's office by next fall!" How long ago was that? Three years? Yeah. I know you, Kristal."

The woman rolls her eyes. "Of course. Should've known you'd be the same as him. What was I thinking. Thanks for the introduction, Mr. wannabe-pure-bred-puppitist."

"It's venltrioquism, Thank you kindly, Kris-tal."

Rolfe takes his place next to Billy Bob and Mitzi, holding his hands behind his back. Earl grumbles. "I wanted ta tell her off too."

"Later."

Looney Bird scurries in without a word, ushering to Billy Bob's feet on his bipedal legs. He stumbles hard, only donning a lab coat, no shoes. His walking is unbalanced, definitely like he's getting used to walking. which would make sense it's been a bit of trouble ever since he nearly killed himself trying to make himself more anthro. He settles next to Billy, holding to his knee. Beach Bear's mom merely shudders in his direction. "Pest."

Dook steps in, the last of all of them. Beach Bear's mom points right at him. "Mutt--"

"I'll break that finger if you keep talking." Beach Bear grouches lowly. His mother raises an eyebrow. She lifts her finger, pointing right over the dog's head. She swirls the tip of that thin, gangly finger. Dook begins to growl. "Mutt! It's true, isn't it? Just like the rest of them. I saw what you're trying to hide. If you want to disrespect the body God gave you I'll disrespect the rest of your little sinner friends. This. little. faggot. mutt." she lifts and dots her finger with each calous word. "I want him out. I saw what you two were doing outside. Out." She lifts and wafts her hand to the open door. "Out!"

Dook faces her down his jaws parting past his growl, bringing it into a chest-rattling snarl, teeth bared to show the tiny points of his canines. Beach Bear's own mother starts back, showing off her massive, dripping fangs with a guttural yowling to match.

Beach Bear stomps up with a purpose, grabbing the spaniel by the back of his sweater. The dog's growl halts with his choke, and he's wrenched behind the polar bear. Beach Bear narrows his eyes down at his mother, piercing blue eyes really going after it's own name. "You're not gonna keep disrespecting my actual family or we'll leave. And you won't see me after this until it's in the obituary. I let you have this chance. And I can take it back whenever I want."

"I'll jus' leave!" Dook offers instead. "I'm not gon' stay in this bitch's house if I'm not wanted! Didn't even get ta introduce mah self and she's actin' like a heinous witch!"

"Dook. I told you." Beach Bear grits through his teeth. The spaniel rips out of his hold. "Thanks fo' stickin' up fo' me, but I'm done. I'm stayin' long enough fo' you to get yo stuff, an' then I'm gone."

Mitzi stutters up to Dook, wrapping her paws around his shoulders. She slowly takes him over to where the rest of the band's at. "It's okay. It's alright. She's just tryin' to get to you. I know it hurt."

Dook whines in her hold, half a growl and half a whine anyway. Mitzi waves her hand to Beach Bear. "Just go get it. I'll keep us all here, I can handle it."

"Okay. Please." Beach Bear nods. He turns and goes into the hall out of the living-room, disappearing into there. Dook continues to growl. The stairs creak as they're treaded upon. Once those steps end, a new set begins up the same stairs, hesitant. Beach Bear's mother swings the door shut, twisting the lock shut. She steps away from it, arms crossed. "What's going on here?"

Dook's sound gets louder. Rolfe sets into growling right along with him. Billy Bob holds up his hand. "Beach Bear's just tryna get his stuff, is all. The stuff he was given."

"What stuff? I bought everything she owns!"

"She?" Billy Bob asks, cringing backwards. Kristal nods. "Mmhm. Refuses to say it. Miss. Bernadette Beatrice Beaverly Bailey!" She calls out, voice pitched in a tease. "Don't you hate it Bernie?! Don't you wanna hit me, put me in the hospital again!? SHATTER MY FACE LIKE YOU DID THE LAST TIME YOU FUCKED UP?!" She squeals. Billy Bob turns away. It's not his business, not at all. Fatz swings his arm around the other man, drawing him in with wide eyes. "It's alright, Billy Bob. We jus' gotta wait till he comes back down."

"She, gor-ill-A." Beach's mother drawls. "Isn't she awful? My darling daughter who wants to tell everyone she's a boyyyyy...." His mother continues. Dook's growling stops, just so he can let out this little tidbit. "She's drunk. I can smell the gin on her breath. Bitch."

Beach Bear's mother perks up, expression dropping darkly. "Oh, I'm the bitch? I'm the BITCH?! THIS IS MY HOUSE, MUTT! YOU WANNA TELL ME WHAT I AM?!" She stomps forward, fingers clenched like claws. Dook holds strong as Mitzi tries to hold him back, snarling like hell in highwinds close enough to smell her rancid breath. "I'll do it to ya face, you child-stranglin' BITCH! HE'S A FUCKIN' MAN!" Dook snaps back.

"*SMACK!*"

The spaniel cowers back, holding his hand over his eye and the side of his snout. "God--! Oh-- I'm good-- ugh--" Snot dribbles down his lips. Mitzi gasps hard, as does Billy Bob. The rodent jumps forwards, swinging right back.

"*WHACK!*"

The smack contacts her face, but given Mitzi's hesitance, it's not quite as bad as the one Dook has. His mother shakes her head out, paw primed for attack. Mitzi attempts to hide behind Fatz as the polar bear stalks forward. Footsteps pound holes in the stairs, out of sorts with it's shocking weight but all too familiar, freezing Beach Bear's mother in place. Mitzi and Dook look to eachother, then the rest of the band. Fatz and Billy Bob share a look of concern while Rolfe, Mitzi and Dook all look to eachother with matching expressions of "Fuck."

Beach Bear stomps around the corner with his father at his back, following him right into the living-room. He stops dead at the entrance. Beach Bear's father steps out from behind the other, but surprisingly, once he catches sight of his wife, he goes right back, cowering behind his son even despite their height difference of at least a foot. The man hesitantly slides a hand onto Beach Bear's shoulder. "Please don't kill her."

Beach Bear shakes him off. He steps forward, each step uneven in volume. Firstly, he goes to Dook, rubbing over the man's back. Dook stays crouched, holding his face. Not crying, just trying to recover from the brain-spinning hit. He looks between the other members, eyeing them down for any injuries. Beach Bear narrows his mom down with a heinous glare. "What'd you do."

The woman cowers as if facing Hell itself. "I d-d-didn't-- I didn't do anything! He-h-h-he tried to--" Suddenly she regains her composure. "She hit me!" She points to Mitzi. "She hit me and he! HE! He tried to--" Her wretched finger lands on Dook, who gruffs a short growl weakly past his hands. "He's evil! Bred by The Devil himself! All Mutts are evil! He's a hell-hound, Bernie! He's led you astray! Is that why you wanna be a boy? Because of him? I knew it all along! I knew you were still my little girl! It just took me finding him out! I need to-- I need to--!" She looks around in a panic, then suddenly she darts into the kitchen, past her husband. "The DEVIL IS INSIDE MY HOUSE!"

Beach Bear's father's dull eyes go wide, and he ushers forward quickly. "You guys need to go! It's been,, lovely. It's good to see you Bernie. Not Bernie!" He corrects suddenly, dropping his head into the frame of his spread hands. Beach Bear's face splits into confusion, sewn with a bit of what looks like malice. "Beach?!"

He jolts up. "Beach! Beach Bear! Like the Beach Boys! Like that one guy who covers 'em! I remember! You guys gotta go! Krissie's off her meds, she's drinkin' again, it's been horrible! It's only been tonight that she started drinking! I don't know what to do!" His father cries out. "I been drinkin' too! I can't keep doin' this!" His hands stick to his temples. "Can I go with you guys? Please? Just for a night! I can't do it anymore! I haven't been faithful, she's a monster! Help me!"

"I asked you for help!" Beach Bear cries out angrily, suddenly wraught with dampened eyes and a tear in his voice. "I asked you for help and you stood there!" The polar bear points at his father, willing away the wetness. "I asked you for help when she was--" Beach Bear stuffs his hand into his mouth, looking up towards the ceiling. "h-h-h-hurting me, and not just that, but." He looks at his father. "It wasn't a-a-always physical, y'know? It was the hand, or the-- But it was the yelling too. The-- The screaming. The "why can't you be normal?" and the,, the questioning who I was. I never wanted to do the things you guys told me to be. I always just..." He laughs bitterly. "I always just wanted to surf. To do,, do what I wanted."

Beach Bear's dad remains quiet, eyes still wide. Beach Bear holds out his hands. "I'm not a girl. I'm Beach Bear. I'm a man. Can"t you hear me? My voice? My beautiful voice I worked for for years?" He chuckles wetly. "Why is it only now...?" Beach Bear waves between himself and his father. "Why is it only now you call me that?"

"You... You're a man." The bear waves to his son. "You look like a man."

Beach Bear scoffs, although smiling. "When I went and got therapy, and cut off my boobs. Put my own mother in the hospital. Yeah. That's fair to me, isn't it. Bob."

Dook snickers from the ground. Beach Bear can't help but do the same. "It is kinda dumb, right, Dook?"

"Heh, yeah--"

"*RRRRRIIIVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV*"

The sound of,, it can't be, a chainsaw? starts up from the back of the house. Everybody freezes.

The sounds starts getting closer, along with yelling.

"It's me or myself, Bob! Me or the dog!" His mother yells, revving the tool in her hands. The dangerous side of the weapon becomes visible to Beach and his father's eyes, then the rest of her. Immediately at the sight of that tool, which does indeed turn out to be a chain-saw, Beach and his dad start backing up, but still, she's walking so slow. The rest of the band flock to the door immediately, nearly beating the damn thing down in their attempt to get it open. They all yell out various things, but in the end nearly every single sound goes unheard as they all tumble down the porch steps in a pile, slipping on the thick sheets of ice. All that remains discernible is a shout from Earl preumably being puppeteered. "You look awful in floral! Burn that dress before my eyes burn harder!"

Beach Bear backs up to the door, ushering his father along with a hand. Bob nods to that. "Please. I am so scared right now."

"I honestly don't give a fuck, man." Beach Bear grits out. His mother approaches, slow, every footstep uneven. She holds the chainsaw loosely, dangerously close to her own leg. Beach Bear backs up, stepping out of the door. His father follows, stepping out, and to the side. His mother keeps coming, but she's far away. Far enough that, in the moment, they're able to simply just, close the door. Beach Bear reaches in, grabbing the door's handle. He twists the lock on the knob closed, then he pulls it shut. The sound of the chainsaw dulls.

Then it stops.

"Bob? Bernie? I'm sorry."

Beach Bear cringes. His father does the same. Beach Bear turns on his heel, going right down the stairs without slipping or tripping once. The rest of the band lay in wait at the bottom of the stairs, some standing now, all in various degrees of distress as they all huddle close. His father follows close behind. The band all welcome Beach, flocking to the man. But they eye the other warily. Bob sticks next to the group, holding his arms. Beach Bear pulls from them sooner then he'd like, but he'd also like to get out of this place. He points to his father. "We can leave him. I'm gonna take you guys out somewhere instead of all this."

Dook smiles, a clear handprint slapped across his face past his own paw. It's fading now, but it's red enough that it looks like it might bruise a bit. Beach Bear smiles back with a wince. "Sorry she slapped you."

"I slapped her back!" Mitzi raises her hand. "I'm never washing it again!!!!" She waves it around in the falling snow. Beach Bear snickers. "Thank god someone else did it."

Dook cracks his neck. "I wish I woulda done it. But she knocked the snot outta me! Literally! I think I got some on the carpet." He smiles to himself. Beach Bear smirks all the same. "Oooh, good. Real classy. She hates that kinda stuff. Snot's the top contender."

Fatz huffs, crossing his arms. "I'm here wishin' I woulda beat the snot outta her! I was tryna keep myself from launchin' at her. Y'all know they woulda arrested me if I woulda beat the hell outta some frail ol' polar bear, 'specially some frail ol' white woman pola' bear. Tabloids woulda' had my head if I did the same." He shakes his head.  "Weird laws, I tell ya."

Mitzi scoffs. "It shouldn't matter! It's 1990! Who gives a poot about skin-color no more? SHE came at us."

"Oh I know, Mitz." Fatz rolls his eyes. Billy Bob waves his hand. "Pah! I woulda given her more words, I jus' didn't wanna mess it all up before Beach Bear got what he came for. What'd ya get anyway?"

"Oh yeah." The polar bear dips into his pocket. He holds out a stack of photos, then a handful of jewelry, a necklace and three rings, along with a set of jeweled earrings. Beach Bear allows them to go through the pictures, but he puts the jewelry back. "I'll let you guys go through it later, but I don't wanna drop any in the snow. We should probably go." The polar bear points back at the door. "She might change her mind and start the saw again."

"Oh uh-uh." Dook turns and ventures around his van, jumping up and settling himself into the backseat. He swings the door shut after that, buckling himself up. He stares forward, waiting patiently.

The band doesn't make a move to get in, just staring.

He eyes them down and huffs. "Get'n tha damn car, it's cold!"

The rest of the band jump to get inside, filtering in one by one. Mitzi and Rolfe take their spots inside and Dook scoots into the middle, reluctantly giving up the window for their singer. Rolfe, by default, is always allowed a window seat, as it's quite the disaster to have him sit in the middle with his vicious car-sickness.

Beach Bear jumps in as Billy Bob and Fatz do, securing himself a spot, brushing the things back.

No more room.

Good. Beach Bear leans out of the van.  The bear's brows stick together, only a little bit curious why the man is simply standing there. His father waves a hand. "It's alright. I can stay. I'll take a walk and come back, check on your mother. I need to think about some stuff first."

"Alright, good."

The man nods. "Yeah. Have a good night, Bernie-- Beach. Beachy. Have a good night, Beachy."

"Yeah."

Beach Bear swings the doors shut, taking his spot in the van. They start driving.

The van is quiet for a moment.

"I still hate your dad." Dook speaks up. The rest of the band follows in varying degrees. "Yeah, he's drunk." "I didn' see him enough ta decide." "He's a wimp." "Big ol' guy's all stature and nothin' ta back it up. Pretty cowardly if ya ask me." "Yeah I think he's pretty lame." And then lastly Earl, who ends the cacophany with a "He smells like a Macy perfume aisle to me."

"What?" Beach Bear chuckles. "What's that about?" "Yeah, Earl!" Mitzi agrees.

"You know!" Earl shoots back, sitting atop Rolfe's thigh. "Them Macy's aisles that are full to the brim with those bottles everyone spritzes around an' ya can't smell nuthin' but it!"

Beach Bear shakes his head. "I don't think he's worked at Macy's since I saw him the last time years ago. I didn't even think you were close enough to smell him, Rolfe."

"Huh?" The wolf perks up. "Oh, right! I didn't smell anything either. What's the deal, Earl?"

"He did! i'm tellin' the truth!" The puppet bellows. Rolfe pushes him down into his lap. "Oh whatever. Just be quiet until we get there."

Chapter Text

"To the day of giving thanks!" Beach Bear holds up a small glass. The rest of the band lift their respective drinks. "To Thanksgiving!"

The diner they''re in is decorated in nice oranges and yellows, browns thrown around in different place. They all clink the glasses and Beach Bear downs the little shot of spiced rum in his plastic cup. He sticks his tongue out with a wince, holding his hand out for somebody to offer him something. Dook sticks his drink in the other's hand, Beach Bear takes a long drink from it. Dook chuckles belatedly. "You forgot that had vodka in it, didn' ya?"

The polar bear jolts back. "What??? You're drinking again?" Beach Bear sets the drink down, wiping his mouth. "Shit, I thought I was just tasting that shot, how much is in there? I thought it was just cider. Aren't you driving??"

Dook lifts it and takes a nice drink off of it. Once done he licks his lips. "Two shots a' whip cream vodka. I like 'em strong. An' I'm not drivin' back, rememba'? We're all stayin' up in Chattanooga fo' the night." The spaniel leans back. "But ta answer ya question, yes I am drinkin'. Jus' this once though. I bought some when ya went to the bathroom at the gas-station, the liquor store was jus' next door. I did'n wait fo' ya to go in the bathroom, I jus' went ahead an' bought it cuz you were in there so long.""

Beach Bear waves a hand. "it's fine, man! You don't have to explain yourself to me. I was just surprised. If you wanna drink it's fine, I think it's been long enough that it's alright, y'know, mentally for you."

"I mean, ya got a right ta be." Dook waves at him as well. "Ya helped me through the worst of it, ya got every right ta worry. I think it's cute." He raises the glass to his lips.

"What'cha'll talkin' 'bout cute?" Fatz asks across the table. Dook chokes. Beach Bear snickers to himself. "Mind your business, Mr. President."

"Hmmm... Well I do like the sound of that, still. Carry on." He waves them on. Dook shrugs, taking a long drink off of his mixed up concoction. He shivers lightly. "Anyway. Ya got a right to."

Bear tilts his head back and forth, his hair following his movements. "If you want me to. I like that you think it's cute." The polar bear hums. Dook chuckles. "Yeah. I do." He takes another sip. "I'ma hafta make one o' these anotha' time too, it's good."

"That's why I started chugging it!" Beach Bear points to him with a laugh. Dook giggles back. "I thought you was gonna take a lil' sip. I didn' have nuthin' but alcohol ta give you, sorry."

"It's alright." He looks to the table.

Then he perks up. "Hey, wait! I forgot it's Thanksgiving! What are you thankful for?" The polar bear offers up. Dook tilts his head. "You'll hafta give me a bit. Maybe afta' this drink's gone." He takes to nursing at the cider. Beach Bear reaches over to the closest member besides the one in front of him, whacking Rolfe on the arm. The wolf stops mid conversation, as he's chatting with Billy Bob about some of the stories Wolfman's told him from the office. "What's the big idea?"

"What are you thankful for?" Beach Bear pokes, leaning in closer. Their comedian lifts his nose to the air, staring at the ceiling fan near their booth. "Hmmmmm... not being murdered!" He sticks a finger up, laughing with much gusto. "And the sweet sweet allure of crisp, green, moolah! Can't live with too much of it and can't live without it. And I'm thankful for little Earl here." He raises the puppet. Earl rolls his eyes with a grin. "You big sentimental idiot."

"Ooh, ooh! We're doin' thanks?" Mitzi jumps out of her seat. "I'm thankful for-rrrrrrr... All of you! I love hanging out with you guys! It's our aniversary this year after all! What better way to celebrate?!" She lifts up her hands. "I love you all!" "Aww, we love ya too, Mitz!" "Love ya too!" "Yer a sweet one, Mitzi, We love ya too." "Love ya!" "I love you too." "Love ya back!" and ending that is Beach Bear. "Haheh, I love you too." He reaches over and ruffles their matching hair.

She flumps down in her seat with a big ol' smile, pointing to their next speaker. "Fatz! What are you thankful for?"

"Why, y'all and mah family a'course." The gorilla begins, adjusting his sweater on his stocky figure. "I wuldn't know where I'd be without y'all! And mah family. Gotta include my Momma's washed up cracklin's too! I ain't neva' tasted a meal so good and I won't until Christmas time. I'm countin' down the days 'till I'm reunited."

"What about Esmerelda?" Billy Bob pokes at their pianist. "Ought not ta forget 'bout her. She'll ring your neck somethin' fierce."

Fatz slaps his hands together as if to pray. "Oh, and my baby Esmerelda. I know where I'd be without her, and it's chopped up in a ditch. Amen."

"Amen!" "Amen!" "Amen!" "Amen!" "Amen!" "Amen!"

Fatz holds out his pointing figure, narrowing down the waitress they talked to just a little wait ago. "That's lookin' like us."

The woman comes over with a smile. "Hi! This the right stuff, I take it? Take it easy, have a stroll! Jersey's young in the fall. If yer looking ta fall!" The woman laughs boiserously. "Knock yaselves out, this's the good stuff around here! Come upta the counter if you want more grub. Bring ya wallet!" She begins to hold out plates. "Alright, who's got this one?"

"I do!" Mitzi calls.

They get everything passed out with a big ol' thank you to their waitress, Margret. Fatz digs in with gusto. "I'm thankful for burgers! Mmh!"

Dook and Beach Bear go steady with their own, Billy Bob picks up the remainder of the conversation. "Hmmmm... I'd be in my right to say a few things, as y'all have. I'm thankful for you guys, my momma and Looney. But I'm also thankful for Miss Margret over there!" He points to the counter. The rest of the band pipes up with their agreeances. Billy Bob smiles. "Sweet lady. And the cooks tonight. But. Besides all that, I'm thankful ta be alive! It's 1990, and my fiftieth's comin' up!" The grizzly bear rubs the back of his head. "I'm gettin' up there. Me 'n Looney are destined ta start goin' grey here soon. Fatz, I already dun' see those greys in ya hairline." The other man teases.

Fatz rubs his scalp. "Yer right there. Me n' Esmerelda are startin' ta look the same, 'n she's a Silver Back!"

"Better watch for those greys there." Billy Bob shakes his head. "Looney?" Looney bird hops up onto the table. Rolfe lifts his plate before a feather can nestle into his seasoned rice. The bird-man clears his throat. "I'm thankful for technology! Like Billy Bob said, It's 1990! We're right on the cusp of a technological breakthrough! The Web's gonna be mainstream in no time! SOmeday, you'll be layin' in your beds lookin' at eachother through your phones! Your fridges will order your groceries! Maybe we'll have little robot assistants in your bathrooms! Who knows what could happen!?!" His wings flap with gusto. "We're livin' in tha future!!!"

"Yeahhhhhh, Looney Bird!" Dook lifts his drink taking a sip to those words. Beach Bear flicks his forehead. "Hey, what about you?"

Dook holds up a finger, letting the rest of his mixer drain down his throat. He sets it down and lets out a short burp behind his hand. "'Scuse me." He claps his leather-gloved hands together. "What I'm thankful for, By Dook LaRue."

"I love these." Billy Bob points. Dook blinks open a lone eye. "Why thank ya."

He closes them again. Dook holds out his hands. "I'm thankful fo' the company y'all provide and the oppourtunies y'all gave me. I woulda been just a junkyard dog wit'out y'all scoopin' me offa the corner ta play drums in some weird band. 'S kinda funny Dingo had a part in it, tippin' y'all off."

Fatz waves a hand. "We didn' know that 'till ya already joined, Dook, rememba'?"

"Oh yeah." Dook shakes his head with a laugh. "I showed y'all my family tree and ya eyes 'bout melted outta ya skull. I rememba' somethin' like that. Now, shut yer trap! I'm talkin'." "Oh, well okay, Mr. LaRue."

"Company, oppourtunity, yadda yadda. I wouldn't really be who I am without y'all. And I'm really thankful fo' that. 'Specially you, Beach Bear. You know why."

"Awwww!! Mitzi jolts across the table, across all the plates, just barely missing swiping her sweater through everybody's food. Dook quickly pats her back. "Thank ya Mitzi! Yer messin' tha food up!"

"Whoops!" She quickly sits back down, smoothing her orange skirt. "Sorry! Just a little bit of hair to worry about."

"Damn man." Beach Bear fakes a sniffle, probably. "Man I love you 'n shit, you're my best friend." The polar bear whines out. Dook begins to succumb to the others sadness. "Yer my best friend too, Beach."

Beach Bear hides his face in his hands. "I love you guys so much." He sniffles greatly, rubbing at his wet eyes. "I'm so glad to be out of that house." The man holds his hands to his forehead, bowing his head. "You guys are my family, not them."

"That's the last time I'm gettin' called that without killin'' someone!" Fatz chuckles. He rests a hand on Beach Bear's shoulder. "We love ya, Beach Bear. I know it don't seem like it sometimes, but I do."

The bear nods. "It doesn't. I know you do." He sniffles, wiping at his eyes. He keeps his face exposed, however. "I'm sorry about her."

"It's alright!" Billy Bob says for the other. "Me personally, I dealt wit' racoons scarier! She all bark and no bite. 'cept for that smack she gave Dook. I dunno what her problem wit' him was, shriekin' bout the Devil 'n all that. I ain't never gotten that vibe off'a Dook."

Dook shrugs with a smirk. "I'm glad she hates me. Gon' be a wicked bruise, too." He rubs over his snout. Beach Bear cringes. "God, I'm sorry for that. I had no idea she'd act like that. She was so calm over the phone. It's my fault for thinking she'd try to be civil."

"It's alright!" Dook repeats the earlier notion, waving a paw. "It's not ya fault for wantin' her ta be different. I done the same thing before on a smaller level. It's jus' not worth it. But it's neva' ya fault fo' wantin' it ta be different. I know you been wantin' ta try fo' a bit." Beach Bear huffs. "Kind-of? It's been back and forth. I stopped wanting her around years ago. I just hate having it weighing on my back. Not anymore, though. That's their problem, and it has been for a while. I just wanted my stuff back."

"True that." Dook throws out. Billy Bob sighs. "I get that. Well, I love ya too, Beach Bear." The polar bear smiles. "I love you too."

"I'm not much for speeches." Rolfe holds that tidbit out. "But I do love you too." Earl rises from below. "Yeah, I love you, ya big rug."

"I'll take that."

Dook puts his hand across the table from underneath, gathering the polar bear's paw in his own. He reaches under the table and grabs both of them like that, dark eyes a gentle blue in the diner's lights. Heart filled with such an emotion that he knows he'll never get to fully put into realization how much these three words really mean to him. He already lost his chance those few rough years ago, to bring those words to a confident, fully-sure light.

"I love you, Beach Bear."

The polar bear smiles with a wobble in his lip. Struck with the same kind of feeling as Dook, but in his case... He's been told that these words would only remain platonic to the other's soul. It's been three years since he told Dook he's in love with him.

And it's been three years since Dook told him no.

"I love you too, man."

...

One week before The Blast.

...

It's New Years, a brilliant time of year, the end of the year. The beginning of a brand new time and the one day to celebrate the memories and events that have happened in the year prior just before the number in the calender rolls over another bit higher.

But for Dook?

It's been utter hell.

The moment he walked in he spotted some girl on Beach Bear's arm and a new-found dread settled in his stomach like liquid mercury. It was just before they went on stage, right when Dook walked in the door that he saw it. Just some random woman, a dog, actually. It's nobody Dook's ever seen before, and it sticks in his soul that there's something, just. Not right about it all.

But he can't really sit and tell himself that. That this girl has something... wrong with her. She's nice, actually. But. It just hurts to have a physical reminder that...

Yeah. Dook lost his chance. He lost his chance the moment he said no to Beach Bear those years ago. It's all his fault too. He could've said anything in those five years between that.

But he didn't.

And it's screwing with him.

Dook's quiet nearly the whole time he's on stage, thinking, blanking out everything in his head other than drumming and contemplating just what he can do from this point on. He can move on. God, is that easier said than done, now that he's finally been certain that he's fully head over heels for the man who plays guitar in their band for at least two years. He could snap and confess everything to Beach Bear in the hopes that he'd cave and go to Dook. But that's not what Dook wants, and even if that could happen, it's not set in stone that it would. It's even more likely that Beach Bear would spit in his face for playing with his emotions, and rightfully so. Dook could never break up a happy couple.

So he's caught off guard whenever he's addressed on stage by the other man, fully expecting to be ignored by the other for the rest of his life. Beach Bear calls out to him, words on his tongue. "Yo! Dook!"

The spaniel perks up, the ever-constant drum pattern he's had going on this whole show faltering for just a moment. He rights it as he gathers himself mentally. "Whazzup?"

"You got a resolution for 1993?" He offers.

Dook shakes his head.

Everything up until now has kinda fallen apart for him. His tone sticks with forlorning. "Nah. Yeah, no, I don't. I lost it. It's gone now. I can't do what I wanted ta do no more."

Beach Bear keeps on strumming along, though he leans back on his surfboard, his leg kicking out for balance as he peeks past Fatz. His eyebrows furrow once he catches Dook's face. "Well, why not?" The man lifts his fingers off his guitar, flicking them in Dook's direction to ask if he's alright. The spaniel nods, picking up on that small signal the other's flashed. "Well, I jus' can't do it anymo'. Circumstances changed. What's yo' resolution?"

"Mmhm, I don't know!" Beach Bear leans back, rolling his hips across his surfboard. He leans back, striking out a strong chord. "I'm lookin' for loooooovvvvvvvvee!" He drops his head backwards. "I been achin' for it too long!"

Dook jolts back. "Whatta 'bout that girl I saw hangin' off ya neck jus' an hour ago?!" The spaniel-mix calls out, his confusion not just something he's playing up for the audience. Beach Bear sucks in air from his teeth while a few cat calls and some scandalized children call out with some "Oooo!'s. The polar bear narrows him down, squinting as he's be caught. "Well if you really gotta know. She's a friend from College. Took math together. She's a fiery hound ain't she, Dook?" Beach Bear winks back at him. Dook screws up his nose tight. "I wanna throw her in the fire, yeah!"

Beach Bear chuckles hard, cackling into the restaurant's festive atmosphere.

"Here I'd say you're jealous!"

"What if I am?"

The whole band turns to look at him with wide eyes. Mitzi especially, though she's the only one with a wide smile. Dook chuckles sheepishly. "I'm kiddin'! Who could date a,, ugly mug like yours?" He throws out without much heat. Beach Bear's jaw continues to gape.

"Beach Bear yer catchin' flies." Dook continues drumming.

A giant smirk blesses the man's rugged features.

"No I'm not."

...

Once the show stops, just ten minutes after midnight, Dook hops off the stage and he starts gethering his drums up in a hurry, unscrewing the nut from the top of his cymbal and dropping it in his hand. As the days go on, he seems to gets bigger and bigger in the stomach. But, actually, it's his suit. Each day that passes it gets bigger, softer. Sleeker and more like vinyl on the outside. Recently, Dook's put in leg-warmers, puffing his legs up to a brutal amount. He's started to look more like a marshmallow than anything.

Dook jumps, gasping when Beach Bear slaps a hand down on his shoulder. "What was that about?" He leans in.

Dook focuses in on his drums, slipping his cymbal off the pole. He takes the pole and he starts to disassemble the stand, unscrewing the metal poles it's made of. "What wuz what?"

"Oh christ, Dook, don't play with me." Beach Bear leans in, his voice right and set into a sultry tone. "That couldn't have been just a joke, right? I'm not just looking in too deep?"

"I think yer lookin' too deep up yer own ass." Dook snorts, struggling to remain ignoring the way that whispering drives him crazy. He still has to know. "That was stage banter. Now who's that girl I saw hangin' on ya arm when I came in?"

"Ohhh... so you saw her." The man's brow drifts high.

Dook narrows his eyes. "I'm not stupid."

"Never said you were." Beach Bear holds up his hands. "Friend from College, Babe. Like I said. Her name's Rachael. Pure-bred Cavalier." The Polar Bear leans in. "You know I like that kinda breed. Among other kinds of breeding, like the sensual variety."

"Yeah." Dook swallows thickly. "Whatta you tryna do with her?"

"Is that any of your business?" Beach Bear stands behind him with such an aura, placing his hands atop the spaniel's shoulders. "I could take her wherever I wanted. Do whatever I want."

Dook stands there, stock still with the cymbal clutched in his hand. The edge of it digs into his glove. Beach Beach comes closer, nudging at his ear. Dook's head raises, lips parting with the smallest puff of hot air. Beach Bear's voice rumbles with an unfamiliar gravel. "Or it could be you."

Dook clutches the cymbal, rolling it in between his palms.

Beach Bear slides away, slow as he steps back. It's just the two of them on the dark, empty stage. They're the only two who have decided to pack up so early. It's cold when Beach Bear moves away, taking away the warmth Dook was just getting used to. "But that's up to you. I'm still hangin' around." The polar bear still hovers behind him, an ever-present aura of familiarity, love.

Lust.

Dook pulls at the front of his jumpsuit. He can't just, fall victim to his own lust. If this is... if this love is real... then they can wait. Dook sets the cymbal on his stool. He holds his hand behind himself, palm up. Beach Bear sets his hand into his.

"A couple days from now. Uhhhh... January Fourth. Yeah. Meet me at Sarah's. That little one we went ta, next ta Country Mart. I know it's far. I can pick ya up, or ya can drive."

Beach Bear squeezes his hand. "Okay." His breath shudders with excitement. "I'll drive. Is it a date?"

"I guess we'll find out." Dook's shoulders lift and drop, though they carry a nice weightlessness with them. He smiles behind his own turned back, eyes set on the stool in front of him. He's just too nervous to turn around. Even so, his head begins to turn, his blues moving behind his shoulder. Beach Bear smiles back, his lips soft and covered with honey. Dook's smile burns brighter. He turns around, stepping cautiously. Beach Bear kneels before him, wrapping him up into his arms. Beach Bear sways the two of them there, head tucked to the other's shoulder past the giant collar. Dook nuzzles his head in the same spot on the other man. He remains with his arms down for a moment, but soon, he embraces the other, settling his own around the other man.

They stand, in Dook's case, and kneel in Beach's.

For a few moments, all they do is breathe.

Beach Bear lets him go, though their hands take a bit to leave eachother. Beach Bear shakes his head. "I'm just happy you're trying. I never thought you'd say yes."

"I've been wantin' to at least try since you first confessed."

"Why didn't you say anything?!" Beach Bear scoffs. "Day after day I've been waiting for some kind of chance. I'm not even mad. I just can't wait until the day I get to see your beautiful face again."

"Me too." Dook smiles with a boisterous energy he couldn't ever muster until now. "Why don'tcha wear somethin' pretty? Doll yaself up. Not in a dress." He chuckles. "Maybe I'll do that."

"Okay. Yeah I will. Bowtie and all." The polar bear sucks in a breath, fanning at his eyes dramatically. "I'm gonna cry and it's all your fault."

"Oh Beachy-keen I'm tryin' not to." Dook sniffles. "Stahp it. I gotta put this all up."

"Okay." Beach Bear rises to his feet, slipping off of the stage to place his feet on the carpet. "Okay. I love you. EIther way that it ends up going, I still love you."

"I love you too."

They both stare at eachother in a pause.

"It's not,, set in stone tha' we start datin'." Dook adds hesitantly, still... very unsure about his own feelings. It's all so new to him. Loving men, loving... Beach Bear.

The other man nods, his head cocking along with it.

"I'll said I'd take anything. Just..." Beach Bear looks to the ground. His eyes drag up to Dook's. "Please don't leave me hangin'."

"I won't. I swear on it." The spaniel promises.

"Okay." Beach Bear's head dips once more. "Okay."

The footsteps begin. Then. They fade.

The emptiness of the stage envelopes Dook.

Chapter Text

One hour before The Blast.

...

In a flat on the far side of town, Dook pulls on a nice, shiny, silver-y button up, fixing the buttons straight with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. In between the buttons he scrubs at his pearly, clean teeth, brushing the bristles around to capture any imperfections. He can't have any today, even as much as Beach Bear pleaded if this day ever came that he not waste too much time on his looks. Uncle Fido holds up two ties, holding them out to the other. "I got red and I got blue. Tha's all. I ain't got black right now."

"Mmphhphp--" Dook takes the toothbrush from his mouth and he spits a bunch of white foam into the sink, flicking the squeaking tap to the water on to rid it from the plastic. He spits some more and settles the toothbrush in a clear cup, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He waves profusely. "It's fine, it's fine! I don' need one! Gimmie a bit, okay? I'm sorry, I gotta do it m'self, go-- go do somethin', I'm sorry."

Uncle Fido lifts his hands, swinging the ties over his arm. "Alright, alright. I get it. It's your date. Nice job fishin' 'im in, finally."

"Thank ya." Dook rolls his eyes. "I can take it from here." He waves a hand outward as if to shoo the other.

"Right." Uncle Fido ducks from the doorway. Soon, the stairs creak, making it known that he's gone down them. Dook sighs with relief.

While he's got time, Dook fills up and throws some mouth-wash into his mouth, swishing the liquid around. As he's waiting, he looks around the bathroom, eyeing the pile of laundry behind the door. Dook spits out the acrid brown liquid into the sink, fluhsing it down with some water. He sticks his lips to the tap to collect some water, swishing it to gather the rest of the remaining taste. He looks at himself through the mirror. With a jolt he spits out the water.

Dook whirls around and he stabs his hand into the laundry pile, yanking out the thin silky material snaked into the laundry. A sock clings to it but he frees it from the black tie's grasp, taking the silk and looping it around the back of his neck. Right as he stands and reaches for his cologne, taking it into his paw, his ears lift to a sound downstairs. Then the sound travels next to him.

"BRRRRNNGGG BRRRRRRRNNNGGGG*!"

Uncle Fido's phone rings hard. The man calls from downstairs. "I'LL GET IT!"

"ALRIGHT!" He calls back. The ringing stops. Dook looks in the mirror, sweeping his fingers across an unruly bit of fur. He then pinches at his chin, exploring his skin for some bits of stubble he missed.

....

"HEY! PICK UP THE PHONE IT'S FOR YOU!" Uncle Fido calls from the downstairs. Something thumps against the wall three times and Fido barks three times. "SHUT IT BEATRICE IT'S IMPORTANT!"

"better shut it wit' the barkin'!" The woman's voice calls faintly through the wall. Dook groans and he stomps on over to the phone, cologne in hand. He picks it up and speaks into it. "I got it Fido."

"Alright." His side of the line goes quiet. Dook clears his throat briefly. "Dook LaRue on tha phone."

"Hey, uh, Dook?" Looney Bird's voice comes hesitantly through the phone. Dook groans hard. "God, Looney, now? I'm doin' stuff!"

"We're so close ta bein' done already!" The bird cries. "And it's gettin' ta be so cold now that we're runnin' outta time. I don' know what kinda weather we're gonna get in 1994, we gotta have this done by December or we're screwed! Coca-cola and Moonshine don't last that long."

"Coke lasts forever." Dook shrugs. Looney bird grumbles. "Mmh, new coke maybe. Not five year old opened coke. In a vat. With moonshine. On a rocket ship."

"Rocket ship??? Whatta y'all talkin' about?"

"Uncle Fido get off the phone!" Dook lifts from the reciever to yell out. "My bad!" The phone audibly hits the holder, hanging it up. Looney Bird huffs. "So yeah. I needja ta come down an' work on this thing. We might be able ta have an early launch at a better time. I'm thinkin' July. There shouldn't be many clouds, but... There might be pilots. But not late at night, I can always tap into the pilot control tower to make sure it's clear. Still, I needja ta come work on some stuff while we got time, Billy Bob 'n me got some backed up cars we needta work on all this week and I'm booked ta see my nieces the next week and a half after! I need you here tonight."

Dook clicks his tongue. "I got stuff goin' on. I'm meetin' Beach Bear at Sarah's on that corner in an hour. I'm not gon' be late fo' that, Looney."

The bird seems to throw up his hands after that. "All I'm really needin' ya ta work on is routin' that computer I built in there to tha one in the shed, so it pops on whenever ya needta launch! And so we can test it, while it's hooked up to that screen outside. That alright? It's the only thing I need ta keep workin' wit' the computer, then ya can go meet up wit' Beach Bear!" The bird cries with clear excitement. "Whatta ya say?"

Dook huffs into the phone. "I'm sayin no. Looney I really don' wanna go down there righ' now. I got stuff ta do. 'N you remember the last time I was workin' out there in the dark."

"I know, I know, ya slipped off the top 'n broke yer arm." Looney Bird grumbles. "But the outside's all done! I jus' need one little thing done on the inside. Should only take a minute. I only need that one thing done tonight and you'll be free for the week!"

"Free all week?" The spaniel's voice lilts expectantly. Looney Bird nods, unseen. "Yeah! Fo' the next two weeks! Maybe I'll throw in a third?! It does take me a bit to recover from hanging it with the little ones."

"Mmmh..." Dook tilts his head to and fro. "Alright. But jus' for a bit. And if I can't get it hooked up an' workin' in twenty I'm leavin' it."

"Okay! Sounds great! You'll be here when?"

"Give me 'bout..." The spaniel looks to the clock. "A half before nine. I gotta be gone at eight-fo'ty-nine at the latest."

"Perfect!"

"Alright." Dook clicks his tongue into the phone. "I'm gettin' mah shoes and mah coat on an' I'm bouncin'. See ya."

"See ya."

The line goes dead.

...

Thirty minutes before The Blast.

...

Dook drives his van past Smitty's-Service-Station, taking the road just adjacent to the quaint shack. He travels along the rocky-road to Billy Bob's house, The wheels on his half-painted van crunching on the path until he spots a familiar sight for him and Looney. Close to the house, he turns away from it, manuevering his van into the start of an unmarked path, then starting down that way. There's only trees around for a bit. He keeps going.

He takes another turn to the right, into the thin entrance just beside a dead end. He continues on. Another turn.

The trees clear, and a shed comes into his sight. A little further beyond that, and unlit, is a gigantic, thin, atmosphere-piercing needle of a rocket ship, with a long antennae at the top and wide ol' yellow wings at the bottom, where a cluster of barn-sized make-shift rockets lay between them. Dook drives up to the shed, the silver of his van glinting in the light. Into park is where his van goes. Dook throws the tie and the cologne into his backseat where it's been resting in his lap.

The driver's side door opens, then shuts with a bang. Dook begins towards the shed, adjusting the collar of his shirt. In just five seconds of being out of his van, Looney Bird darts out of the structure, quick on his self-created bipedal legs. "Dook! Yer here! Thank you! Let's go let's go!" Looney goes around the man, pushing him towards the rocket. Dook groans, but complies. "Man, I better not be here all night!"

"Don't worry! It's a piece of cake, you'll see!"

...

Eight thirty-nine, PM. Fifteen minutes before The Blast.

...

Dook flops down onto the ground with a rattling groan, spreading himself out on the floor of the top-most layer of the ship. "I still don' get itttttttt..."

Looney Bird jumps up, fluttering his half-wings with a bustering level of enthusiasm. "Wait wait WAIT! DOOK! I think we got it!"

"Whuh?" Dook looks up from the ground. Looney Bird peers at the console directly above them, a gasp releasing from his throat. "It's on! It's on!"

"Really?!" The spaniel bolts to his feet. He looks from underneath the console, peeking at the dark screen above, up on the long panel up at the top of the ceiling, surrounded by many buttons. He gasps once he finds it, the simple green lettering across the left side of the screen. He squeals in his throat. "We DID it! We can go to space?! I can go to space?!" He cries. Looney Bird nods viciously, jumping up and down, though carefully. "Yeah yeah yeah! Yer goin' ta space, Dook!"

"I'm goin' ta space!" Dook whoops into the air, the sounds reverberating around the huge, empty metal cockpit. "I'm goin' ta space, I'm goin' ta space! Whacha! Whacha!" He strikes a couple poses. "Rocket-man LaRue, open and raring for business!" He throws his fingers into a very specific pose. Not too unlike from a certain sailor scout, the guardian of the moon.

"Hold on!" Looney Bird holds up his hand. "Lemme test it! Lemme test it! I need ta see if it shows up! Open that text prompt and type on it, will ya?"

"Oh, if I can." Dook turns, peering up at the console. He takes a hold of the mouse, pressing it to, and then wiggling it gently across the wall. "Uhh, the left side of the thing?"

"Yeah! But that mouse isn't for that. Use the keyboard. The arrow keys."

"Mouse? Weird, don' look like one." Dook peers over the tool, then he looks to the keyboard. "Ah. Okay."

After a few tries of pecking at the keys, and a short bit of explanation from the bird, Dook opens the prompt. Before he can talk, Looney Bird darts towards the ladder, already right in front of it. "I'll be back, hold on! Type a little something!"

"Uh... Yeah, okay!"

"If something pops up on the screen just hit Y and then enter! It should say that on the key or E-N=T! It's the one on the very top left of it! WHOOT!" Looney Bird throws himself down the ladder, his clawed toes clacking on the rungs, and then the metal floor of the bottom-most layer of the ship. He runs down the long ramp they've built out of the door, ushering towards the shed.

Looney yanks open the creaky wooden door, hurrying over to the computer Looney Bird set up inside of it eons ago. The gasoline generator is running just a couple feet from the shed, chugging steadily with only one small hiccup in the fridgid cold, and so Looney turns on the computer. It begins to whirr.

But it's slow. The cold doubles, triples the amount of time it takes for it to turn on. Looney Bird jiggles the mouse impatiently.

...

After three long minutes the computer boots. Looney hurries to enter the password. Then he waits. The password is accepted. Once he's let in, he types in the prompt he needs. The window pops up.

"Wired connection is in use. Remotely access computer using this PC? Y/N?

Looney pecks at the keys.

"Y."

A moment passes.

A screen next to Looney pops on. The text prompt and the rest of the computer's display inside the ship becomes visible on that screen. Looney Bird moves it to the side a tad.

"Share Information? Y/N?"

"Y."

Another prompt appears.

"Would you like to share information, 1,  or perform a system rewrite onto the other computer's hard-drive? 2. Press 1 or 2."

"2."

He waits, praying that Dook fulfilled his side of the task.

...

The small screen turns black.

Ten long minutes pass.

Chapter Text

Moments before The Blast.

...

Dook pushes himself back and forth on the wall-mounted chair they afixed into the ship, leaning back against the back-rest and pushing his knees taught, then outward to move himself up and down idly, as if he's doing squats. The whole room is moved entirely to face upward, turning it all sideways. His space-suit lays in the chair along with the ratchet straps they hooked into it. Dook peers above him, out of the wind-screen they stole out of one of the scrap trucks near Smitty's. It's tinted slightly, but he can see the full moon all the same. Next to the chair he's leaning on the side of lays a tank, yellow with many warnings stickered across the sides. Hooked up to that tank is a hose, what looks to be half of a garden hose. And on the end of the other side of the tube? A fishbowl. With a hole punched into it as cleanly as they could get with the time that they had in between the weeks. It was a horrible time just hooking up their hose to the tank, and it was even worse getting the tank in the first place! With a warrant now out for two criminal's arrest, Looney Bird and Dook match the description QUITE well of the cloaked and masked robbers who broke into an off-duty ambulance and stole the oxygen tanks on board. 

But it's not like Dook knows anything about that. Nope. Not at all.

But he may have obsessively watched the news weeks after that hoping nobody died from their excursion.

"*Tick Tick Tick.*"

Dook peers up at the console, stickered to the roof above him. The keyboard hangs down, as does the mouse. Dark eyes train onto the screen.

A Wav. file starts and stops on the screen. Dook types out "what" on the keyboard without the prompt being open. 

The window closes. Soon after that, the actual text prompt opens. Dook squints at the dark screen. 

"U can c this?"

Dook fixes the keyboard to lay flat over his left hand, poking at the keys with the other. 

"U can c this?yes. yes1"

The entirety of the text erases. 

"ok. going to try some things out. hang on,."

Dook looks around, waiting. The hydraulics inside the ship hiss as they're used. The door to the rocket all the way below Dook begins to open and close, slow and with odd spaces of time inbetween. The metal of the repurposed garage door rattles noisily. Dook takes to the keyboard for answers.

"ok. going to try some things out. hang on,.what u doing down there/"

The text erases. 

"uze the backspace. Testng door. other things too."

Dook pecks at the keys. 

"Cool1 how do i use that yelling symbol/"

"Hold shift and then press 1"

"!COOL!"

Looney Bird smiles as he types away on the keyboard, erasing the small message on the prompt to tell the other. 

"hey im gonna star programing the loach"

"K!"

Looney Bird leaves the prompt on one screen and he turns to the other. With the dexterity of his more human fingers, Looney Bird opens the prompt on the Launch side of the table. Firstly, he types in the full name of the Wav. file, routing it to play when he taps a key. Then he ties it to play with the countdown he's already programmed months before this. He hits enter to save his work.

The computer chugs along, whirring all the same. 

A longer pause passes. Just slightly too long.

Looney hits enter once again. The computer finally registers. He nods to himself, closing out of the window. Now, he can test how the power flows to each point of the ship, as there's a list in one of the many folders on this computer that holds the names and functions of each thing they have tied to the engine. He looks around the thing, entering into the name that says "Lower deck"

...

The text prompt lights up. 

"Hey is the light in here suposed to go off/?"

Looney Bird erases it quickly. 

"may be. shuld be fine. I jus tied the tick sound to thee loach and now im messing with the lights. Should only be on the lower deck."

"K!"

Looney Bird's fingers glide across the keys. 

The text prompt appears again. 

"the hatch up here jus shut I think i jus heart the engin turn on1!"

Looney Bird swipes the message gone. He peers out the window. 

"It s ok its just calbraiding" He sends back.

"*WHOOOOOOOOOOPPPHHH!!!*"

The entire field lights up with a glow brighter and hotter than the sun, illuminating the trees like head-lights and deafening Looney Bird. The avian's heart flies out of his body entirely, leaving a stabbing pit where it once was. He turns to the console with eyes as wide as the knot of panic forming in his stomach. 

"IS IT LOACHKING"

Looney Bird slaps his hands across the keys. 

"Aisdsvnsvhvus vs YES RUN DOOR OPEN"

Looney Bird flings his hands the small distance across the two keyboards, pushing through many digital folders. The door prompt opens and he tries to get it to release control.

But nothing occurs, the main door sticks shut. The next letters pop up on the screen like bullets.

"CANT! TOO MUCH PREZZURE HEVY! STAYIG! STRAPPED IN WHEN THE COCK DORR CLOSD I ONNO HOW TO GET OUT???"

Looney Bird flings his hands up. "WHY DID IT CLOSE?!" He screeches, desperate.

The bird looks around the shed frantically. If he himself leaves he'll most likely DIE. He takes to the keyboard once again. The prompt for THAT door opens and he slams in the right letter. The door opens, hopefully. 

"LEEVE!"

"IM ALREDY IN I CANT MAKE IT OUT TO HEaVY"

"GO!"

"CANT"

"FUCK!" Looney Bird throws his hands out. "DOOK!"

"IM SORYY! U SHULD MAKE IT ALIVE!" He slams his fingers on the keyboard.

"IT OKAY TELL BEACH BEAR I MADE IT"

Looney Bird yells from the shed. "NO!" 

The entire thing lifts off the ground with a blinding blast of light, a shockwave following it with the force of a thousand waterfalls on a pomeranian's back. It knocks the shed over and into pieces, throwing Looney Bird back at least twenty feet. 

A giant "*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!*" Follows the ship after the fact, echoing across the land for all the Earth to hear, like a giant bomb detonating with an ear-drum rupturing snap. The rocket is thrown into the sky in the blaze of a giant fireball, lighting the grass aflame instantly. The big yellow wings soar in a blaze of light, smoke licking at it's heels.

The entire thing is surrounded in fire.

...

Once the initial deafening of the planet falls still, the sound of car alarms for miles beyond the eye can see wail out with their crying tunes, busted from the shockwave.

Dook's van wails for her owner, every single window busted out with her glass on the ground. 

Looney lays still as the land burns around him.

Chapter Text

The metal of the wire table outside of Sarah's rattles with knocking fingertips, drumming across the decorative pattern. Beach Bear shoves his thumb nail into his mouth, chewing on his long nail. It's a habit he kicked, but it still crops up at the most inoppourtune times. One of the waitresses pass him by, smiling gently. Her face falters once she sees him, however. She continues on, quick as she goes. Beach Bear holds his palm to the side of his face, putting his thumb away from his mouth.

It's been an hour since that fireball flew through the freakin' sky and shattered every single window on the block. He has no idea why so many people are still sitting here, waiting and expectant, but that's just how the world is, always expecting to be catered to on hand and foot. But how can he say that when he's sitting here too. But he has nothing to do. Nothing to do but wait. Uncle Fido and Dook are staying down here together for some project, so Fido knows where Dook's at.

Unless the spaniel was on the street when that happened.

Unless Dook somehow had something to do with that.

Which opens up different possibilities.

Beach Bear's already heard the tabloids yacking up a storm about how this... The Blast. How it swept the whole town of Chattanooga to it's core in just the short amount of time that the incident... Event occurred, bringing many crashes on the roadways and accidents with glassware in shops, some hospitilazations closer to where it was and a near-death from a glass shattering and severing a person's neck in a bar. But it's all happened so soon.

The only reason Beach Bear isn't driving to check on Dook or Billy Bob is the amount of glass on the roads and the myriad of pile-ups in the lanes. It's too dangerous now, and...

Call him crazy.

That fireball looked like a rocket to him.

And every person who knows of, is in, or has heard of The Rock-Afire Explosion,,

Dook's always wanted to go to space.

It just burns in Beach Bear's soul that somehow, someway. Dook was in that fireball.

He huffs shakily.

The sound of tires starting and stopping jerkily starts becoming louder in the distance. His eyes turn up.

Silver glints in the distance.

...

The site of The Blast.

...

Looney Bird wakes up in Billy Bob's arms, the bear's face lit up with orange glows and crackling sparks. He's talking, but Looney Bird can't hear him, only a piercing long ringing cuts the air. Although unhearing, it's clear to him that the other is caught in a panic. He's slow as he blinks, his eyes dragging as he peers around their surroundings. Everything is on fire. There's not a single patch he can see that isn't besides where they're at now. The shed lays as a flaming pile. Billy Bob clutches him close, the wetness falling off of his face stinging the cuts and burns across Looney Bird's body.

"Wha-- Wha-- What happened ta you? Where's Dook? What h-h-happened--?" The grizzly bear whimpers. "What'd you do? Where's the silo? It wasn't really...? Was it?"

Looney Bird lifts his hand, brushing his wing over his friend's face, wiping away the bitter tears. His sore eyes well wetly. "I launched it t-too soon. I didn't mean to!" His voice rasps hard, his breaths wheezy. He flops back into the bear's arms, breathing slow but hard. "My ribs hurt."

"The rocket?"

Looney Bird trains his eyes on the sky, on the tunnel of smoke the rocket has left. "I'm sorry, Dook. I..." He begins to cough hard.

The bird's eyes go as big as saucers. "I needa tell... Beach Bear!" Looney Bird rolls out of Billy Bob's arms. He drops onto the ground, crying out weakly. He clutches his chest, breaths turning into sobs. "It hurts."

"Looney Bird! Don't move! It's okay! The fire department's coming. We're gonna figure this out, okay? We'll get through this!" He cradles the bird to his chest. "Why do we need ta get Beach Bear?!"

The avian whines hard at the jostling, light as it may be. The two of them stand. Billy Bob jerks his head around the burning wood. "Lawrd! It's too much! Where'd y'all come in?!"

Looney Bird give him no response. He taps the bird. Looney looks up and Billy Bob swipes a finger all over the field. He lifts his paw palm up and shakes it, looking around frantically. Looney points towards the clearing they came through. The path is blocked by flame. But not all the way through.

"Alright!"

Billy Bob hurries over, rushing to Dook's van as it cries. Billy Bob throws open the passenger door and he tosses Looney Bird in as gently as he can with the time they have, slapping the door shut and running to the other side. The grizzly bear clears the seat and shoves himself inside, picking up the keys out of the cupholder where he tossed them to sit down. He fumbles with them and jabs the key in, starting up the beater of a van. Gloria struggles hard, refusing to start. Billy Bob lays a kiss on her wheel and a caress. "PLEASE ol' girl! It's important! I'm not Dook but I'm sweet ta cars!" He takes a hold of the key. He twists it with a hair-pin of force.

Gloria's headlights pop on and her re-built engine roars to life, giving off a little purr at the start as her parts work together to bring her to the realm of the living. Billy Bob reaches over to buckle his and Looney Birds's seat-belts and then he slams the gas, swinging the car away from the entrance. Looney Bird slides as they turn, though he clutches the handle-bar on the side with all his might with a piercing groan, well used to the old country roads of theirs. Dook's drums in the back all slide and crash against each individual part, rattling and crashing with the cymbols slapping against their stands. Billy Bob mentally apologizes, but at the same time he knows Dook would forgive him in this case. Wherever he is. If he's around or...

Up there.

Billy Bob swings the van right back around with a vengeance, the drums inside all jamming to the other side with a loud "*BANG!*" from the biggest drum. They zoom towards the entrance, swift in their exit. Billy Bob jiggles the wheel and lines them up as they go, and he slows down, but he has to keep his speed.

Billy Bob's haste blows him straight across the fire threatening to take over the path.

"*BOOF!*"

The van flies forward, jolting both of them nearly into the floor as it slams straight through small trees and into a solid trunk. Looney Bird is yanked hard and Billy Bob slaps his head against the wheel with a "*THUMP!*". The van slams back on it's rear wheels, rocking back and forth. Billy groans.

"Goooood lord pray fa' me!" He clutches his stirred brained.

Billy Bob's words slur. He throws the van into reverse. Gloria has some trouble, but her tires make it over the stumps, though the underside scrapes hellishly. Billy Bob cringes, though it's not gonna help, nor can he think about it with how bad his head hurts. He back up into the entrance, careful for the flames. Once he's got a clear shot, he books it, sending the van down the path with a good bit of speed.

To Beach Bear!

...What has this night become?

...

The nerve-riddled polar bear stands up as the vehicle comes closer, jerking back and forth on it's wheels. Only one of her headlights work now, the other smashed to bits on one side. Beach Bear covers his mouth.

Gloria comes closer with great struggle, and even just that breaks Beach Bear's heart to see the old repaired van in a state worse than when Dook first got it. It chugs to a stop in front of the diner in the middle of the street, and her headlight shuts off slowly. The liquid leaking out of it begins to slow. Soon, it's only drips. Billy Bob takes out the key. When he gets out of the van, he begins to lock all of the doors, as useless as it might be. Beach Bear comes forward, Billy Bob turns his eyes up to the other. His eyes that look so similar to Dook's. The polar bear's lips turn down. "He went up, didn't he?"

Billy Bob wraps his arms around Beach Bear. The polar bear sobs. "He told me it was gonna happen one day. I didn't know it'd be so soon--" His voice turns into a whimper. "I just wanted to tell him one more time."

"I did too, Beach."

Billy Bob looks towards the van, eyelids uneven, swaying in the other's arms.

"Me too."

...

They visit the hospital that night, Beach Bear carries Looney Bird into the office with Dook's bass-drum strapped to his back and the other between his teeth. The cymbals and stands find a spot hanging out of his pockets and the back of his shorts, rubbing awkwardly on his tail and glute.

That night, they stay there. Both of them find rest next to Looney Bird on the floor next to his bed, too polite to wanna take any beds from anyone who needs it. Looney's burns are mostly first and some second degree, but healable all the same. The wheezing was explained away as bruising on the ribs. There's a crack across his beak that none of them noticed until they were free from the carnage, due to the blood. Billy Bob and Beach Bear were looked over, only treated with an alcohol wipe thrown their way for some minor cuts on their faces and hands. Billy Bob gave himself a concussion along with that, told to rest.

But really? The wounds would go deeper for the members of The Rock-Afire Explosion.

For as this day forward.

They'd be out of a member.

A member of the band, and...

A member of their family.

...

The morning after The Blast.

...

The trip to Uncle Fido's was cold, especially given that they had to walk back to the man's flat. It was closer to Billy Bob's house, but still, the icy wind along with the freezing rain was brutal.

Uncle Fido took the news... surprisingly well. And well. It makes sense. This isn't the first time this has happened in the LaRue household.

They all sat down in the living-room, hot cocoa prepared. Uncle Fido's hands quake on his mug, but he stares down at the liquid with a firm expression.

"S-space, huh?" He lifts his gaze to the rest. Beach Bear's eyes are bloodshot and both Billy and Looney squint at him from their injuries. Billy Bob nods very gently. "Uh-huh. Him 'n Looney really were buildin' a rocket."

"I thought he was too smart for that." Fido looks towards the ceiling with a sickly smile. "He always wanted ta go."

"Yeah." Beach Bear's voice shakes. His eyes follow Fido's gaze. "He told me he thought he was too stupid for school." His tone lays with more than just aching. It's a hurt, a cut that's slashed entirely across his soul.

"God." Fido rests his head in his hand. "I hate that. They always tried ta tell us he was stupid. Will 'n Fifi tried so hard not ta let it get ta him. Did it fo' years." The man waves a paw out, cocking his head to the side. "It's only jus' recently I got him ta go an' get diagonosed and they told 'im he's got some Artistic shit goin' on wit' him an' he went crazy the last five years tryna figure out what tha hell that meant."

"Ah." Beach Bear clears his throat, sniffling hard. "It's autism. I honestly kinda expected that. No offense."

Uncle Fido raises up his hand, taking a sip from his mug. "..."

He sets it on the table. "Like, ya see what I mean though? It's so obvious! And it's not a bad thing, hell, it's what makes him unique. But people hate that kinda shit." Fido flicks his fingers out. He clenches them into fists. "I can't stand it. An' it's not jus' Dook! It was Willie too! I think Willie didn' have what Dook got, but he was so creative, so unique like Dook was." The man clears his throat. Beach Bear does the same to avoid more tear-shed, since he definitely caught on to the past tense near the end of that sentence. Uncle Fido sighs. "I take it y'all want me ta tell them? I can't guaruntee it's not gon' be hard. It'd be my second time around tellin' them their son's uh... dead."

"Maybe not." Looney Bird shrugs. Fido does the same. "What are the odds he survived?"

"Somewhere around fifty/fifty." Looney Bird moves his hands back and forth. He then begins to move closer to Fido, hopping off of the side of the seat Billy Bob took, and then padding over to sit next to the dog. "Sorry it's hard fo' me ta hear from there. I was righ' next ta the ship when it went off. Between the odds of him surviving after launching out of the atmosphere and into space in just a coat and regular clothes? He mighta froze up just a little bit after he left Earth. But it's not for certain. So I'd say he made it. That's um... that's what the last thing he said ta me was. We were talkin' through the log in the computers. He told me to uh..." Looney Bird nods to the polar bear. "He wanted me ta tell you he made it. To space, I'm pretty sure."

"Mmhm--" Beach Bear nods, and he stabs his face towards the ground. He sucks in a great big breath. The rest puffs out like a whimper, and he turns his face to the wall just behind Fido. He stares it down as the tears fall without sound. "He always told me he'd die trying or live to see the stars!" Beach Bear rests his fingers over his snout. They lift momentarily. "Y'know it's been three? Four years since he told me that, and this still hurts!" His fingers shake hard. "Really bad." He sniffs. Suddenly, he stands. Beach Bear starts off with a purpose, taking himself up the stairs with a surprising bit of haste. "Fido? Hey, man, can you come show me where ya bathroom's at?" He sniffs hard.

"Uh,, yeah!" Fido uncrosses his legs and his arms, jumping up off the couch. He goes after the bear, going up the stairs. "I'll be back."

Billy Bob waves after him. "Take yer time, sweetheart."

"That's Uncle Fido, Billy Bob."

"I thought that was Phoebe."

"Fifi."

"Right."

The grizzly bear squints.

"That's Dook's brother's name?"

"No, Billy Bob."

There's some silence.

"Who's that then?"

...

Beach Bear peers around the place, though he finds the bathroom without much issue. Without even thinking to ask he sticks his hand in his pocket, fishing out a conch-like pipe. It's already packed, so he sticks it in his mouth, fishing for a lighter with his shaking hands. Uncle Fido reaches the top of the stairs, coming off the landing and looking around. "Oh."

Beach Bear holds out his hands, taking the pipe from between his teeth. "I know! I'm sorry! I shouldn't do it if I'm stressed out or I'm gonna get addicted, I know! It's a problem! I shouldn't even do it in the house, this isn't my house--! what am I THINKING?!" He jams his head into his hands, thunking on his skull roughly.

Uncle Fido waves a hand, primed to end this self-assault like he's done with few of his nephews. "Nah nah, I don' care! I'd be a hypocrite if I cared. I say, this is the perfect time for that! I was thinkin' of sneakin' off to get a bit high too. This's a lot fo' me."

"You want some?" Beach Bear holds the pipe out towards the other. Fido shakes his head, jamming his hand into his pocket and throwing a little metal box out to Beach. "Your stuff, you get first hit of greens."

"God yes, thank you!" Beach Bear catches the Zippo and he flicks the top off, bringing the flame to life. He lights up and forgets completely as he's sucking in the gorgeous, stress-relieving smoke that he forgot to open the window. Uncle Fido hurries in and stands on the side of the tub, shoving the window open. Beach Bear takes the pipe away and he blows it out smooth through the tiny window, licking his lips after the fact. He blinks hard, then passes it over, breathing with a heavy intake. Uncle Fido looks into it, then shakes the ash into the tub. "Damn, Big Guy! Ya cashed tha whole thing in one go!"

"Keh- keh- kah-- fuck--! Sorry--" Beach Bear coughs into his hand. "Ugh--" He uses the other to fish into his pocket, coughing weakly, but hard towards the ground. "Hooh. That was rough. Ugh." A burp comes past with a bit of strain, along with that comes a tiny puff of smoke.

The little pill-bottle of green clatters onto the floor.

The two look between each other.

The both of them jump for it.

Chapter Text

It's a different story when they get to Fatz's door. Once the gorilla caught sight of everyone's face, he stepped right outside and shut the door. "What's the problem?"

"Dook's in space!" Billy Bob holds up his hands. "I got a bit of a concussion the Doc told me, so I'mma little loopy."

"I can tell." Fatz leans past the bear to the others. "What's he talkin' 'bout?"

Beach Bear holds up his hands, just so tired. But from a little more than just the crying. His eyes are pink around his irises. "He's really in space. I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little high. Have you heard about The Blast in Chattanooga?"

"Who's drivin'?" The gorilla curves instead. Beach Bear raises his hands. "That's my job."

Fatz slaps his hand over his eyes. He takes in a deep breath. It comes out in a huff.

"No, that's my job now. Lucky you didn't get arrested or die." Fatz pushes a hand at the bear's face. He opens up the driver-side door. "ESMERELDA! WE GOIN'!"

"WHERE!?" A voice comes shrilly through the house. Big footsteps stomp towards the door, then swings open. "YA GOTTA GIVE ME--!" Emerelda shows her face at the door, mouth bared to yell out. She straightens, her lips going into a soft smile. "Oh! Howdy y'all? Where's the rest 'a ya?" She steps forward, already ready with her purse. Her hair is done in an assortment of stacked buns at the top of her head, and she's got on a silky pink slip that's accented with white heels and a scarf, along with some nice circular sun-glasses. Fatz holds up a hand. "Our drummer's in space! That's what that Blast down in Tennesse was last night!"

"Really?! Ain't that crazy? Maybe I'll be in the news! Sorry fo' yo loss, though. He was a cute lil' one." She steps off of the porch, carefully stepping past the gravel of their walkway on the stones interspersed between that. "Oohp! Give me a second."

Fatz climbs into the car. Beach Bear goes around to the side, but Fatz locks the car. Beach Bear huffs. "I'll sit in the back."

"Whose car is this, anyway?" The gorilla points around.

Billy Bob raises a paw. "It's one 'a the cars I got fixed up 'n nobody ever came back fo' it. So be careful not ta wreck it."

"Fun. Get in tha car."

The rest of the band filters in. Esmerelda ushers over to the passenger side and Fatz makes a move to get out with a low level of might. Emerelda waits until the man exits the car, watching him as he pauses, searching the other for any signs to give up. Fatz hops out of the van with a bit of a huff, moving around to the side and opening the door. "After you."

"Oh well thank you, Fatz-y-poo!" She coos, ruffling his perfectly tousled hair. Beach Bear snickers from the back of the van. Their piano-man groans, raking his fingers back through it in an attempt to fix it. Esmerelda takes her seat in the van, swinging one leg in, and then pausing. She starts fumbling with something at the bottom of the seat.

"*Chunk!*"

The seat jams backwards. Billy Bob cringes, grieving the loss of the feeling in his finger that's just been crushed. He pulls it free and it begins to throb, welcoming the pain back tenfold. He whines with it cradled to his chest. "Whoo!" Esmerelda wiggles around in her seat, pulling the rest of her body inside and swinging the door shut. "Mighty spacious in here!"

"Sh'ure is!" Billy Bob pinches out his agreement. A black-skinned hand reaches up from the trunk and pats him on the shoulder over the back-rests.

"Welcome to the horror that is Fatz and Esmerelda attempting to navigate a car neither of them have ever driven before."

"Ahh, shaht up." Fatz grumbles as he settles into the car, pulling the door shut. There's a chime of clicks from them all doing up their seatbelts at the same time. Well except Beach Bear, who stretches a Pizza cord from one hook in the trunk of this rented van to the other, securing himself safe, along with Dook's drums sharing a space beside him. Of course they went back and got Dook's drums, they were sitting in a busted-up, broken-down van in the middle of the street parked beside the worst diner in Tennesse. Who wouldn't take the chance to steal a mint condition, only a couple bangs and scratches aside from regular wear and tear from using them, beautiful mix-matched silver and white set of a Ludwig kick-drum and snare with cymbols and sticks AND The Rock-Afire Explosion logo included? It's a steal! Literally!

So they kept them around, even if it takes up more space than what was needed.

Dook would always have a space in their hearts.

Even if he's in space.

Probably dead.

Beach Bear rests his chin on his knees.

They were supposed to see each other right when the whole Blast thing happened. They were supposed to meet and talk, and maybe work this relationship thing out for good. But no. Dook's gone. For good. Just another freak accident as if he got into a nasty roadway mishap on the way to the diner. And he did. He really did get into an accident. Just not one of any normal kind. And he's not going to come back, there's no way he survived leaving the atmosphere in dress-clothes and there's no way he's alive right now if he survived the initial launch, especially given how the thing flew through the air on fire before it even left the atmosphere.

Chances are, he's dead as a doornail.

Beach Bear turns his eyes to the floor of the van. It's not Dook's van like he's been used to for the last thirteen years. The garish orange carpet Uncle Fido glued down before Dook inherited Gloria isn't here. Because it's not Dook's van.

Beach Bear rubs his palm on the canvas drum.

...
12:00 PM, One day after The Blast.
...

"He did WHAT?!"

Rolfe is understandably dumbfounded when he comes to the door, dressed up in a nightie with a cap to match. But he has a clipboard clutched in his hands with many papers on it. Clearly, he was busy before they came here.

The wolf stares at Fatz and the rest of the band with a look of pure confusion and even a bit of anger. Mostly anger, actually. The wolf turns around, stomping into the house. But he leaves the door open. Fatz steps in as Rolfe yells back. "Get in here! And tell the rest of them to get in here too! We're talking this out as soon as I'm out of my pajama's! Of course this happened the day I decide to sit down and fill out all this paperwork!" He throws both his hands atop his head. "EARL!"

"Yeah?!" A voice calls back from the kitchen portion of Rolfe's apartment. The wolf sighs hard. "SO THAT FIREBALL LAST NIGHT WAS DOOK!" He sends his words off as he stomps across the house, slippers not doing much to mute the sound. "What?! I can't hear ya over the T.V!"

"DOOK'S DEAD!" Rolfe yells as he slams the door to his bedroom. "Cripes, I nearly forgot--! He's really--?" Fatz starts, gaping. "Maybe not!" Looney Bird calls. The noise in the kitchen increases tenfold. A pot clatters to the floor. "WHAT'D YOU SAY?! DEAD?!" Earl yells.

Soft footsteps tumble across the floor. Fatz's eyes blow wider than the ship that took off hours ago.

Earl dashes across the floor with a might stronger than any kind of puppet could by itself. The fuzzy yellow, uh, creature? stops dead in his tracks and stares dead at the gorilla standing stock still in the living-room, with the rest of the band just at his back. Beach Bear's brows are high, but he himself is even higher. "I think I smoked too much weed in the van." He blinks hard.

Fatz shakes his head, staring down at the puppet like he's spotted a wild deer. "I think ya got me high. First Dook's uh. Dead, and now... this lil' display?"

"Uhhhhhh..." Earl looks to the bedroom door, then to the band. And then back and forth a couple times. He straightens up, then lifts a hand, sliding it over his head. "This is not the puppet yer lookin' for."

"EARL!" Rolfe's voice pierces the air. "Where are you?!"

"Coming!" The man calls. He looks to the band, then raises his arms up without an ounce of fear or regret. "Well really, it's y'all's fault ya didn' figure it out in this long of a timeframe, ya losers. Get the cotton outta yer brain. Beach Bear?" He offers.

The polar bear looks between everybody standing in the room. Billy Bob isn't here. He looks back and the man is walking out of the door clutching his head. Fatz shrugs at him, and Esmerelda keeps her-self busy by applying her glitzy lip-gloss. Beach Bear lifts his shoulders. "Yeah...?"

"Gimmie yer pipe." The tiny man sticks out his gloved paw, crunching the air in his fingers. "I been wantin' ta try that the entire time I've been down here cuz' Rolfe refuses to be seen by a drug dealer."

"I um..." Beach Bear trails momentarily, bending over to offer the other his half-packed pipe. As Earl pulls a lighter from his own pocket to light it up, Beach Bear shakes his head with confusion. "I get my stuff off of my friend Terry. What the hell is happening? You're..." The polar bear squints. "I think you're alive."

The "puppet" pulls the smoke off the pipe and blows it away. He coughs visciously, causing a pause in the conversation.

Earl lifts up with an easy breath. "Alive and kickin' ass. You want proof? Tell Rolfe that Maddona's on a jet to Alcatraz."

"What???" Beach Bear squints. Earl throws a hand down. "Just tell him that. Gimmie a minute."

The man walks off, going to the door Rolfe disappeared behind. He jumps up with a surprising leap and grips the door-knob, jiggling it until it pops open. "Changing!" Rolfe calls from inside. Earl opens the door up anyway, ducking inside, then shutting the door. "Eh, I seen everything a' yours. Quit cryin', baby." His voice comes muted.

"Where's the rest of them?" The wolf turns to the other with a shirt pressed over his bare chest. Earl lifts his hands, shrugging easy. "Outside."

...

Rolfe comes out in a similar outfit to the one he wears on stage, just a bit different. He dons his sparkly button-up, and his tie, but with no vest to match. His dress-shirt is slightly wrinkled, and spotted with small yellow furs. Beach Bear looks at Fatz, then Earl, who's now up on Rolfe's hand. Like he really is a puppet.

The polar bear clears his throat. "Yo! Uh, Rolfe?" He starts.

"What?!" The wolf snaps. "What now?! Did he take Mitzi with him too?!"

"No!" Beach Bear belts out immediately. "God, man, take a pill! What's your problem?! He's not stupid!"

"CLEARLY he IS if he built a ROCKET and LAUNCHED HIMSELF TO HIS DEATH!" He snaps. "SO NO, don't YO me, Beach Bear! YOU were the ONLY one I TRUSTED he'd listen to to keep his ass on this rock! LOOK WHERE THAT GOT US!" He throws his hands out. "NO DRUMMER MEANS NO BAND, NO DOOK MEANS WE CAN'T MAKE ANY MONEY AND WE'RE GONNA LOSE THE WHOLE DEAL WE HAVE!"

"DO YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT THE MONEY?!" Beach Bear's hands slap atop his head. He flings them outward to the man, begging. "I sat and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited for him to come to me! ARE you REALLY going to sit here and BLAME ME?! I was the last person besides Looney Bird who saw him! I was gonna see him just fifteen minutes before DOOK FLEW THROUGH THE GODDAMN SKY! DO YOU REALLY THINK NOW IS THE TIME TO BITCH AT ME?!" He stalks forward with a vengeance.

But he stops. He takes himself back a couple of steps. He takes in a breath.

And he turns around and starts walking to the door. Rolfe scoffs. "And where are you going?"

"Away from you!" Beach Bear flings a hand backwards, turning himself around. "You can talk to me when you wanna act civily! I get that you're angry, but don't COME AT ME! I wasn't even going to tell you anything else! Earl can tell you!"

"He's a puppet, Beach Bear!" The man bites back. Earl crosses his arms. "Oh suuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrreeeeee... And while we're out giving out secrets????" Beach Bear whirls around with his fingertips stapled to his chest. "I'm the gayest person I've ever met! I've been with so many men! God knows if this is actually a secret to all of you!" He waves his hand between every member present. "I'm ripping myself to shreds nearly each and every day, and you know why???" He calls dramatically, with a craziness burned into his eyes. Fatz holds up a hand. "I dunno if I can hear it if yer going in that directi--"

"The ONE man I've truly loved on this Earth? He's in a fucking rocket, DEAD in space. So really?" He turns to Rolfe. "I don't wanna hear it! Fatz tell him about Madonna. I'm going for a walk." Beach Bear stalks out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Rolfe looks to Fatz expectantly. "Well?!"

The gorilla holds up his hands. "Um. Madonna's on a plane ta Alcatraz?"

...

Earl thumps onto the floor none-too-kindly. He doesn't even flinch, nor rub any aching spot. He crosses his arms as Rolfe stomps away.

"He's a big baby."

Chapter Text

Two days after The Blast. 12:00 Am. Midnight.

...

Mitzi's turn to tell her was the roughest of all. Clearly, she didn't take it well, unbelieveing that it was possible.

Her mother cradles her in now, as they've all moved into the house and out of the snow, Mitzi's head resting atop her chest. Mini mirrors the other in a similar pose, though her expression is lighter. "I'm so sorry, you guys." The auburn mouse rasps, just the natural tone of her voice. "I wish I would've known."

"It's alright." Mitzi sniffles desperately, overwhelmed with tears rolling down her face. "Nobody said what it really was. When you hear The Blast, you don't expect it to be a rocket." She whimpers. Queenie rubs between her blonde curls. "It's best not to worry yourselves with what could've been done. It's done. All we can do now is wait, and pray." The fox holds her two daughters close. A song begins from her lips, a soft whisper, only for the two rodents. Still, her hushed tone brings a small lull to the rest of them. Billy Bob smiles.

Beach Bear remains nowhere to be seen. Of course, in his state, Queenie offered him her guest room to sleep in. With the level of despondance that arose, it was clear he couldn't go on. But it's also clear that sleep? That's not something he's going to get. The band can hear him from the other room, and smell him. The scent of marijuana has become a new constant for him, but at least he's been asking before he lights up out the window, sniffling and sobbing just barely bated.

And add onto all that, the words that Looney Bird spoke into the car just half an hour before they got to Mitzi's. The bird was sitting in the middle of all the backseats, dangerously quiet the whole way there. The whole, very, very-yyyyyyyyy long trip all the way up to Michigan from Illinois. He sat there twiddling his fingers, looking for all his worth like a chewn up toy owned by a rowdy Beagle.

So when asked what the deal was, by his best bud in the world Billy Bob, he just sorta broke, started spouting off all this stuff.

At this point in time, if Dook really was passed out in the rocket like Looney Bird believes, he's probably frozen up entirely by now. The vacuum of space is cold and unforgiving, especially to those unprepared. Even if Dook got on that stupid fishbowl, somehow fastened it down correctly to be able to breathe, he would still freeze without a proper space-suit. Even if that parka was zipped up all the way. Even if all that flame super-heated the metal and kept it warm for moments longer. By now?

Dook really is dead. There's no doubt in Looney's mind that the man they knew has succumbed to his icy grave. There's no more chances remaining.

Thus, why the whole band tore into a fit when they got out of the van.

But that was then, and this... this is the life they have now.

Without their drummer.

Chapter Text

Thousands and billions upon trillions of light-years away from the Earth, atop a crimson dwarf planet.

...

The atmosphere is cold and dreary being so close to open space, able to see the stars twinkling without any sort of problems in the daytime. Those bright dots intersperse by big and huger planets galore, filling up the night sky with a rainbow of orbs and lights.

But for Cloog'narp?

It's all the same. He's never been out of space, for space is his home. All of it. When you take on life's big adventures, traveling all across the galaxies just for one thing, it's nice. But... It can get repetitive. And... dangerous.

See, this planet they're on? This dwarf holds the single most territorial, conquering species in this belt. The Dof'nar. A species closely related to his, but with a single flaw. They only bear one head on their wide shoulders, and only two arms amongst their two split chests. They're tough, yes. But not smart. So why is Cloog'narp here, and not lending his medical abilities to some other species who deserves it way more? Well, you come talk to him whenever you get abducted off of your war-path planet to help the enemy. It's not easy to do.

So here he is, slathering goop onto and bandaging up yet another stupid soldier, who has a tear straight across the middle of his two-bodied figure. The alien, while only one being, bears another body connected to the other by the shoulders and hips, leaving them with two arms and three legs, one conjoined in the middle. The alien also only has a single eye. Well... only on it's forehead. Another eye lays right between their shoulder blades.

Cloog'narp rips the bandage from the roll and he licks the end of it, stickering it to the rest of the bandages with his sanitary saliva on the edge. It fastens greatly, sticking not-too-tightly to the other's wounds. 

"ᓭℸ ̣ᔑ|| 𝙹⚍ℸ ̣ 𝙹⎓ ℸ ̣∷𝙹⚍ʖꖎᒷ. (Stay out of trouble.)" Cloog ushers, patting the other on their shoulder. The alien groans, so Cloog removes his hand. "My apologies."

"∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣? (What?)" The other alien sneers. "ℸ ̣ᒷꖎꖎ ᒲᒷ ╎リ ᒲ|| ꖎᔑリ⊣⚍ᔑ⊣ᒷ. (Tell me in my language.)" The bandaged man sits up, grappling the man's dark scrubs. Cloog'narp gently removes the other's hand. "╎ ᓭᔑ╎↸ "ᒲ|| ᔑ!¡𝙹ꖎ𝙹⊣╎ᒷᓭ." ꖌᒷᒷ!¡ ||𝙹⚍∷ ⍑ᔑリ↸ᓭ 𝙹⎓⎓ 𝙹⎓ ᒲᒷ, ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑリꖌ ||𝙹⚍. (I said "my apologies." Keep your hands off of me, thank you.)"

"ʖᒷℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷. (Better.)" The alien huffs, turning his eye over the medic's shoulder. His wide, red eyelid sinks into a squint, a bright orange reflecting in his dark eye. "ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ 'ᓭ ᔑ ʖ╎⊣ ᓵ𝙹ᒲᒷℸ ̣! (That's a big comet!)" The alien looks to the doctor. Cloog'narp looks back, and he groans. The comet is getting bigger and bigger the closer it comes, and quite quickly too. Great, another one. "⊣⚍ᒷᓭᓭ ||𝙹⚍ ʖᒷℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷ ⊣𝙹 ⊣ᒷℸ ̣ ⊣ᒷリᒷ∷ᔑꖎ ᓵ∷𝙹⨅╎ᒷ∷, ⍑⚍⍑? (Guess you better go get General Crozier, huh?)" The red alien pushes him away, but he doesn't stumble, already quite used to the rough treatment. Cloog'narp slaps his hand over his eyes on his right head. The words come from the left mouth. "⊣⚍ᒷᓭᓭ ||𝙹⚍'∷ᒷ ⎓╎リᒷ ∴╎ℸ ̣ ⍑ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ⍑𝙹ꖎᒷ ╎リ ||𝙹⚍∷ ʖᔑᓵꖌ ℸ ̣ 𝙹𝙹. ╎ ᓭ⍑ᔑꖎꖎ ∷ᒷℸ ̣ ⚍∷リ. (Guess you're fine with that hole in your back too. I shall return.)" He turns, exiting the curtain promptly.

"ᓵꖎ𝙹𝙹⊣'リᔑ∷!¡! (Cloog'narp!)" The other yells. The medic continues.

Cloog'narp keeps on, leaving the medical ward behind. A long, unfurnished corridor is where he chooses to go, stomping down it, passing by soldiers going this way and that, toting heavy weaponry while some are limping in his direction. One pauses, reaching out, and he shakes his head. "⊣𝙹 ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ∴ᔑ∷↸. ╎'ꖎꖎ ʖᒷ ∷╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ ∴╎ℸ ̣ ⍑ ||𝙹⚍ ᓭ⍑𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ꖎ||. (Go to the ward. I'll be right with you shortly.)"

The alien continues to try, though his call is unanswered. 

Cloog'narp arrives at a door. It slides upward without even a scan from his hand. General Crozier steps through the door with his hands folded behind his back. "Clog'nar."

"General." The alien responds despite the mistake. His General gruffs a huff. "Back on that Earthican language aren't you? You better not be teaching my soldiers that instead of bandaging them up."

"Oh I most certainly am not." Cloog smirks back at the other. "It's just a tad bit easier for me to get my point across in a language more cohesive, my apologies. There appears to be a comet traveling towards us. It doesn't seem to be a weapon, however, it's traveling fast. It may impact the planet soon. I had no time to estimate where it would land. Should we shoot it down?" The medic offers, pointing in the direction he came from. The general bobs back and forth on his heels. "I'll have to take a look. You're sure it's not a weapon? You've proven yourself wrong before."

"I have with near-certainty that this unidentified flying object is without a doubt not a weapon. Near-certain. Which is why I've come to you to ask your opinion." Cloog'narp holds out a hand. "What is the next course of action?"

The general sighs, the door slams to the ground behind him. "I'll decide once I see it. Let's take a look here, Clog."

"Cloog'narp."

The man eyes him down. "That's what I said."

"Of course, General Crozier."

...

The two aliens, plus a soldier make their way outside, no helmets, no space suits needed. However, Cloog'narp does shiver lightly, his breath puffing harshly in the fridgid climate of outer-space. 

"It was---" Cloog'narp drags his finger into the open air, unlooking. His general's expression becomes aflame with dread, eyes wide to the sky. He points as well, backing up. "THAT'S NO COMET, CLUG! SHOOT IT DOWN!" He orders. The soldier besides him lifts up a massive thing that looks like a barrel, the object beginning to light up with a bright pink hue and a ringing whine to match. 

Cloog'narp STABS his vision into the stars, combing them for the massive fireball. It's not hard to find, being that big, and seeing how impossibly FAST it's traveling! But it's clearly no comet, as Crozier said. Cloog'narp's myriad of eyelids begin to lift higher and higher, his dark, quad-eyes trained on the gigantic blazing object. He squints. Something feels. Familiar about this. 

The medic doctor bursts out with a yelp, bolting across the land and to the General. And then past him. The alien soldier manning the blaster falls to the ground with a big "*THUD!*" As she lands atop her own weapon. Cloog'narp shoves her out of the way and he takes the barrel himself, straining to aim it. "CLUD!" General Crozier belts out. "WHAT IN FORN'S NAME ARE YOU DOING?!"

Cloog'narp tips the barrel with a huge strain, jamming it onto it's side and away from the blazing beast. 

His eyes pierce into his General's. "GET BACK INSIDE! IT'S AN EARTHICAN SHIP!"

"ARE YOU FLARKING INSANE, YOU VARP?!?! SHOOT IT DOWN NOW! I ORDER YOU TO!" He begins to back up. Cloog'narp runs full speed at him, grappling his shirt as they go with both of the hands on his left side. Crozier chokes as he's yanked, fighting tooth and nail against the other. "YOU'RE GOING TO LET IT CRASH INTO THE BASE!"

"NO IT WON'T!" He yelps. Cloog'narp grinds to a halt and he throws the two of them down on the ground, his body atop atop the general. "YOU VARLIN' TWO-HEAD, YOU'RE GONNA KILL US ALL!"

The sound of the hissing flames grows louder and louder faster than either of them could predict. 

"*DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!*"

The planet seems to jolt from the impact of the way-past speeding rocket-ship, jerking the both of them back and forth. Shards of clear-rock hit their skin, showering them in dust and debris. The stone-work of the building besides them cracks and crumbles a bit, then even more. Soon, a whole wall falls into ruin, opening the base up to the air outside. A few soldiers pop their heads out, close enough to the crash to be able to see from inside the building. "𝙹𝙹⍑...(Ooh...)"

Cloog'narp hefts himself off of the other man with the haste he can muster, which isn't a whole lot. He tosses himself to the side, rolling his shoulders. "Oh... That feels like it's gonna splotch."

"You're gonna do more than splotching, Glarb. Way more." The General begins to lift himself up, rising onto his knees. Soon after, he stands, offering a hand, but then grappling and yanking the other alien up. "You're gonna be rebuilding this place. Stone. By. Stone."

"General, if I may." The alien starts. The general puffs, wavering a hard hand. "That's enough! You've wasted my time."

"Oh, but I haven't!" The medic yelps with excitement. "Come come! I'll show you!"

"Oh no I won't. Clean that thing up!" Crozier bellows. Cloog'narp sighs hard. "General, with all due respect? This could make or break our financial troubles."

General Crozier takes one look at the flaming ship and scoffs a laugh. "Good luck scrapping that hunk of junk. What is that all over it?"

"Metal? But it's about what is inside that ship!" The other offers, a strange quirk on his brow for the first word. General Crozier smacks his forehead. As quickly, but as evenly as the man can power-walk over to the ship only about thirteen feet from them, the flames already beginning to die now that they have no oxygen to thrive from. He takes to climbing the poor son-of-a-bitch, working his way on top of the crumpled rocket. The nose of it is completely smashed in, only left with jagged waves of the bent metal and the acrid smell of burnt iron. The General kicks the wing of the ship, then, he trains a finger downward. "And what's that, Mzzer. Doctor?"

"Oh, oil. I believe." The medic jogs over to the ship, hefting himself up and on top of the rocket, alongside his General. "It's fine, we'll just---"

Cloog'narp gags suddenly, holding every one of his hands over his mouth and nose. General Crozier follows suit with a short delay. It's the smell, it's so strong, so metallic. It only took General Crozier this long to figure it out due to a past injury involving his nostrils. Cloog'narp takes in a breath past his hands and he still gags. "Oh-- that's blood. Blood for sure."

Cold crimson red dribbles down the side of the ship in a messy, staining pour, tainting the white-painted metal a nasty-orangey red as it begins to warm from the slight heat. Cloog'narp groans from the scent. "That's fine! That just means there's someone in there." The alien shakes his head out. With a scoff and a roll of his eyes towards himself, he lifts and snaps on his medical mask from off of his neck. He already has gloves on, though dirty. He slips them off. 

The soldier they abandoned rises from below, looking pretty shaken, but over-all, she's okay. The woman slaps a hand onto the ship, panting hard. General Crozier brightens. "Ah, yes, come here! And you three. I can see you."

The three aliens inside the base stop as they're sneaking towards the door. They all turn. "☊⍜⋔⟒. (Come.)" The general beckons them over.

...

With the help of six different aliens prying at the rocket, one of them with a small tool, they get an opening pried into the metal. The smell washes over all of them like death-incarnite. All but one of the soldiers throws up on the spot. The lone alien falls to the ground, the same who rose from there before. Cloog'narp holds his breath, and he jams his upper half inside. 

He comes right back out with a horrified look. General Crozier peeks in. He lifts one single hand. "Look's like your little passion project is over. You better start working on that wall."

"No no! Wait! Get me a crash cart!" He points to the three aliens still awake. They look between each other with blatant confusion. "☊⍀⏃⌇⊑ ☊⏃⍀⏁, ⋏⍜⍙! (Crash cart, now!)" The alien dives right back in. 

(TWs apply beyond this point)

...

"*Click Click*"

The ratchet-straps holding Dook's body in place are snipped by a circular metal object. Cloog'narp hoists himself out of the ship, laying on his hands and knees as he reaches inside. He wraps his arms around Dook's caved in chest, frozen cold, but his breath is faintly warm. A wretched gasping falls from the other's purple lips as he stares unblinking with only one of his eye, snorting and grunting, choking on his own blood that spills past his lips. It's agonal breathing. He's moments away from succumbing to a bitter death. Cloog'narp clutches the other tight and he begins to hoist the human free. 

"*Splatter*"

Dook comes up a little bit. But as he is, so do his organs. It's a nasty sloppy sound when his intestines land on the floor, intact and mostly connected, but very much barely. As he's lifted into the moonlight it becomes clear just how awfully the crash ruined his body. His ice-cold, near black face is drenched in blood, multiple horrible gashes slashed across his skin, glass stuck in his wounds. His cheek on one side is caved in and his jaw hangs loose, tilted awkwardly to one side. His nose is utterly flattened. One of his eyes is open, but fogged and blinded with crimson red. The other? The other bears only a dark, bloody socket, a dark marine iris-ed eyeball hangs by a single nerve, bloodied and gnarled, a huge glass shard stuck straight into it. That's not even to mention the myriad of bodily slashes, along with the giant gash splitting the man in half across his stomach. Cloog'narp begins to grapple with the man's guts, pulling them up and trying to settle them back inside. After trying and failing, he resorts to wrapping the man's vital parts over the back of his neck like a fucked up scarf. Stomach acid drains down the man's legs as he's pulled free from his coffin, his breathing... gone. His lungs aren't filling nor sinking. He's just. Gone.

Cloog'narp hoists and lays Dook's body across the top of the rocket, pressing his finger-tips to the others chest, then to his neck.

...

(No more gore now)

There's nothing. Not even the slightest pulse. 

The three of the soldiers arrive, crash cart in tow.

Cloog looks between the cart, and then to Dook's body.

Chapter Text

Three days after The Blast.

...

"*Knock Knock Knock*"

Mitzi is the one to put her knuckles to the door to the LaRue household, rapping on the heavy oak with her furred fingers. The rest of the band waits beside her, Beach Bear with his hands stuffed in his pockets tightly. Rolfe stands with his arms crossed visciously hard, Earl hanging off of his hand with a matching look. Billy Bob may be the only one of them, save Esmerelda, who seems a little bit better than depressed. Esmerelda continues to fix her make-up. But she snaps it shut. "Are they coming?"

"Yes, Esmerelda." Mitzi tells her gently. "I can hear them. Just be patient. It's a really hard time for them."

"Oh, I know, hunny..." Esmerelda's hand lays flat on her shoulder, the silver-back has reached past both Fatz and Rolfe to do so. "'m sorry. I got all caught up earlier. It's only jus' now hittin' me a bit, dear. It'll be hard for a long while."

Beach Bear nods to that, his eyes dry, but reddened significantly, from more than just pot, although that is a big factor. But it's been the only way to keep himself from crying his soul to pieces. "Yeah."

Fatz rubs his hand over the polar bear's back. Beach Bear's shoulders lift and he steps forward, away from it. "I can't."

"Okay. It's alright to be upset, BB." The gorilla consoles without touching the other. Beach Bear shakes out his head. "I know. Not right now."

Mitzi turns back to him, concerned and ready to make it known...

But the door opens. Gen's face is the one in the door-way, bright red and drenched. He scrubs at his eyes angrily, throwing the tears to the ground with a hard flick. "What do you want?" General sniffles.

"We just..." Mitzi blanks. Would they even believe her if she said what happened? "What did Uncle Fido tell you?"

"He's gone." Gen bites out. "Dook's gone!" He yells. Beach Bear turns around, shoving his fist into his mouth with a great big bite. 

"General!" His mother's wraught voice beckons from the living-room. "Please! Don't yell at people. Who is it?"

"His band." General steps away from the door. Fifi's voice begins to become clearer, as do her footsteps, uneven and loud. "His BAND?! Why in God's faithful name would you ever raise your voice to them???" Fifi arrives at the door, taking her son's spot at the doorway as he slides back. "I am so sorry, you'll have to excuse him. It's been so rough. I'm sure you know what happened. How are you all doin'?"

Looney Bird raises a sheepish hand. "I was there."

Fifi's entire face drops. "..."

"You were?" She begins, stepping further outside. Mitzi places a hand on her shoulder. "Can we please come inside? We'll explain it all. You might not believe us." She tries. Fifi's eyes fill with an odd confusion. Each member of the band falls under her gaze. Beach Bear slowly turns, eyes teary, but they haven't fallen. Fatz has his hands folded with Esmerelda's arm hooked into his as she holds her hand-bag. Billy Bob smiles and waves. "Heya, Fido!"

"Uh." She raises a little wave. "Hi. I'm Fifi. We're twins."

Rolfe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Earl gruffs. "Can we please just go inside, ma'am?"

"Of course."

...

The band finds themselves right in the middle of a family grieve, involving the main family consisting of Fifi, her sons, and her husband. But also, almost every single person from the Christmas party is here. Billy Bob giggles to himself. "Aww, it's like Christmas all over again."

"Billy Bob." Beach Bear lays a tender hand on the man's back. "They're mourning."

"Oh..." 

The grizzly scratches at his neck. "Maybe I shouldn't be here."

"No, stay." Beach Bear insists, for more than just Billy Bob's sake. "It's alright. They'll let it slide once you tell them about the concussion."

"Alright, I'll try ta control myself."

The band, save for one, begin to come closer and into the living-room, hesitant. Beach Bear himself sticks to where he first came in at. Unsure. Mitzi filters into the bustle immediately, wrapping herself around Dook's mother like she's known her her whole life. Fifi welcomes the touch exponentially, holding the mouse tight to her chest. She bows her head to Mitzi's side, her shoulders shaking. Billy Bob more or less flocks to the lady he talked to the last time he was here, coming to her with a paw on her shoulder. She jumps, but brightens at the sight of him. The grizzly points to his head, miming how he got whacked and gave himself his injury while being careful to not jostle himself. Fatz and Esmerelda both stick close to eachother, and now that they're right in the heart of it, it looks like Esmerelda might cry. 

But Rolfe? Rolfe comes to Beach Bear, tapping him. 

"Why aren't you in the fray?" The wolf questions with no bite. Quite a shock for how things went earlier. The polar bear raises his shoulders, his lips taught in a line. His eyes are wet, ever-present since this all went down. "It's a lot." He rasps. 

Rolfe... he tilts his head. Slow, though. "Yeah. It is. I... regret how it went before. I didn't mean to stress you out even more." The wolf cocks his head sharply. "Eh? I kinda did. But. I can't even think about it. I'm gonna hurl if I do."

Beach Bear nods calmly. "Yeah." He takes in a deep breath, though it's one he'll come to regret. A single fat tears rolls down, wiped away. "It smells so much like him in here."

"You can smell that? Wait, what am I saying?" Rolfe thunks his head with the heel of his palm. "You smelt the cologne I got you that one year weeks before Christmas, and I only sprayed it once in the store." He laughs lightly. Earl snickers. "It's that big ol' nose."

Beach Bear points down at the "puppet." "Man, I still can't believe you're alive. I really did not expect that. I guess you're not the ventriloquist you made yourself out to be." He tilts his head to Rolfe. The wolf rolls his eyes. "And you're not as smart as you thought you were!"

Beach Bear shrugs. "I don't need any brain, I got body." He shivers at his own words, familiar, but this isn't the person he said that to before.

Rolfe huffs. "Don't I know? You have looks, but I couldn't date you for all the cash in the world!" He crosses his arms. Beach Bear jolts a little bit. "What?? Where's that coming from???"

The wolf holds up his hand, his only bare hand. "You're not the only queer in the band, don't you know? But that's not to say I'm hitting on you, I can merely say you have appealing looks. But I wouldn't date you."

Earl lifts up and leg and then swings it back, kicking the other in the ribs. "Shut yer yap, yer not flirtin' with no floozies when ya got me."

"Oh." Beach Bear's eyebrows jump. "I don't know how that works and I'm getting visuals I don't like. I'm good, dawg. Thanks for telling me though."

"Yeah!" Earl calls. "Ya got man-meat but no brain-meat!"

"Earl!" Rolfe cries. Beach Bear snickers anyway.

Well isn't that something he knows now? Fun!

Beach Bear wanders into the fray, searching. And then his soul sinks. 

Right.

He doesn't have Dook to go to anymore. 

He looks around, trying to will away the rush of heat threatening to render him useless once again. 

Red feathers comes to his eyes. The bird stands near Billy Bob, but he does nothing but stare. Looney turns, almost feeling those blues on his back. Beach Bear comes right up, squatting down and regretting it as well. It looks demeaning, but over all of this grieveing? Neither of them would hear a word the other says. Looney Bird looks him up and down, confused. The polar bear offers him an arm. Looney Bird eyes him oddly. "I'm not a pet no more."

Beach Bear shrugs. "I know. I thought you liked it." He begins to move it back. Looney Bird grabs his arm. 

The bird holds him steady and climbs onto his arm. Since his feet are still bird-like, he grapples on easily. Beach Bear cringes as his fur is pulled, but he asked for this. Slowly, he rises. Looney Bird wobbles, then rights himself, squatting down instead of standing upright. They both stand there together, like Beach Bear's some sort of volunteer at the zoo next to a hawk-specialist.

"..." 

Looney Bird shuffles a bit. "It's kinda weird." He lifts a foot. "Yeah." Beach Bear bends over. Looney Bird clutches him with his feet, doing it more out of instinct than fright. The bird begins climbing, with his feet mostly. Beach Bear holds himself outward and still, way uncomfortable with the talons digging into his fur. Looney Bird climbs and settles down, sitting like a regular ol' human on the bear's platform of a shoulder. Beach Bear lifts up, wary about this whole thing now. He doesn't even know why he tried to pick this man up. Looney Bird IS actually older than him, and by a fair amount. Now it just feels odd. Regardless, he sticks to it. Odd as it is, it adds a slight bit of comfort. Him and Looney Bird are in a really similar boat right now being the last people to see Dook alive. 

And... actually...

"Hey, I'm sorry." Beach Bear turns to the avian atop him. Looney Bird meets his eyes. "Yeah?"

"You said you..." Beach tries to find the words. It just fails him. "Yeah, you were there? The last person to see him? How did you guys even keep this under wraps for so long? I'm actually impressed. Like. You guys ACTUALLY built a rocket. Alive or dead--" Beach Bear clears his throat. "You got that thing up there. And it hasn't come back down."

"Yeah..." Looney folds his hands together. Beach Bear cringes. "Oh, right. I'm sorry."

"Nah, nah." Looney Bird waves a wing. "It's been a long time comin'. I just thought Dook'd be around ta tell you too. I... I might start bawlin' if I tell his momma all that to her face. I can't even think abut his dad." Looney Bird holds his hand out in the man's direction. Beach Bear turns to see.

Will sits in the recliner with his eyes blank as static on a T.V as he stares into the distance, a tall glass of whiskey in his hand and tears flowing as steadily as a fountain. But no noises come, nor does his face show any emotion. 

Beach Bear's heart wrenches suddenly. Dook and his father are near exact spitting images. they even... they even have the same patterns of fur around their faces-- near those-- unmatching and one-blinded eye--

The polar bear shoves his hands over his snout, turning his head away. He definitely screwed himself over putting someone right next to his face. Looney Bird jolts, facing him. "Oh, uh. I'm sorry!" The bird moves to leave. Beach Bear tries to lean, but the tears flow and the embarrassment rises. He's not gonna break down in front of these people. These people that already have so much on their plate and don't need another child to take care of in this whole process. 

Beach Bear bolts faster than he ever has, rattling the house on it's foundation. Looney Bird flies off of him, beating his half-wings hard. Multiple people snap to see what the noise is as he goes but he's too far gone to do anything but this. The back door snaps open and bangs on the inside of the house, widening the already-made hole in the wall. The wooden door to outside is pushed through and then closed hard without meaning, shaking the old house once more. 

Looney Bird stands up off the ground, his beak pulled back into a grimace. "Uh oh."

Dook's mother rises from the couch with a start. She didn't see the whole thing go down herself, but she knows. She can just feel it. 

Fifi nearly bolts just like Beach Bear does, even with her bad back she hustles through all the people in the living-room, even Mitzi. The entire band searches the room for eachother. Everyone but Beach Bear finds their eyes.

...

The snow on the steps is icy and bitter, but Beach Bear can't feel it. Just two steps off of the back-steps has him collapsing into the snow, the cold cold snow. Just as cold as space. The sobs burst without his permission, so he slides his hands over his face, curling. He can imagine the warmth of Dook cuddled to his back like it's real. But it's just so cold. 

The back-door opens. Beach Bear sits up quickly, rubbing at his eyes and sniffing up all the snot threatening to leak already. But he just keeps sobbing, sniffling and huffing without a chance of stopping. Ushered footsteps come down the stairs, but the arms that wrap around him aren't the ones he expected. But they're just so warm. So much like Dook. He can tell it's Dook's mother just by how her arms wrap around him. It feels odd to say that both Dook and his mother share nearly the same body-type, but it's something he never thought he'd love. He clutches the woman's arm, though he tries to stop the tears. "Izz alrigh', hun." She coos, such a familiar accent on her lips. Beach Bear merely sobs harder. He bends instead, his un-brushed, matting hair like a curtain over his features. "I'm sorry..." He cries, holding his hand to his face. "I'm not important. You don't have to be out here with me in the cold."

"I want to be here, baby." Mrs. LaRue assures him, rubbing over his back. "You'll always be important to me, all of you." The her hand shifts, and she reaches up, nuzzling over the line where his jaw ends. Kinda like a dog. But it's nice. He leans into it, letting her pet him. Fifi coos in a hum, not much of words, more like this tutting hum. 

...

It goes on for long enough that Beach Bear starts to focus more on her odd, rhythmic humming, rumbling in her throat. The polar bear looks back at her, eyes damp, but bated in their flow. 

"What was that? Not that I didn't like it." He questions, curious. More curious than he's been in a long while. Fifi rubs over his neck instead. "It's somethin' he likes. I done it with all my kids, but that how I got Dook ta sleep when he'd have his screamin' fits."

Beach Bear's brows knit. "Was he really so loud? I heard his brothers say all this stuff that I just don't see in him."

Fifi shrugs, her shoulders lax. "He was my worst. Screamin' and throwin' fits when things just didn' go right. It always freaked 'im out when he couldn't figure out what was goin' on, and he'd just stand there and start screamin' at the top a' his lungs without stoppin' fo' anything. But. I won't lie and say he wasn't my favorite kid to raise. I love my boys equally,, it's just that he was unique in how he acted and how we brought him out. He's the only little boy I had that wanted to sit with me in the kitchen and sit in my lap while I was knittin'. I taught him how ta sew when he was eight years old, he just loves makin' stuff." The woman takes in a breath, and the tears rise to a melancholy smile. "He was the only one who wasn't workin' and bein busy whenever Willie passed. He was fifteen when it happened, Dook. 'course all my boys were there, but. He stayed each and every day with me. I can't say he was always there through his whole life. But... It's what I look back on now. I had coffee every morning and a hug with some breakfast. He took up cooking fo' me, told me it was all alright. He's so much like his father. I've lost all my flop-eared boys." Fifi sniffles deeply.

Beach Bear nods, his lip quivering. He bites it into docility. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

She lifts her shoulders. "It's not yer fault. You didn't kill him. Just..." Fifi draws back. "How did it happen?"

Naked eyebrows pinch together hard. Beach Bear gapes. "Did he not tell you?"

Mrs. LaRue shakes her head. "Fido? He was howling as soon as he got in the door. I've never seen him so distraught, except for when Willie passed. He only told me that Dook passed on."

"..." Beach Bear stares.

"God. I'm sorry." He drops his head into his hands. He looks her dead in the eyes, tilting his head, as he knows this is going to sound awful. "He's in space."

"..." Fifi turns her head away from him, but she's still looking at him. "What?"

Beach Bear holds up his hands. "I was the same way. I didn't... It sounds so fake, right?" He questions. Fifi continues to lean back. "What???"

The polar bear's hands go higher. "Yeah, I'm sorry. He and Looney Bird were working on a rocket ship for the past five years." Beach Bear huffs to himself. "The computer that had it hooked up to froze and Looney Bird thought he hit the key wrong. Like he said, he was right there. I was waiting for him at-- um... Well I was going to meet him before it happened."

"I..." Fifi shakes her head, her ears bobbling. "I know why. I know what he looks like when he's in love." She admits, clearly focusing on other things. "I always suspected it. It was the way he talked about you. Told me all these little things about you that didn' matter to me. I had no reason to know you've only drooled in your sleep once since he's known you."

Beach Bear barks out a sudden laugh. "What??? Really??? How the hell did he know that? Oh, I'm sorry." He covers his mouth. Fifi waves her hand. "I can't tell you not to. I really just don' like it when my boys swear around the grand-kids. I'm not exactly sure how he knew, he just mentioned you were sleeping. But..." The pittie-mix presses a thumb to her mouth. "I did used to wake up to him staring at me."

........

Beach Bear's naked brows jump. "Oh... that's kinda creepy." He looks off into the snow. He's just a little bit weirded out by that, especially given he knows that Dook definitely admitted to lusting after him a long time ago. Fifi rushes to explain. "No, no! That's not what I meant! I'm sorry." She giggles. "No, he'd come and make his rounds in the night. He's done it since he was a kid. He'd wake us all up to make sure we were all still alive. But it got to the point where we told him not ta bother us no more, cuz I'd be loosing so much sleep I couldn't wake up with my alarm in the morning. I don' know what got him into the habit. It might've been his way of taking after his father, cuz' he'd tuck them all in real nice and give 'em a kiss and a hug. But we'd always find Dook up and awake. I followed him one time, when he was real little, draggin' around his little astronaut-blankie." She smiles. "I watched him just. Stare at his brothers. But he didn't do it for too too long. He did it with all of them, and he had an order too. First, he'd go to Willie. Willie, Teddy and Dook might as well have been twins, all of them together. Gen and Major were my firsts, then Willie came out. I thought I was too old to have anymore and one day I went to the doctor and they told me I was pregnant. That was Teddy. Then the next time I blew up like a darn balloon, and Dook came out my chubbiest baby and he still never lost the weight." She waves her hand. "But every night, without fail, he went to Willie, and then Major, and then General. And then me and William. Then he'd circle back to Teddy, since they shared the same room for a while. But he kept that up even when they got separate rooms. I don' know. I just think he was watching to make sure we were breathing. William would have nights where he'd wake up choking on nothing. Told me that Dook came in and helped him calm down once, but it spooked Dook awfully. I guess that makes more sense than a movie scarin' him."

"Oh..." Beach Bear hums. "Okay..? Um. That's... interesting? I'm sorry, I don't really know what to think about that. I didn't know. That's a long time to be doing it."

Fifi shrugs. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I get ramble-y. Helps me take my mind off of it."

"Yeah." Beach Bear nods. "No I get that. It's fine."

The back-door opens again. This time, a grey floppy ear makes an appearance. Will steps outside, pulling the door shut. Beach Bear smiles at him, but he knows it's strained. He tries not to look at the other too hard, for fear of falling victim to his tears again. And really? He's sick of crying. The spaniel comes down the steps, rubbing over his wife's back. He turns an eye to Beach, but he looks away. Will squats down with them. "You two okay out here?" His voice is even raspier now. 

"Yeah." Fifi offers. Beach Bear shrugs. "I could be better, yeah. Are you?" He asks, his eyes only barely brushing over the greying dog's knee.

The man wipes at his nose. "No." He admits truthfully. "Mah heart's broken all over again, and I haven't even snapped outta the fog yet. Y'all look like a picture on T.V ta me righ' now." He opens up his folded hands. "It was so sudden. I meant ta call him, see what him and his brother's been up to." Will shrugs. "It jus' neva' happened."

Beach Bear smiles, saddened. "Yeah. I get that. But, I can't stop living in the moment myself." He looks to the sky. The sky with the moon just visible behind the house. "I'd give anything for that right now."

"It's not so great, I been dealin' with it fo' most of my life." Will tells him. "Sorry." Beach Bear cringes. Will slaps down the idea of it being some sort of challenge. "But I'll say, I see why ya want that."

"Yeah." Beach looks off, into the distance. 

Soon, he stands. 

"...I think you guys will probably hear more from Looney Bird. Uhm..." The polar bear rubs his neck. "I haven't slept in three days, actually. And it's really hitting."

"Oh! My lord! Are you alright?" Fifi stands up along with him, worried. Beach Bear just shrugs. "Yeah! But I can feel it now. Can I...?" He points to the door past them. 

"Oh, yes! You can sleep in my room." Fifi points to the door. Will nods. "Yeah, go on ahead." Beach Bear's eyebrows raise to the sky. Never in his life would he have ever stepped foot into his own mother's room, and Dook's mom is just?? Letting him sleep in her own BED?  The surfer lifts both his hands up. "I couldn't take your bed like that."

"We're sleeping at Dook's apartment tonight. We wanna head down while his scent's still in the air." She says. Beach Bear's hit with a wave of bitter-pain. God, he could never go in there without the other man around. "It smells like him, from what his brothers say." Fifi shrugs.

She snaps back to Beach Bear with a new-found vengeance. "He's in SPACE?!?!"

"Yeah!" Beach Bear lifts up his hands. "Like I was telling you! I'm not lying! He really blew himself into space!"

"So, he's not dead???" Fifi jitters. Beach Bear worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "Oooh. God. No, I'm sorry. We all think he's dead at this point. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you hope. It's been too long by now. I don't... really think he made it. He would've froze up by now. I wanted him to make it, he always wanted to go." Beach Bear looks into the sky. "I just can't believe he made it up there at all. I never even knew he was building a rocket. You think he'd tell me, wouldn't he? H always told me everything about that."

Fifi's look drops like a stone in the polar bear's heart. "Oh my god I'm so sorry."

"He froze up there..?" Fifi's hands drift to her mouth. And now, for the first time tonight, and ever, Beach Bear's here to see Dook's mother truly break down. 

And it's heartwrenching. Fifi set off with a guttural WAIL, howling with all her might in the bitter air. She continues to cry out, Beach Bear's ears go red and his eyes wide. Will jolts forwards with a goal, smothering her mouth in his hand. She cries muffled beneath his paw, clutching the man's soft restricting hand. Her husband wraps her up tight, clutching her like a life support. Will looks between the two of them, then points to the back door. Beach Bear's running over before Will even speaks, the door already open. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"It's alright! I got it! Just find yourself somewhere ta lie down fo' a bit. It's alright, she jus' needs a little time ta get it out." He waves to the door in a rush. "Gen, Major an' Teddy are aboutta bolt out here like a bat outta hell, the rest a' the family too. You might even wanna go aroun--"

The door slams open, whacking Beach Bear in the nose. He steps back with it clutched. General, Teddy and then Major all bust through the door, Teddy on his hands and toes. The pitbull throws himself down all the thick stairs, skidding into the snow. He shoots up, already with his hands around both his mother and father. "What happened? What happened?"

Beach Bear moves to leave. General snatches him up by the fur on his chest. "You better not've--!"

"He FROZE! HE FROZE! HE FROZE HE FROZE HE FROZE!!" She bellows out, continuing to get lower and lower as she gets lower in her manners. Major sobs audibly with her, just as distraught inside the huddle of the family. "MY BABIES! MY BABIES!! WILLIE!!! DOOK!!! MY Ba-biessssssss..." She coughs hard, her throat torn. "Why did he take them both?! Why MY children?! Why so CRUELLY?! Haven't I done everything right??? God, please!! WHY did you take my BOYS from meeeee?!?!" She sobs bitterly, falling into a heart-broken babble.

Beach Bear jams his hands across his snout before he can fall into the same thing Fifi has. General lets him loose just to do the exact same thing. But there's a difference between the two, as General begins to howl just the same, crying into the night all by his lonesome on the ground. He hunches, his hands over his ears. Beach Bear pounds down the steps and he drops to his knees. No matter how well, or in this case the lack of how well they know each other, Beach Bear wraps him up anyway, too heartbroken to watch him cry alone. General leans into him hard, and then...

He sniffs him. Sticks his nose into Beach Bear's fur and sucks it up deep. Beach Bear pulls back to show his confusion, but it continues. General just keeps leaning into him, snorfing the fur, and now the skin on his belly. He jolts and snickers without his control. "Dawg, stop."

General looks him dead in the eyes. "It's all over you."

"What??? Snow??" Beach Bear squints. "No!" General yelps, clutching him tight. "HIM! Everywhere! MA!"

Beach Bear raises up his hands. "I didn't agree to this. Can I at least tell you where?"

"It's the most potent on your belly. Why was he all over you?" General questions, squinting skeptically. Beach Bear smiles. "Why don't you keep sniffing instead of interrogating me, yeah bud? Go ahead."

And... that's how that goes. Every one of them comes up to sniff him. Thankfully none of them got too up in his boundaries.

But that's just how it goes for Beach Bear. It's different inside the house. 

...

As soon as the wailing started, those three all bolted out, leaving the rest of the band with Dook's relatives. 

With not much to do over on her side of the couch, Mitzi stands, brushing her skirt down. She begins to make her way to the others, concern on her features. She makes her way to their leader first.

"Uh, Fatz?" She asks. The gorilla looks to her in the pause of conversation him, Esmerelda, and one of the tallest dogs Mitzi's seen with her own eyes. "What'ssa matter?"

"Uhm. How are you?" She throws out, looking between everybody in the small circle. The big ol' great dane, gray with shocking white eyes, shrugs to her, a drink in the woman's hand, but it hasn't had even a sip taken out of it. She lifts it a tad as a start of conversation. "I'm sad to see it happen again. They don' deserve it, 'specially not right when they were gettin' used ta Wild Willie bein' gone."

"Willie? His brother, right? I was never too certain." Mitzi pries lightly. The big dog nods. "Yup. He was dead-center right in the middle. Pardon my words. But he was smack dab in the middle of all of them. It was tragic. I heard how awful it was when they brought him home." She nods behind herself. Fatz and Esmerelda wrinkle their brows, as does the singer. "I'm sorry, huh? Brought him home?"

"Yeah. My name's Joanna by the way. I already know yours, Mitzi?" To that the mouse nods. Joanna does as well. "Yeah. Anyway. Might not be my business to air, but yer about the only people who don' know here. He got shot."

All three of them jolt with surprise. Joanna nods again, calm for such a story. "They got him right through the door, didn' even see what hit him. Crashed his Harley and everythin' tryna get outta there. Uncle Fido found him, knew somethin' was wrong as soon as they couldn't find Willie at home. Loaded him up bleedin' and all and brought him back, set him right in that chair, right there." She points behind herself. To the leather recliner Mr. LaRue resided in just a moment ago. Joanna sighs. "They all got their goodbyes. I just wish it was the same for Dook." Finally, she takes a big drink out of the glass in her hand, swirling it in the container when she swallows the golden-liquid down. "Poor guy."

Mitzi gapes, looking between her two, well, her bandmate and her bandmate's fiance. Fatz looks at her with a look similar, but his eyes are agape instead. Esmerelda bears a hand over her pink lips. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

Mitzi jumps to do the same. "Yeah, I'm so sorry! That's awful! I mean his-- his passing is! I'm glad he got to be home for it, yeah." She wipes at her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Fatz offers a hand. "That's rough. We um... we have a tradition sorta like that." Fatz clears his throat. "Uh. We got this big ol' beautimous Magnolia that's been growin' out in the backyard uh' my momma's place fo the past seventy years." He holds his hand out. "Whenever we get sick folk, like Uncle Henry, Miss Missy, an' the old Williams twins. We had 'em sit up there. It does somethin', keeps 'em hanging on for just a bit longer. And when they pass on, we take em down ta the backyard creek and bury em. That's where we been doin' it as long as my Great Gran-Gran was a kid. There's generations buried there, and that's bound ta be where I end up too. After a long, mostly-healthy life wit' my baby, Esmerelda." He leans to her, a hand over her own. "Ohh, you! I could eat you up you're so sweet!" She coos, snapping a bite into the air. That was her intention anyway. She catches Fatz on the lip, biting down rather hard. He jolts back with a yelp. "Ya meant literally?!"

"Whoops! Is that banana-cake chap-stick I taste..?" The woman leans in, wiggling her fingers. "Baby, no, not right now!" Fatz cowers. "AGH!"

She jabs her fingers into his side, tickling him ferociously. "Agh! HA stop!" Esmerelda basically plasters herself to the other, pinning him to the ground. Mitzi jumps, grappling Esmerelda's arm. She looks up, confused. Mitzi nods towards all the people crying in the living-room. "Oh dear me." She stands, flattening her dress down. "That's my fault, thank ya baby." Mitzi bobs her head. "It's okay! But, uhm. No offense, you don't seem to... You don't seem shaken at all."

"Oh, Mitzi, baby." Esmerelda holds her hands together, Joanna takes that as her sign to leave. "Of course I'm upset. But there's nothing I could'a done. I'm real sorry. It was his choice---" Esmerelda squints off to the side. "Well, he did always ramble on about it. I'd say it's a fitting resting place for him. I'm just never one to cry around folks." Her smiles is forlorn. "Especially not around people I don' know too well just yet. But dearie, I'm torn. I'm just not thinkin' about it. There's a time and a place, and well." She shrugs. Fatz steps up off the floor. "This isn't mine. I'm sad he's gone, it feels like there's a piece of y'all missin'. I never could understand his obsession with the stars." She looks to the ceiling. "But of course I'm sad, hun. I miss the little things. The joking, the playing around. It's just that..." Ezzie raises her hands, a delicate pink purse hanging off of one. "I really didn' know him as so closely as y'all did. But it's hard. He was my friend too, I jus' didn't see him often. And I regret that. But, I'm here fo' you guys. I'll always hold you all in my heart, regardless of how much I mess with you guys. It's been thirteen years after all. I can't just forget all that." She scuffs a palm at her eye. "Well, looks like you'll get me started anyway. Hooh. It's been a lot, girl. I've just been tryna hold it in."

"Oh. I'm sorry."  Mitzi itches at her face. "Um. I probably shouldn't keep bringing it up."

Fatz slaps a hand through the air. "Oh, naw, talkin's good fo' the soul after stuff like this. Should I prepare a eulogy?" The man asks the open air. "Enh, yeah I should. But I won't have a whole lotta good things ta say!" The man snorts. "Sorry, too soon. He was a good man. Had a good voice, smoked it on the drums. Sometimes." He can't help but laugh a bit more. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." But the laughing doesn't stop. "When he, when he put a hole through his drum on stage! AH AH AH AH AH!" The man bends over, clutching his knees. "And that voice-crack! Ooh! That voice crack back when we started playin' "My Love." all those years ago! We still got that on tape! AHAH AH AHA! Coleslaw!" He laughs. 

Laughs and laughs and laughs.

Until it gets a bit sobbier. Fatz stands up, wiping at his eyes. "I changed my mind. I don' wanna talk no more. Mitzi girl? You got anything?" 

She folds her hands together, rubbing them. 

"I miss him. It's like I lost a brother." Her eyes fill quickly. She swallows. "It hurts!" Mitzi drops her head into her hands. "I don't like it!"

"Oh... honey." Fatz wraps her up, bringing her into his arms. Esmerelda joins in, resting her chin on the woman's neck. Mitzi bows into the two of them, just a bit too tall to be cradled. She lets the tears run free, now that she's safe in these warm arms. "I jus' wish I coulda told him how much he meant to me! How much all of you mean to me..." Her paws fall. "It's not fair! We never did anything wrong!"

Esmerelda holds her tight. "I know, baby girl. I know. Life ain't fair. It picks and chooses what it wants, it don't matter a thing what you done."

Mitzi nods wordlessly into her hair.

...

Billy Bob has his paw up as he speaks, a nice smile on his face. The woman besides him gives him one back, her face wet, yes, but drying as she speaks to him. "So I tells him, I say "Whatta you doin' in our garbage ya raccoon???" And I tipped it over and a squirrel came out and bit me on the chest!" He cups his own titty. "It hurt somethin' bad. Wanna see it? It's a tiny bite, but it stuck!" The woman giggles "Sure! I've got some time before I talk to Fifi more."

"Billy Bob!" Rolfe's voice calls. Then the wolf arrives. "Ya seen Fatz?"

"Oh, uh." Billy looks around. But then he slaps his hands on his hips. "Well why're ya askin' the one guy wit' a concussion aroun' here where somebody is? That's not too smart, now is it?"

Rolfe rolls his eyes with a smile. "You get me entirely. I was joking." The wolf tries, brushing past the other with a flick of his tail. 

Billy Bob clears his throat. The feline woman before him raises an eyebrow. "So?"

"Yes Ma'am?" The grizzly asks. Her soft paw reaches out, tapping his chest.

"That squirrel bite?"

"Yeah!"

...

Rolfe does find Fatz, but he remains stuck, glued to Mitzi's figure. The woman cries, blonde curls all mussed up and tangled. The gorilla waves him on, mouthing some reassuring words to the wolf. Rolfe continues on instead. It seems like the apology will have to wait.

Chapter Text

Dwarf Planet.

...

The atmosphere inside the med-bay is still and cold. Beeps and bloops galore arise from monitors adjacent the beds of mutilated and war-torn soldiers, many with wounds far beyond repair. As such, there's only few who gasp or even simpy lift their heads to the noise of the door swooshing open with many to follow. Cloog'narp dashes into the medical-ward with a bounty of aliens chasing his back, a stretcher slams into the doorframe behind him. His feet skid on the slick tile. The alien's heads whip with a sickening crack. 

"WATCH THE DOOR, YA VORP!" His voice snaps with anger. "∴ᔑℸ ̣ ᓵ⍑ ╎ℸ ̣ ! ╎ℸ ̣ 'ᓭ ⎓∷ᔑ⊣╎ꖎᒷ! (WATCH IT! It's fragile!)" His footsteps echos with his stomps, thick-soled and clawed toes slapping on the laminated floor. One of the soldiers sneers. "╎ ꖌリ𝙹∴! ||𝙹⚍ ᔑꖎ∷ᒷᔑ↸|| ᓭᔑ╎↸ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ , ᓵꖎ𝙹⊣! (I know! You already said that, Clog!)" The medical alien's hand slaps atop the cold metallic bar on the end of the bed, just besides the Earthican's tattered and dull leather footwear. With a yank the bed is freed where it's stuck against the entrance. Cloog'narp steps across the tile with haste, stepping to the side and swinging the bed wide, turning it around and settling the side where the Earthican's head lays at the wall right in the middle of the room. It bumps against the glitzing black stone, rocking on it's hovering stance lightly. Cloog'narp's hands on the side closest to the soldiers wave around. "Go on! ꖎᒷᔑ⍊ᒷ!" 

One of the soldiers rolls her eyes, her big, amethyst crystal orb swirling in her head. "ꖎᒷᔑ⍊ᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ∷ᒷᓭℸ ̣. ⊣ᒷリᒷ∷ᔑꖎ ᓵ∷𝙹⨅╎ᒷ∷ ↸ᒷᒲᔑリ↸ᒷ↸ ∴ᒷ ℸ ̣ ᒷꖎꖎ ||𝙹⚍ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ∴𝙹∷ꖌ 𝙹リ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᒷᔑ∷ℸ ̣ ⍑ꖎ╎リ⊣ 𝙹リꖎ|| ⎓ᔑ∷ ᒷリ𝙹⚍⊣⍑ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ꖌᒷᒷ!¡ ╎ℸ ̣ ⎓⚍リᓵℸ ̣ ╎𝙹リ╎リ⊣..  (Leave the rest. General Crozier demanded we tell you to work on the Earthling only far enough to keep it functioning.)" She crosses her arms. The obvious scrapes on her body make it clear that this is the same alien Cloog tackled mere moments before. Two heads shake slowly atop the doctor's shoulders. "Yes, I understand. ⚍リ↸ᒷ∷ᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹𝙹↸."

The rest of the soldiers turn and leave, exiting as the alien spins and travels, positioning himself in front of one of the shelves containing a sparse amount of jars with suspended parts. Deft six-fingered hands begin to quickly grab and bring the unlabled organs to his four trained eyes.

A throat clears. Cloog'narp raises a clearly impatient eyebrow towards the source, expecting another patient. The woman remains there, sitting in her bulky tactical armour with expectance written all over her. Cloog sighs. She speaks. "⍑𝙹∴ ╎ᓭ ↸ᔑℸ ̣ ⍑'∷∷𝙹!¡? (How is Dath'rrop?)"

"Oh." The word on Cloog'narp's lips is unsure. "Uhm. ||ᒷᓭ, ||𝙹⚍ ᒲᔑ|| ᓭᒷᒷ ⍑╎ᒲ. ⍑ᒷ ╎ᓭ ∷ᒷᓭℸ ̣ ╎リ⊣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ. (Yes, you may see him. He is resting over there.)"

The woman turns, muscles tensing at the sight that welcomes her. "⊣𝙹𝙹↸. (Good.)" Despite this she begins walking, bringing herself to the fallen soldier. Four dark eyes just can't help but to follow, hands pausing in their search.

With slow, even steps, the soldier arrives at the side of the other's bed. She carresses the others head. Soon, the glass-eyed alien lets gravity take her, and she now rests on her knees. Closer does she sway, rubbing a gentle hand over the other soldier's limp hand. She begins to speak a familiar tune, a melodic song. Cloog returns to his searching, his brows pinched with a regretful expression.

Dof'nar, Dof'nar Dof'nar, Dof'nar, Dof'nar, Dof'nar. Interspersed is myriad of parts like his, fallen Dog'nark civilians and others. But they're not labelled, and as such, he has nothing of the ability to be able to discern if perhaps... it was someone he knew. That jar is slapped back onto the shelf. Cloog'narp jams multiple tanks out of the way, then lifts his head with a hum. "Mmh, yes. They're in the back. Of course."

His hands shoot out and within ten seconds each and every jar he needed is withing his arms. Cloog'narp ushers to the body atop the medical-bed, dropping all of the items between the corpse's legs. The medic swings a leg back and jams it into the bottom of the floating resting spot. A tray slips out with a vengeance and then up, right next to the alien's side. Immediately he grabs a sharp tool, similar to a chisel. The next tool he grabs is undoubtably a hammer. Cloog'narp brings the sharp tool to the forehead of the Earthican's lifeless body, with the flat end down. He settles the hammer atop the handle of the chisel. When he begins to hammer it down into the man's skull, no blood comes, all drained out. Sickening cracks begin to sound, but Cloog'narp smiles. This is the easiest head he's ever broken into.

"I'ꖎꖎ ʖᒷ リᒷᔑ∷, リᒷᔑ∷ ||𝙹⚍⚍⚍..."

Those lyrics cause Cloog to pause. One head turns, while the other continues in it's task. The unwounded soldier rises, giving a timid squeeze to the other's hand. Her body turns, and she begins to walk. Cloog'narps throat clears. "Sorry, Herf'ra?"

The woman turns. She may not know Earthican, but she can hear her own name. "||ᒷᓭ?" She responds. An unsure look goes across the alien's unfocused head. The bone beneath the chisel cracks open like an egg. Cloog stops his hammering. Gently, he turns, holding out a palm towards the alien's fallen lover. 

"∴╎ꖎꖎ ||𝙹⚍ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ᓭᔑ|| ||𝙹⚍∷ ⊣𝙹𝙹↸ʖ||ᒷᓭ ᔑᓭ ||𝙹⚍ ⍑ᔑ⍊ᒷ ʖᒷ⎓𝙹∷ᒷ? (Will you not say your goodbyes as you have before?)" The man's voice is tender. Herf'ra looks to her lover, stock-still in the bed. The only thing moving is the soldier's chest, slow, uneven.

She looks back to the doctor, a look in her eye. Still, she bends, pressing herself to the other alien. "╎'ꖎꖎ ᔑꖎ∴ᔑ||ᓭ ꖎ𝙹⍊ᒷ ||𝙹⚍, ↸ᔑℸ ̣ ⍑'∷∷𝙹!¡. ᔑꖎ∴ᔑ||ᓭ. !¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ↸𝙹リ'ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷᔑ⍊ᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ⊣ᔑꖎᔑ ̇/|| ∴╎ℸ ̣ ⍑𝙹⚍ℸ ̣ ᒲᒷ リᒷᔑ∷."

The unwounded soldier lifts. Cloog'narp swallows. He zones into his work, making quick work of working his fingers under this visible crack in bone. One of his hands reaches, procuring a handled-blade. Herf'ra begins to walk, slow, still watching her fallen partner. Her hand touches the door. She stands, eyes trained.

But she has to go, and as such, she lets her gaze relax. Herf'ra exits the room, her footsteps soft.

Cloog'narp turns the saw on. It whirrs with a nice even buzz on it's suspended laser-blade. Slowly, he brings it down. The saw rests against the crack and it turns the bone it touches into a fine powder, collecting inside of the handle of the tool. Carefully, he takes the saw further, anxious as he buzzes a line across half of the body's forehead. 

"ClOG'NARP!" 

All four hands fling away from the body just to avoid harming the brain inside, the saw slips from his fingers, stopping as it's left with no operator. It lands in the bed of another soldier. "I AM BUSY--" He starts, but then halts himself. General Crozier stands right at the door, a hand pointed towards the soldier Herf'ra was just next to. "How many time did I tell you to take this thing off of these vital parts?! Do you think I have the resources for you to keep this one alive for this long now?!?"

Cloog'narp swings a wild hand. "I am TRYING to WORK on this HUMAN!! I'll get you all the star coins in the world and it won't matter a thing about how long that one's hooked up once I have this Earthican fixed up and able to um-- Sell off." He begins to falter. 

General Crozier stomps over to Dath'rrop's bed with a clear goal. Footsteps slam against the tile floor. Cloog'narp bolts, snatches the General's hand before he can take a hold of the main tube the soldier has hooked into him, having such a strong grip on the other that General Crozier glares at him. "Unhand me."

Cloog'narp does as such. But still, he himself takes the other's tube. "Please."

The general narrows him down with a sneer. "You dare disobey an order? Would you like to end up like the rest of your ⎅⟒⏃⎅ ⌇⏁⏃⍀ people?"

"..." 

Cloog'narp nods. "I'll rescind the fluid. Please, just. Let me."

The general's sneer twitches. "Now."

"I will."

Cloog'narp takes the tube between his fingers. He pauses. But even he knows the General would begin to make it his own task if he didn't do it himself. 

"*Pop*"

Out comes the tube from the other's skin, leaving a small hole where the pricking needle was inside the other's neck. The monitor besides the aliens begins to cry out, flashing it's warnings. Cloog swallows hard. "Can I continue working now?"

Crozier waves his hand out. "Immediately. I don't want to see you until that thing is alive." A spindly finger points to the Earthican-dwelling stretcher. Cloog nods, a forcefully slow blink following. "I thank you."

The general turns around without so much as a word, and he stalks out of the room. 

Cloog'narp holds a finger to his lips. The beeping continues, frantic. 

The medic ushers to the body atop the cart holding the human. With his own two hands he jams his fingers into the crack on the forehead and he PULLS. The split half of the skull cracks open, exposing the human's brain. A longer jar than the rest is grabbed from between the body's legs. He snaps the lid off with haste, reaching in and grappling with the parts inside. Deft hands grip and throw the brain and organs inside right on the floor, worthless. The only thing it's been useful for is holding the stasis of the brain, but they have no use for it whatsoever. Which leads to him setting the jar on the table of tools next to him, still full of a yellow-y liquid. Carefully, Cloog'narp reaches his hands inside the human's skull, and he begins to gather the brain from inside. It doesn't come out completely smoothly, only with a bit of trouble. Cloog'narp pushes the lone eyeball into the man's skull, it sinks inside easier than expected. Out comes the brain, along with the eyeball, but with other things still attached. The barely-hanging-on eyeball snaps off and falls onto the bed. The doctor grips a tool off of the tray as the beeping behind him continues to wail. 

Cloog'narp brings the tool to the thick bit of tissue still connecting the spinal cord to the body's brain. He snaps the tool onto it, and it begins to shake violently. 

He pulls, and out comes the spinal cord, along with a disturbing spaghetti of the nerves attached to it. With a slightly happier look, he drops the mess of parts into the jar. He picks up the other eyeball that fell, preparing to throw it in as well. But... the nerves are completely severed. The human's eyeball is stuck with a giant glass shard, and now that Cloog is looking closer. The lens of his eye is missing. Well. The alien sets the eyeball onto the table next to him. Quickly, he bends, coming face to face with the parts on the floor. With one of the many tools atop the cart, a wand, Cloog'narp grapples and waves it over the organic tissue connecting that eye to the brain, separating it cleanly. He ushers to throw that eye into the jar. With a small splash he jams his hands inside, gripping the rope of organic tissue hanging from the saved brain where the eye should be, then bringing the same bit of tissue from the donor eye to that rope. Immediately, the nerves from the eye at the bottom of the jar begin to latch, taking hold of the severed nerves of the brain. Good. Now he's done. There are more important matters to deal with now that the most time-restricted part is dealt with. His hand is freed and flicked clean onto the floor, then snaps the top onto the jar containing the saved parts.

Now... Cloog'narp's head shifts behind him. 

The wailing of anatomical failure continues on, harsh and crying. His hand dips, collecting a sheet of what looks to be ice from off of the tray. He goes forward, tapping on the sheet.

A screen appears in the blue. Cloog'narp begins to swipe across it with a thin wand. His trek ends next to the soldier's bed, but not his searching. His hand swipes and swipes, easy but time-consuming.

Soon, he bends next to the bed. He presses on something on the screen, and a song begins. The same one the soldier's lover sung before. It's quiet and not quite clear, like it's a distance from her. Cloog'narp lifts and grips the other alien's quickly chilling hand. That hand is brought to the doctor's face, and with his own, he carresses the other's head.

"Many apologies, Dath'. Many."

...

The song continues, and as it does so continues the draining of the soldier's warmth. 

Cloog'narp continues to brush over the other's smooth forehead, above a gravely wounded eye. The other's eyelid is slashed and sunken. 

...

In just a few quarter-cycles, exactly three after they unplugged the tube...

Dath'rrop is pronounced deceased on lightcycle-five at a brightness of one. 

His death is written down as... an accident. Unintentional-malpractice.

Cloog'narp brings the sheet over the soldier's cold face.

He sits there, his hands all folded together.

...

He stands.

There are matters more important...

At least in the General's eyes.

Chapter Text

Four days after The Blast.

...

The morning of January Eighth is a cold one, biting and harsh, nipping at your arms and ears with an icy rage, whipping and mournful, lashing out with the length of it's agony.

It's so cold in fact, that even the fireplace crackling behind the safety of wrought iron door does little to warm the hearts of any inside of the LaRue household.

Rolfe awakes on the left-most couch of the LaRue's with his teeth chattering out of his skull and his body curled into a fuzzy ball out of his own volition. Earl lay in the crook of his hip-bone and his stomach, tucked in the curl to preserve as much heat as he could. But he doesn't scrunch, simply the creature lounges, hands folded together and his flatcap laid over his eyes. A canid nose twitches, breathing in the scent of roasted coffee drifting across the house-hold. He lifts to the gorgeous smell, taking in as much as he can before he really has to get up. His dull-chocolate eyes open to the cold air, flittering with the bright white light beaming off of the snow and into the windows.

From the door-way into the kitchen, Will stands at the stove, his hand perched atop the handle of a ceramic pot as it toils away over-top of the stove. Rolfe brings himself to an upright position, grappling Earl's stomach as he does. The man grumbles, but awake he does not. Settled is the fuzzy punk next to his leg, tucking a thick comforter over the other's toes. A loving carress is put to the other's head.

"Ya sure got a thing fo' that puppet, don' you?"

Rolfe's head lifts. Will looks to him now, the coffee pot is off of the stove now, steaming heavily. The spaniel rests his palm on the side of the blisteringly hot cookware, like it's not hurting him at all. Rolfe can't help but cringe. "Uhm. Well, yes. I do have an affinity for Ventrilocism. It's a trait I'm sure I've picked up from my Grand-Pappy, rest his dear soul. But yes, I do indeed love this "puppet." Sir."

Will laughs, this breathy and wheezy chuckle. He rests a hand over his heart. "I haddn't been called Sir for years. Ya sound leagues betta' than the soldiers ever did sayin' it." The man shakes his head lightly, his tattered and halfed ear bopping up briefly. "I saw that look." He nods to the wolf. Rolfe nods with much gusto. "How could you not? I feel like my eyes popped outta' my head! Doesn't that hurt?" Grey ears swivel where they're perched above a quizzical look.

Fifi's husband's laugh rings across the house like they have cartoons on, similar to Muttley of Wacky Races fame. "I lost nearly all the feelin' in the palm of mah hands ages ago."

"Oh." Rolfe tilts his head, already with words on his tongue. "I--" Will lifts a hand. "I know what yer' gonna ask. I was a combat medic a while back. Frag grenade into a trench leaves me lookin' and soundin' like a million bucks." A paw waves over his face. Rolfe's brows lift. "Oh. Well, that's not how I expected that to happen. Um. I was simply going to ask if you had any more coffee to spare."

The man stares for but a second. A huge grin splits across his face, huge indeed as the side of his face lays with his teeth exposed. With light force, his palm thunks his head, uneven ears jumping from the shock. "Ah, I'm sorry. Tha's all me. I got the kids always talkin' about how Pawpaw William's face got so messed up. They're real young, I know they don' get that it's a lil' bit rude ta ask people that. I don' mind it. But it's a force a' habit ta tell everyone who look at me a little bit funny."

Rolfe's hands lift. "Of course, it's quite alright. I was curious, but as you said," The man's paw wafts outward. "I didn't want to be rude if I asked you about a possibly traumatic event."

"It's far from traumatic." Will's paw slides through the air. "At least now. But yeah, we got more coffee. I'll pour ya some."

"oh." Rolfe sets a finger over his lip. "I um."

Will nods. "I get you. I'm not offended, I know. Between you and me?" He quizzes. Rolfe's ear twitches towards him. Will smirks. "Ain't none'a my kids know howta fix my coffee just right. I'll just pour it, I'll leave ya to the mixin's."

The wolf's tail wavers. "Thank you, Sir." He falters. "Not Sir, um..." He looks to the other. Dook's father nods. "William. Will. You can pick. Jus' not Willie. That's mah son's name."

"Alright. William" Rolfe tilts his head. "Same name. So, the biggest one of yours, right?"

Will's smile isn't sad, even deeper in sorrow than that. "Nah, he was my middle-most kid. He ain't around no-more. Only in spirit."

His eyes drift to the recliner. He sighs. "I gotta bring this to Fifi. Her'n Fido been waitin' a bit too long, me thinks." The man chuckles, weak. His voice gives away a bit at the end. He clears his throat, his voice frail and pitched. "Sorry. I'm talkin' ya ears off."

Rolfe holds up his paw, and he stands, quick as he ventures into the kitchen. "No, it's quite alright. I apologize myself, I shouldn't make you cater to my whims when you've already done so much letting us stay here tonight." He bows briefly as he arrives, lowering his head to the other. The rest of the Rock-afire Explosion lay in the dormancy of the living-room, Mitzi close to Earl, as she had been snuggled to their canine-comedian, and now holds Earl to her chest like a doll. Fatz and Esmerelda share a seat on the right-side couch, leaning into eachother. Billy Bob joins in the warm-contact as he leans into Fatz's back, drooling lightly onto the other's glitzy gold button up. The only one of them missing remains to be Beach Bear, who they all saw venture upstairs without so much as a greeting and a hollow ache in the other's eyes. Rolfe knows better than to question, or worse, confront the other on his reserved behaviour, for he knows true that if he went against his own whims to call the other out, there'd be a lot more broken in Rolfe than just a piece of his heart.

Will smiles when the wolf comes back to his eye-sight. Well, above it. "It's okay.  I don' mind." His words begin to pinch more and more. Rolfe shakes his head, recollecting himself, running over the conversation in his frazzled brain to recap. "...Thank you. But I can handle it. Where are your mugs? I'll help you take it up to them."

"Up top. Stool." Will points above the stove, then to a step-stool. Rolfe reaches up without it and he swings the cabinet over the stove-hood open, grappling three mugs, and then another in his free hand. He settles the four mugs on the stove. Will shakes his head. "Only two. I got mine 'n Fifi." Will rasps, short on the words that travel up his aching throat. The spaniel turns, opening a different cabinet. Out comes a different mug, all chipped around the rim and stained with coffee. Rolfe grabs and sets one of the mugs back, closing the cabinet. Will grapples with the coffee-pot and he pours it into the four mugs, evening them out close to the top, but with some space left on two of the dark-filled receptacles. Will picks up his own mug and he blows across the top, taking a long sip from the ceramic ruby glass. The dark liquid sticks to his patchy, graying mustace. Bronze eyes catch on the light of the stove's hood, but they're not Rolfe's. The wolf holds his hand out palm down, comparing the greys of their fur. Will's brows lift.

"Huh. Ya look like ya came outta me." The man laughs, his tone less strained now that his throat has been wetted and soothed. Will wipes away the coffee dribbling ever-so lightly past his exposed teeth. "Could'ya be a doll and grab that sugar fo' me?" Mr. LaRue points, grabbing the jug of milk sitting on the counter besides him. Rolfe grabs the sugar. "I couldn't be a doll, but I can be helpful, yes. I do believe we look similar."

"Ahh, shut it, Rolfe."

Earl grumbles from the couch. Rolfe clears his throat. Will points at the puppet. "What--?"

"Well, it's not only puppets that I can control. I can throw my voice quite far, you see." The wolf smiles.

Will nods. "Ah. Well. Dook 'n you share your habits of confusin' the hell outta me with your little hobbies."

Rolfe falters. That's right.

How could he have... forgotten like that?

Will turns his eyes to the ground.

The spaniel rubs over his throat, and then takes a sip from his patterned mug. Soon, he grabs Fifi's mug, a well-worn and loved mug that appears to be made out of clay. Will juggles all of the things in his hands, shifting them into the crook of his arm so he can grapple his wooden cane. He smiles at the customized receptacle he holds. Rolfe wordlessly takes the jug of milk from the man, slow to not take it from the man who can simply keep the item if he so chooses to. But Will allows it to be taken. "Thank ya. If ya follow me I'll bring ya up."

Rolfe swallows thickly. "Please."

...

The footsteps are loud and creaking as the two of them venture up the long set of stairs adjacent to the living-room where the rest of Rolfe's band-members lie, bending the frail wood lightly as they go, the oak groaning out with it's greivances each time Rolfe steps. Will travels up the set of stairs quickly and without so much as a noise, the two mugs clutched and balanced between either paw.

"Not the middle. Take the left."

The wolf sighs, though he tries to not let the sound reach the other's ears. But reach it does, and soon Will shakes his head. "Yeah, I hear ya."

"Oh. I'm sorry." The tone his voice takes on is gentle and reserved. Will cocks his head. "Y'know. You don' act a thing like I expected ya to."

Naked brows raise. Rolfe reaches the top of the stairs, confusion evident. "Well... How did you expect one to act in a situation such as this? I may be... holding back a little. I... caused a bit of ruckus the other day when this all went down. I'd rather not bring that kind of trouble into the house of--" Rolfe bites his tongue. "The dog's family."

Dark chocolate narrows him down with a cold stare. Immediately does Rolfe backtrack. "Our drummer. I apologize, that sounded harsh." The mugs are set on top of the railing. His hands press to his chest. "I'm trying very hard here! See, I have this thing? It's actually quite common, um. It's called common sense?" He snorts a bitter chuckle. "I wouldn't have built a rocket-ship and then stayed on it as it launched! That's stupid! So I don't know what your son was thinking, but me? Personally?" Grey furs fall from the other's arms as he swings them outward. "I wouldn't have done that! How can you be--??? That--??? Stupid???" Spindly fingers clench. "And I'd really rather not call your spawn anything remotely insulting to your face, especially after such an event!" The wolf points out. He begins to falter the longer Will's expression sticks to his face, blank. A long tail is pinched between grey-furred fingers. "But SERIOUSLY?! I mean REALLY? Launching yourself to your death is the PERFECT way to be labelled as stupid in my-- in my eyes."

Rolfe falters near the end, his paws coming to his chest. Will stares hard, unforgiving in that icy glare.

The silence brews. Grey triangles flatten on the other's head. "I... Um... I'm---!"

Will takes in a breath, then another. A grey paw lifts.

"I don' wanna hear you call my boy stupid, whether or not what he did, I don' wanna hear ya say somethin' like that, son."

"I-I-I-I-I'm sorry--!" Rolfe nods hard, refusing to let his gaze rise to the other. His body jolts hard whenever Will settles a paw on his arm. "But I understand it. Y'all all are gunna grieve differently. I'm doin' the same myself." The man nods to himself. "Ya don' need ta be so scared of me. I hate ta see ya so frazzled over a tiny mistake." Up and down does that hand rub, across the glittering black of a button up. "I know jus' seein' ya here told me Dook didn' get ta know much'a the real you. But I'd say..." The elder spaniel looks the other up and down, a gentle raking. But it hurts in the wolf's soul harder than anything. "Ya never let him do that, huh?" Will touhes, a hand to his heart. "I dun know betta' than anyone else what that kinda trauma looks like. I'm not gon' hurt ya, son. I don' mind if ya speak ya feelin's. It's that word in specific, though. I can't stand it. Not fo' my kids."

Rolfe swallows with a hard bite in his throat, itching at his eyes. He picks up the two mugs perched on the railing of the stairs, settling them in his paws. His right hand feels bare.

Teary eyes turn outward. Away from the spaniel. Rolfe clears his throat before he turns back.

"Okay." He nods. "I won't call him that."

The spaniel's head bobs. "And?"

The wolf can't help but roll his eyes, a sneer tacking his lips. "You're not my father, Will. Don't you have your own kids to worry about?"

...

Will's mustache twitches. Rolfe holds firm on his notion, even if he regrets the biting words. If only the other would get off of his damn back and stop looking into everything like he knows EVERYTHING about Rolfe like--

Like Dook did.

The father of their deceased band-member adjusts the mugs in his hands. "That's the last time I'll ignore somethin' like that. You say somethin' like that to Fifi and I won't regret slappin' ya outta my house. Y'all are in a rough spot. So are we. So please." Will takes in a breath. It puffs out. "Keep yourself together around her. She has enough on her plate already. Took her this long ta get over Willie. Now her youngest's gone. God forbid she has someone she's only known in passing for the past thir'teen years tell her that she's whatever you wanna say. I know ya jus' wanna let it all out. But now's not the time. Not to her."

Rolfe sticks to his look, though his eyes drift. He growls at the touch that the other gives him. Will lifts his hand up and away. "Alright. Mine n' Fifi's room is the door all the way there. End of the hall. That one's the bathroom." The dog points to the door next to the bed-room. Then he lists the next three in order. "Teddy's old room. Willie's, don' go in there. Um. Dook's old room. I don'..." The man's palms rub together. "I don' know what he woulda said ta you in specific. Please, you can go in if ya like. But don't move anythin'. Put it right back if you do. If he's..."

Will looks to the sky, through the roof.

"God forbid, wherever he's at... If he's really, gone--" The other's eyes well. He sniffles it away. "I can't believe he's gone too."

A thumb knuckle jams into Rolfe's mouth, the coffee inches away from spilling onto him. "Pleasche. The coffee."

"Right." He clears his throat. Still, it pinches with the unmistakable rasp of tears in one's air-way. "I'm sorry. It's not my place to pry anyway."

Rolfe tilts the mugs ever so slightly.

"No. It's alright. I have no reason to attack you." The wolf sighs a breath. "It's all so sudden-" They begin to walk in the direction they need. "I heard of the giant explosion in Chattanooga the night it happened, i thought nothing of it. Then the remaining members of the band arrive on my door-step while I'm in my pajamas telling me this this and that all at once. It... It was just so much. I can't begin to tell you why I acted as I did." He cocks his head back and forth. "Actually, I'd be lying if I said that. I can admit my own fault. It was a lot. I..." Rolfe shrugs, for his hands are occupied. "May have thrown the others into a bit more of a tizzy than I intended trying to keep myself from breaking apart my entire house. I learned some things that I feel as though Beach Bear will regret having yelled at such an inopportune time. Not for the subject, but for how it went down. But I can't imagine what he's going through." The wolf tucks a finger to his lips. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose somebody so close to you. I never, ever saw them leave eachother, now that I've had time to remember it. They truly were inseperable. I really couldn't imagine--" Forceful, a whine tumbles up his throat. He clears the way. "I could never imagine losing Earl. A puppet, yes. But. Nobody could ever know the extent of the love I hold for simple scraps of fabric."

They arrive at the door, and yet still, they pause. Will's expression holds a level of forlorning Rolfe can't describe.

"It's a fickle thing." He starts. "Love. I think I know what yer talkin' of. Every single day I felt had Dook runnin' up mah legs ta tell me about some pretty girl he saw in class, or on the playground, or whenever he got older enough, when he'd walk around town. Boy could never keep his bleedin' heart in his chest. I feel it got stomped on one too many times." Will takes in the scent of the coffee in his hands. "I messed up. Real long ago. You won't... um... tell the others? It's not something I'm sure each and everyone of you would take well. It's not somethin' I'm proud of either."

Slow does a weary paw lift. "I'm pretty certain I know where you're taking this. You told him he... well, I'll let you say it." Rolfe's arms tuck close to himself. His arms tire of holding these mugs, but. It's comforting. To hear such an accent, to be surrounded in the scent of a household so welcoming and full of life.

It's overwhelming.

In a good way.

Will's throat clears with a bit of struggle. His neck is soothed with a rub. "Yeah. I um. Well, he's gone now. I'm sure you know of all the trouble goin' around with Queers and all."

Rolfe cringes. Still, he speaks. "I know far too well. I've seen it myself with a few friends." He tries timidly. Will's paws lift. "I never had a thing against 'em. Hell, Fido's told me himself that he would'a jumped mah bones if Fifi haddn't. I think he's jokin'. But I never took offense to it. Sure I didn't get it, but..." in does the man's head tuck to his palm. "Dook came upta me one day sayin' this this and that about this boy in class, how pretty he was with all that silky long black 'n tan fur and those goreous white teeth a his, beautiful gold curls runnin' all down his back and all this stuff abut how brave and commandin' he was. I blew up." The man leans into his own touch, holding the warm mug to his cheek. "I don' know how it happened. One minute I was starin' down mah soaps thinkin' about my platoon out there, and the next I had Dook down mah throat confusin' the hell outta me. It didn' help the fact I had just gotten out of one of my rotations. It's rough stuff, bein' out in tradgedy, seein' so many lose their lives. I don' know why I ever opened my mouth to say a single thing wrong about my own boy. It scared the hell outta me that some would try ta-- kill him! Take him away from us because of some silly prejudice about love, or worse! I couldn't bear thinkin' of him bein' torn ta shreds by those protesters-- I just..." The sighs that brews rattles the others chest. "Jumped outta my chair, slapped the hell outta him. Called him every little thing under the sun because I was just so scared. I dunno how I could sit there yellin' at my own kid when he's sittin' there screamin' and yellin' because he's terrified of his own father." Those hands begin to shake. Will sucks in a breath, and still, the tears dribble. "It was rough times, 'specially comin' back to find out somethin' so big. But I had no right ta treat my own flesh and blood like a soldier on the other side of war. Never, ever, would I ever have thought I'd call my own son a--" Will nearly drops one of the mugs in his hands as he splays his fingers over his forehead. "A queer. A faggot. Mutt. I wouldn't have even believed it happened if Fifi hadn't bolted downstairs and slapped the utter mess outta me, cuz she heard all the yellin' and saw 'im on the floor while I was standin' over him frothin' like a wild animal."

Rolfe blanks on things to say. Will sighs. "That's the same night Fifi threw my ass to the doctors and told 'em to fix me straight or we were through. I picked up drinkin'. Every time I do, it's ta forget. It's just. So easy ta want to forget everythin' that hurts ya. Even if ya end up hurtin' the ones who needa ya most. Dook was only... twelve? And I scared the mess outta him so bad he didn't stop crying whenever he saw me for a year after that. I can't help but think I was the reason he never found The One."

Rolfe holds the mugs to himself, berift of things to say. "I... I'm sorry. I never knew. I mean, I can't say I didn't suspect--" Rolfe looks off of the drop of the railing. There's been multiple times where he questioned the sexuality of their drummer, especially whenever the other would take to alcohol. Almost exclusively when he took to alcohol. Whether it be just a simple longing glance at a man that lasted way too long, or how Dook's eyes followed every single golden muscle-toned and sweat dripping body everytime they passed into the Florida Keys on their way to grab Beach Bear, men that looked suspiciously like Beach Bear. And even just saying that name brings to mind far more moments of not-exactly-straight behaviour from the spaniel. And especially now that Rolfe knows of the extent that Beach really cared about the other, It's not hard to say that the two of them acted like they were screwin' eachother every night they got. Each and every look the two of them shared on stage got sultrier and more lustful, and eventually they both started to become inseparable. The lustful-ness was just something that Rolfe ignored, telling himself he was stupid. And of course he would! Even he didn't want to think about the extent of the love the two band-mates shared. He's gay as well, yes, but he draws the line at thinking of people he knows screwing. Blech.

"I definitely expected that." He holds up his paws, still locked with the mugs. "But I never cared. Hell, The Rock-afire Explosion might as well be the queerest group of animals I've ever met, I myself can say that, as I am the queerest person I've ever met myself. I guess if you wanna air out your son's old trauma I'll tell ya mine."

Will falters. "I wasn't even thinkin' about that-- I--"

Rolfe shrugs. "It's alright. Just hold on a second." He lifts one of the mugs. "My parents hated me until the day they died. I got cigarette burns out the hooza and that's as far as I'll elaborate." He tilts his head. "You clearly fucked him up telling him that. He's one of the most confused animals I've met and he was only twenty when I met him. But you mentioning that? The fur? The hair?"

Will nods, hesitant. "Yeah...?"

"Look at our guitarist." He waves his hand out despite not knowing of where the other is. "Tall, long white fur. White teeth. Blonde-headed. Only a little commanding, really only to him. Those two were inseparable for the past five years. Dook--" Rolfe clears his throat suddenly. God, it's just so easy to forget. and then remember all over again. What's going to happen to the band after this? Rolfe shakes his head. "He 'n Beach Bear were together from the start, as friends I mean. I couldn't stand Beach the moment he stepped in the door. Couldn't take the fact that we had a perfectly great guitarist, despite his issues, in the lineup from the very beginning who just flipped on a dime and up and left out of nowhere." The wolf sneers. "Acted like he'd stick through and through through the rough of it all, and then right when we get the band off the ground and into stores, he leaves us with a teenager." The mugs are settled atop the rail once more just so Rolfe can dig his claws into his face.  "Dealin' with an actual child as our female vocal talent was bad enough. Then we get a nineteen year old dropped in our laps and we're told to deal with it like the first Beach Bear never left. Same name by the way." He wavers a hand, then pinches the bridge of his nose. "I was nearing thirty and trying to deal with the band's antics already. Billy Bob 'n Fatz were forty and actin' like children. Mitzi was a child, and Dook?" The other can't help but roll his eyes. "The closest to my age at twenty-three and I could still see how he fawned for that man like he hung the stars with such a stup-- child-like adoration. In fact, Beach Bear wouldn't be around if it weren't for him. Fatz was ready to give the guy the boot and I was right along with it. We had a way to bring members into the band, and that wasn't it. Billy Bob was too strung up with his own worry to wanna fight with the rest of the band. Mitzi and Dook took to Beach Bear like he was a long-lost friend and Dook isn't scared to speak his mind if he's thinking it. Of course Mitzi fought the same way too, but she was barely above double digits, nobody but Billy Bob took her seriously." Rolfe rubs a finger across his chin. "Let's see... It was the night we debuted the Abbey Road Medley. I never would've thought the voice coming out of the moon that day would be our guitarist."  The wolf shakes his head. "Of course those two fell in love with that voice and stuck to it like fly-paper. Both of them fought like hell to keep him in the band once the first Beach Bear brought the other around the corner when we were leaving to our next gig and tossed him in the van like a sack of potatoes. Even he looked worried about jumping right into being in the band without knowing anybody he’s working with. By the time we got around to actually auditioning for new roles, those two tore down the whole thing and we never bothered to keep it going, and by that time now, Billy Bob was fighting us to the moon and back. Beach Bear is, admittedly, very good on the strings. So it made no sense to re-do the entire thing just to LOOK for someone else. We had all begun to take a liking to him after the whole stress of the our auditioning spot being ruined and the first Beach leaving blew over anyway." Rolfe sucks in a breath. "Can we go in now? I'm tiring myself just by remembering this."

Will brows pinch, like he clearly has more to say. But he himself doesn't say it, make it known. Simply, his head shake slow. Different words arrive.

"Uh. Yeah. We'll head on in. Just, yeah, we shouldn't talk about this right this moment. Later." The other requests. The mugs on the railing find a place in the wolf's hands. The liquid is a little less than hot now. "Of course. Sorry to rattle on." He apologizes. A hand lifts, wavering. "Not a problem. I jus' don't wanna overwhelm--"

The door opens, but not by either of them. Fifi awaits at the other side of the door, and she jumps hard. Streaks of bitter wet stream down her face, drying. "Oh!" She flinches. "I was jus' about ta look around fer ya. Both of you comin' in?"

Rolfe tilts a mug a tad. "Oh. Um, I can--"

Will smiles. "Yes dear. The both of us, if that's alright."

Fifi nods. "Of course. Rolfe, you are, yes? I remember." Her eyes drift to the other, marine in hue. The wolf nods. "At your service. If service includes comedy!" A wolfish grin splits his face. Fifi's smile grows. "Oh yes! I still have your card. Maybe, not now though. But if you'll join us for coffee?"

"I would love to."

The door swings wider, opening the room to their eyes. A big, brown, white and red adorned bed lay in the middle of the room and against the wall. Two wooden nightstands box it in and to the left of the door is a table with a few plush chairs. A bright light and wavering thin white curtains tell him that there's a balcony to the left. The two of them step into the room. Uncle Fido peeks from the out-doors, settled in a wire chair that matches the color of the two inside, an off-white. There's a rolled bit of something in his fingers that smolders, and the scent tells Rolfe that it's more than likely marijuana. Beach Bear and his odd habits makes that smell quite known to him, especially since the other has been indulging in the plant far too often now for Rolfe's tastes. This family is quite odd. But no matter. The greying pitbull lifts up a hand in greeting, but nothing else is offered in his silence. "Hello." The wolf nods.

Fifi reaches out, gently taking one of the mugs from the comedian's hand. "Thank ya, hun. I take it you're looking for your friend?"

Rolfe's brows pinch. "Oh. No, Ma'am. Why?"

"Just Fifi is okay. Or Momma. I don' mind." She smoothes her night-gown down, her head turning towards her bed. The wolf nearly smacks his own forehead with the level of ignorance it must've taken him to notice that there's somebody in the bed. A dark-skinned sole peeks from beneath the comforter. Beach Bear doesn't even fit all the way on the bed, his ankles hanging off of the end even as he's settled sightly sideways on the length of matteress.  The only thing that sticks out besides that is a tangled, greasy, dull mop of crushed blonde tresses and a single white ear. The wolf can't help but to cringe at the sight.

The body shifts atop the bed. A nose peeks, twitching. Rolfe holds his mug of coffee to himself, then he covers the top. "He's bound to wake up. The only time I ever got him to wake up was for coffee."

Fifi raises her hands. "I've tried eight times since it hit twelve and now it's two pm."

An incredulous look befalls the wolf. "It's two pm?!?!"

"mmuh...?"

Beach Bear's head lifts, blue eyes dull and tired.

Rolfe sighs, for the words he knows are about to come are indeed bound to come. Beach Bear's nose twitches into the air.

"Y'all got that dark bark bean juice..?"

"You're insufferable." Rolfe pinches his brow, taking a drink from the mug remaining in his hand.

"Insufferably handsome." The man drops back into the comfort of bed. Soon he stretches, tail lifting into the air from the extension of his body upward.

"Yes, please, position yourself in the whore-iest pose you can with our drummer's relatives in the room."

The remaining famiy members all snicker. Beach Bear plops down quickly under the thick comforter.

"...No I'm not."

A sigh breaks past the wolf's lips. "Why are you even in their bed?" He swishes a hand towards the sight. The polar bear's throat wooshes with a chuff. "I'm allowed. Need coffee. If it's chill." Buried becomes the man's face into a soft, hand-made pillow. "Mmph. Forget."

Rolfe makes his way towards the side of the bed. "Forget what?" He questions. "Your manners?"

"Nah." Beach Bear groans into the cushion. "Mmmmhhh-- Everything. Him. What my life is going to become without him." A deep breath sucks past his quickly dampening nose. "I keep havin' dreams, man."

The wolf sets himself on the side of the bed, holding the coffee out towards the other. But he moves it back before the bear can grab it. "Anh. Out of bed first. God forbid you spill coffee in the bed of our welcoming hosts." TO that the other shifts, lifting from the matteress with the covers still on.

"Oh, well thank ya." Fifi smiles to the wolf. Will and Fido nod, while Will speaks. "I don' mind none. Need'ta wash the sheets anyway." Them and her now lounge in three of the painted chairs outside, welcoming in the icy chill of the day. Rolfe shivers, but he's surprised to see how the man besides him does nothing of the sort. "How on Earth are you fine with this chill?"

The polar bear's eyes grow dim. Rolfe heart sinks with dread, his own choice of words clawing at his throat.

"Because I'm not on Earth, Rolfe--"

Unsturated blues lift to the roof.

"I feel like I died with him."

Rolfe pauses. Fifi does much the same, her palm resting on her mug. In fact, it's not a stretch to say that they all lull in movement.

Not even a tear does drop. Still, the man stares, empty but for a sunken breath. An intake is drawn into the wolf's lungs. His paw drifts, taking the polar bear's into his own. He drags and settles the other's hand around the mug in his own, pulling away, leaving the receptacle in Beach Bear's grasp.

"I know it's hard--" Rolfe begins. A hard glare is shot his way. "Oh I'm suuuuuuuuuurrrreeee..."

Dark eyes roll nearly out of the man's skull. "It is, actually." He bites. But he can't help but understand. "Believe it or not I have a heart. I was merely going to say that you have people around if you need somebody to talk to. Just not me. I have zero capacity to handle your moodswings." The wolf flicks out. "But I have the mental cognition not to bother you further. I simply can't help you with your greiving better than the others can."

Beach Bear takes a big, long drink from the mug, cringing, but continuing to drink. Finished, he drags his pink tongue across chapped and bitten lips. "I really can't hear you talk like a fuckin' socialite right now, man. Fix your speech. Do you really think Dook's parents give a FUCK about how you present yourself?" The polar bear's voice bites harder than an kind of deranged and fearful animal ever could. A hand rips through his hair with a snap, jerking his own head. Beach Bear growls. "I'm about to shave all this shit off I'll tell ya that."

"What???" Rolfe jerks back with the force of that whiplash. "You didn't stop fawning over it for years!"

"I had a reason to." He sneers. "Now that reason is GONE. I have no fuckin' reason to keep it here anymore. It's gettin' in the goddamn way."

Fifi raises a paw up into the air, her tone crushed, but steady.

"I'll do it for you. I did all my boy's haircuts till the day they moved out." Her hand begins to fall. "I think it's rather beautiful. Not all of us get the oppourtunity to grow hair like that."

"Sorry." The polar bear shrugs. "I want it gone. If you wanna do it go ahead. The sooner it's off of me the sooner I'll be able to look in a mirror again."

"Beach Bear." The wolf's brow pinch with concern. "Even I can't help but worry. Are you alright? I know this all just happened, but I--" His ears flatten hard. "You're not gonna hurt yourself, are you?"

A bitter laugh comes from the other's throat. "God, man, I'm not gunna kill myself. I told my fuckin' parents that shit wasn't gonna happen. I'm living purely to piss them off now." Beach throws the covers off of himself. He finishes off the black liquid like it's water, settling it on the nightstand. "Sorry to ruin your morning. Where's your razor?"

"Oh." Fifi points to the door adjacent to the enterance. "Under the sink. Didn't you want help? And no, you haven't ruined our morning, I understand it's hard."

Beach Bear clicks his tongue, a bitter laugh following. "Probably a harder situation for you. I don't wanna bother you, I can just do it. I don't care if it looks like shit, I want it gone." He stalks away and into the bathroom. Fifi jumps up. Will's eyes follow her as he drinks from his own mug. Fido cringes. "Yeesh. That's a crashout just waitin' ta happen. Don' let him get behind the wheel anytime soon."

Rolfe lets out a short whine. "Wha--?!?! Me?! Why not?!"

Fido waves a hand to the open bathroom door, even if he can be heard. "Boy ain't right! I seen far too many people go a bit too far in a fight and wreck they cars just a week later. Please, man, just not tonight." He shakes his head. "YA HEAR ME, BEACH?!"

"GOT IT!" The man calls. The buzz of the razor starts and Fifi begins to, um, waddle is a harsh word but it's the only one that fits this situation. She hurries with the mobility she has, lifting her long granny-style gown. "Please let me do it! I can't have you lookin' like roadkill!"

The buzz becomes sharper, announcing the fact that hair has been cut. Beach Bear's voice arrives. "Fuck." She runs right into the bathroom. "Fuck!"

And that one was Fifi. Both Will and Fido bust into restricted snickers, wheezing from how hard they try to silence themelves.

"*BANG BANG BANG!*"

Fido's balled up paw slams into the wire table multiple times. His laughs burst into the air without anything to mask the sound, echoing across the neighborhood. Rolfe steps up and off of the bed, leaning forward.

"Oh. my. god."

...

The buzzers click off and Fifi runs her fingers through the remaining furs atop the polar bear's head, minus an embarrassing strip cut down the length of his scalp. Not down to the skin, but it's noticable for sure. Beach Bear is saddled on the cold tiled floor, while Fifi sits on top of the closed lid of the toilet. It's just about the only way they could fit in the bathroom together and still be able to get to his head. The woman sighs as she runs her paw through the thick white. "It really was gorgeous."

The polar bear cringes, though he offers up a lift of his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I can't do it right now."

"It's alright." Fifi clicks her tongue. "Could I...?" She hums to herself. "Um. Use what's left of it?"

There's a pause. Beach Bear's neck twists. "I'm sorry?"

"Use it." She scratches at her cheek. "I know, it sounds weird. But ya had such gorgeous curls. I fashioned a doll out of almost every single one of my boy's fur. My Great Gran Gran had dolls a' every-one of her kids, all eight of 'em." Fifi rubs the man's scalp, soothing, but a tad bit itchy. "It's alright if you don' want to."

Beach Bear squints, working that thought on his brain. "Uhhh... If you really want to, I mean. Have at it. It's not like I'm doing anything with it." He itches at his head. "I've already got merchandise. I could just get you a doll. Save you the effort. Unless it's like a sentimental thing!" He lifts his paws defensively. "Really, just go off. Do whatever you want with it. It's like the only thing I can offer for you helpin' me. Well actually--" He starts to pat himself down. Looking down to search only brings forth to his memory that he hasn't changed out of the clothes he was wearing the night everything happened.

The night Dook died.

Beach Bear abandons that task with a breath cracking his ribs with the depth of his intake. "Nevermind-- If you want cash you're gonna have to wait until someone else gets it out of my pocket."

"Oh!" She cocks her head, a tad bit confused. "It's quite alright, I'm happy to help. I don't need money. But um. Why does someone else need to?" Her marine eyes squint. Beach Bear shrugs, despite knowing the answer. He just needs a moment.

"I was uh..." He waves his hand up and down himself. "Waitin' for Dook wearing this."

"Oh."

"..."

FIfi stands up, Beach Bear leans forward, and out of her lap. The pitbull steps over him, venturing out of the room. Beach Bear cringes something fierce. He clearly fucked up.

...

Just a few minutes later she comes back into the bathroom with a long pair of pajama pants. She holds them out, and even though they're way too big for her, they look a size too small to Beach Bear. "I only have these. I sewn 'em for General but I accidentally made 'em too big." Fifi holds out the folded fabric. Beach Bear looks down at it with his brows pinched. She begins to retract. "Oh, I can--"

"Oh! No it's fine. Thank you." He grapples the pair of pants. "I just don't wear pants. Like, at all. I will though."

"Ohhhh..." Her folded ears bob. "Yeah. Here." She holds her hand out. Beach Bear sticks firm. "I can just wear them, it's fine."

"Nope." She grips the fabric and takes it from the other's loose fingers. "Just give me a second."

She rifles around under the sink. Out comes a pair of long scissors. The polar bear's head cocks, dropping loose bits of seperated blonde to the floor.

"*Snip snip snip snip snip*"

After a second of pause, Fifi drops the newly-made pair of pajama shorts into the other's lap. Beach Bear runs his fingers over it. "You didn't have to do that, I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's alright!" A bronze and white furred hand swats the air. "I haven't been able to find anything to do with those. The twine should hold, but there's a pin on either side just in case." She points out. Beach Bear holds up the fabric fashioned into apparel. The material is lightly flocked, with patterns of floral that would probably look fitting on one of the couches downstairs. But it rings to be unique. Beach Bear looks around the bathroom, searching for a spot to change. Fifi smiles. "I'll let you be."

"Oh, thank you. Seriously." He stands, holding the material in his fingers. Fifi steps out and she swings the door to be cracked, leaving the other the option to close it or not. "I'll be right outside if you need one of us. Rolfe's still here too."

"Really?" Beach Bear hums to himself. "I thought I'd hear him but I guess not. But yeah, thanks. Like really. I've never met anyone as nice as you guys. I can see why Dook ended up the way he is." The polar bear smiles fondly. He can remain in ignorance for but a second. Fifi returns the look. "Thank you. I tried my hardest with all my boys."

"It shows." A nod is sent towards the dog. Beach Bear grapples the handle, bringing it closer to the frame slowly. Fifi steps away. The door is pressed against the frame, and then pulled more, to close it past the slightly-unfit frame. His abdomen spikes for a moment, a dull sort of ache. Beach Bear's brows pinch.

But he continues, setting the shorts on the sink. He hooks his thumbs into the dark, silky pair of shorts he's been wearing for days on end, and as he does, he ruminates in the unfortunate fact that he's not going to have any clean underwear until he goes home, or if he buys some. That latter option is looking pretty good now. He pulls down the patterned boxers he's wearing along with his shorts.

And a wetness follows. Immediately his stomach twists. God, please just be discharge. Please please please. Not right now. And not in his favorite boxers too! These are the only pair of boxers he owns that has islands across them and he's going to tear an absolute fit if he just--

Beach Bear pulls them down further, peering past his own thicket of blonde curls covering the portion of his boxers that sits right between his thighs.

Dark red marrs the sky-blue fabric.

Something slams into the counter multiple times from inside the bathroom, rattling the old windows in their frames and knocking down various pill-bottles lining the sink. Will jumps hard, turning to the source of noise. Rolfe quirks a brow and Fifi simply looks between the rest of the animals on the balcony. She sets her coffee down. "Should I--?"

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?! NOW?!?! RAAAUGH--!" A different roar bellows from the polar bear's throat, animalistic and quite frankly PISSED.  Fifi clutches the handle of her mug. Will scoots closer to his wife, and in turn to the woman's twin brother. Both of the twins set a hand and an arm on either shoulder of the spooked man. Rolfe turns back to the animals, a new mug of coffee being sipped with nonchalance. "This happens every month. Just give him two seconds and he'll pop his head."

Right as those words leave his lips, the bathroom door creaks open. White fur peeks out before Beach Bear's head. The polar bear takes in a breath, nails clicking on the doorframe, his voice as nice and as calm as it will allow. "Hey Fido?"

"Under the sink." The pitbull points. "We got the ones that go in or stay out. Might be old though. Haven't needed to use 'em since I got scooped."

"Thanks man." Beach Bear's tense demeanor falters. "You're gonna have to tell me where you got that done."

"Tijuana." The pitbull clicks a wink at the other, finger up and pointed like a gun.

"Oh." Beach Bear ducks back into the bathroom. "Thanks anyway!"

"No problem!"

The door shuts.

Fifi looks to her twin brother, brows pinched. "Is he also...?" She waggles a finger between her brother and the bathroom door. Fido raises a finger to his lips, flittering his eyes between Will, then between his own legs and to her eyes a couple times.

"ohhhh..." The woman's eyes blow with realization. "Really? I had no idea."

"Yeah, me neither for a bit." The man shrugs. Will looks between the two, utterly confused. "Whatcha two goin' on about?"

Uncle Fido takes a brazen sip out of the mug in his hand, patting between the man's tattered ears. "Don' worry yer pretty head, Will."

"Ah." The beagle-mix nods, for those words have often been used whenever he's prying too deep. "Got it."

Rolfe continues to sip at his dark-brew.

Chapter Text

Dwarf Planet.

...

This day sees Cloog'narp working relentlessly once again, shooting between the medical-bay and the room adjacent to it to gather more and more jars the longer this project goes on. It's only been a couple of lightcycles since that Earthican ship slammed into their planet, and it's been in those lightcycles that Cloog'narp hasn't gotten a wink of sleep at all. Truthfully, it is FAR from a rare sight. In fact, it's rarer to see the alien sleeping at all, unless it be in one of those sparse moments where he found peace with the likely-hood of all his patients surviving, and dozed off with his arms propped up on the window-sill, still on his hands and knees even as he slept.

But now is not one of those times. As the lights in the sky go by, brightness dimming to one to two to three to four to five, more and more of the body beneath his nimble hands is tranported outside of the husk that is slowly becoming this human's body. While the bones are left inside and intact, it's been a struggle to access the wounds lacerated into vital organs without fretting over how long it's been since the Earthican has been alive. Even just moments after death does your tissue begin to deteriorate, especially without any blood-flow to your major processes. Similar to a ship, you need every single vital part up and running before you can start the ship. And unfortunately? This Earthican is FAR from waking up anytime soon.

If at all.

Cloog'narp looks to a specimen mounted in the med-bay, frozen in a position of terrified horror.

He continues to crack at his work. The bones inside the skin are damadged and broken, some fine, but many fall outside of that range. With every bit of light that passes, a distrubing recreation of the human body from the inside is created inside of the jar the brain resides in, and Cloog even had to swap the parts over to a different, much bigger jar. Now it holds the brain, the eyes, the spinal cord and nerves, but in addition to that is now the lungs, the man's heart. Myriads of long intestines and the stomach lay inside, along with kidneys and the appendix. The lid of the jar has a hole punched into it now, a small fleshy, and a thick tube running through that and now stuck into the opening of the lungs, hooking up a tank of some sort of gas into the organ. The other, more biological tube runs out of the jar and to the skin outside, keeping it an odd half-greyish and half-peachy tone. Disturbingly enough, though, the heart beats, miniscule amounts of blood rushing through the veins visibly. But that amount of blood grows with each and every lightcycle, the liquid inside of the jar serving a far greater purpose than simply holding the organs in stasis.

But even still, the brain hasn't woken. Everything that's needed to keep it alive is there and working hard to bring it back to life. But it's just not time. Despite the fact that the body lost life for only about ten minutes, it only took that small amount of time for the brain to begin to deteriorate heavily, especially given that there wasn't any blood flowing for that time as well.

The medical alien dips his fingers into a tub of this sickly green liquid, reaching inside the Y-incision down the human's naked torso, and then slathering that goop across a bone that he's holding in place. The severed bone fuses into the material still connected into the human's rib-cage, the green acting like some sort of super-glue. The bone-marrow reconnects, secure. He waggles the bone and move it does not. Perfect. Just like the rest of the rib bones he's been gluing back into place. The only evidence of a break is a small hair-line crack where it was just glued.

Cloog's brow remains hot, almost like a fever. Sweat drips down his calves, the only place where his sweat-pores lie. It's good for his hands, yes, to keep them sterile. But it's quite uncomfortable how wet his legs are, sticking to his medical-garb. But it's not something he can sit and focus on.

Gently, he reconnects yet another rib. Almost every single one was broken out of place, puncturing the human's lung and laying inside the chest cavity like they were just thrown in there without a care in the galaxy.

...

Herf'ra came in earlier today. Of course, you can guarantee that it went awfully. Cloog'narp draws in a deep breath, releasing yet another glued rib-bone.

It's not the first of them that he's had to let succumb to the bitter cold of space, and not even just because they didn't have the means neccesary.

It's been many. Many just because...

Because of the General's orders.

Because there's far more "important" people who need those parts.

Sick, isn't it?

But not this one.

Something cracks inside as he grabs it. Cloog'narp's hand draws back with a chunk of hipbone in his deft fingers. No matter. He simply dips the edge of the chunk in the green goop, reaching back in and sticking those pieces together. They fasten quickly. Good.

Beeping begins across the ward.

Cloog drifts across the med-bay, leaving the body as it is. He shucks off his gloves, rolling them and simply throwing them across the room. A pile of the rolled balls lay like a mountain near the window. The alien stabs his hands into his pockets, and then back out. He is now re-equipped with sterile coverings.

He arrives at the bed of the soldier, next to the beeping machinery. Easily, he taps the screen. Then, he lifts his clipboard, the ice-like chunk of material. The screen on the monitor pops up, and he disables the sound. Back he looks to the solider. The bed-bound alien smiles back up at him. Cloog'narp raises a single brow.

"ᒲ|| ᔑ!¡𝙹ꖎ𝙹⊣╎ᒷᓭ. ᓵ𝙹⚍ꖎ↸ ||𝙹⚍ !¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ᓭ╎⊣リᔑꖎ ⎓𝙹∷ ᓭ⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ᒷリᔑリᓵᒷ? (My apologies. Could you please signal for sustenance?)" The injured soldier requests, his two hands swiping together in a plead. Cloog'narp lets a small grin grace his weathered feature. "╎ ∴𝙹⚍ꖎ↸ ʖᒷ ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑリ ⍑ᔑ!¡!¡|| ℸ ̣ 𝙹. ╎ℸ ̣ ᓭᒷᒷᒲᓭ ╎ ᓭ⍑𝙹⚍ꖎ↸ ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ ᔑ ᒲ𝙹ᒲᒷリℸ ̣ 𝙹⎓ ∷ᒷᓭℸ ̣ ᔑᓭ ∴ᒷꖎꖎ. ╎ ⎓ᒷᒷꖎ ᔑᓭ ℸ ̣ ⍑𝙹⚍⊣⍑ ╎'ᒲ ʖᒷᓵ𝙹ᒲ╎リ⊣ ᔑ ʖ╎ℸ ̣ ꖎ╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ -⍑ᒷᔑ↸ᒷ↸. ╎リ ʖ𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑ 𝙹⎓ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷᒲ, リ𝙹∴. (I would be more than happy to. It seems I should take a moment of rest as well. I feel as though I'm becoming a bit light-headed. In both of them, now.)"

The medical-alien turns, patting the other lightly. The resting alien gives him a curt flick of his fingers. "ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑリꖌ ||𝙹⚍. (Thank you.)"

Cloog flicks his fingers back. The bed-bound solider blinks fondly in his direction.

The medic exits the ward. The hallway is emptier than usual, though there's always an ever-present bustle of aliens roaming through the halls, whether it be towards the hangar to locate their battalion and join them on a ship on another expedition, or closer to the Sustenance-Hall. The latter is where he's headed, albiet a bit unnecessarily. See, there IS a communicator he could use, to send out a broadcast signal to request that something of fueling purpose could be brought down.

But of course, nobody on this ship seems to take Cloog's requests seriously, even though the alien is the single-most important being on this base, besides General Crozier himself. Every call he would make would be answered by silence or an aggressive remark. So Cloog'narp has taken to forfeiting the device and going out to get the fuel for himself and his patients of his own volition, seeing as his calls would be ignored.

He enters the hall past a door of zapping energy, shocking all through his body. "Dog'Nark. Cloog'narp. Medical. Rank ⋏⟟⋏⟒-⏁⟒⟒⋏. Enter and exit promptly." One of the aliens near the enterance addresses him, ushering him along with her head stuffed into the clip-board she holds in one of her four hands. One of the only other creatures that shares his species.

"Hello again, Frey'la." The medic nods. She lifts her head like she didn't know he was there. "Oh. Hello again. Continue on." She waves her hand towards the main of the room. Cloog'narp goes past her with a nod. His many eyes are welcomed to the sight of the hall. Of course, like usual, the hall is an entire mess, fueling substances splatter across the clear table-tops and on the bubble-like seats. Cloog'narp steps carefully over the messes as he treks up the aisle the seats have seperated for easy use. The hall is empty for now. But for a reason. Every soldier available is out fighting.

He settles his hand atop the island at the back of the hall. A chunk appears, fritzing out and barely readable, but Cloog'narp simply presses his hand to the screen. It flashes and then sinks back into the island. Now, he simply needs to wait.

From behind a door that zoops upward, an alien arrives, pushing a cart with many different plates slapped with a gelatanous rainbow of differently colored goop on each one. The mess-hall worker brings it around the corner and pushes it towards him, narrowly avoiding his calf. "ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷ. ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ ᓵᔑ∷ᒷ. ꖌᒷᒷ!¡ ᒲᒷ ⚍!¡↸ᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ↸ 𝙹リ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷᒲ, ∴𝙹リ'ℸ ̣ ||𝙹⚍? ╎'↸ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᓭᒷᒷ ᔑリ𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ 𝙹リᒷ 𝙹⎓ 𝙹⚍∷ᓭ ᓭ⚍ᓵᓵ⚍ᒲʖ 𝙹リᓵᒷ ᔑ⊣ᔑ╎リ. (There you are. Take care. Keep me updated on them, won't you? I'd hate to see another one of ours succumb once again.)"

"Yes of course. ||ᒷᓭ, 𝙹⎓ ᓵ𝙹⚍∷ᓭᒷ." The medical alien flicks his fingers in her direction. "ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑリꖌ ||𝙹⚍, ⍑ᔑ||'リᔑ⍑. (Thank you, Hay'nah.)"

She returns the gesture with a flick right back.  Cloog'narp takes a hold of the cart, and he begins to wheel it away.

Simple, easy. He barely had to do a thing. Just how he likes it.

...

The cart is pushed into the med-bay without a single problem, seeing as it hovers a foot off of the ground, weightless as it's guided through the door. Cloog'narp pushes it in while his eyes are trained to the board in his polydactyl digits.

A sharp "ᒷᒷꖌ!" echoes in the med-bay. Cloog'narp's left head shoots upward. The other follows with haste as he ushers forward. "Gloof'al! Get AWAY from that!"

The alien freezes, hands close to the gap between it's chests. "╎ ∴ᔑᓭ ↸𝙹╎リ⊣ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣! ╎ ∴ᔑᓭ ⋮⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ꖎ𝙹𝙹ꖌ╎リ⊣! (I was doing nothing! I was just looking!)" The soldier defends, clearly unwounded enough to stand with little help from it's I.V. It stands just a few specks away from the body atop the cart, having previously been peering inside the cavity, from the medic's guess. Cloog'narp grips the other's arms and pushes it back, gentle even though the worry is great in this one. "!¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ! ↸𝙹 リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹⚍ᓵ⍑ ╎ℸ ̣ ! ╎ℸ ̣ ╎ᓭ ⎓ᔑ∷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹𝙹 ╎ᒲ!¡𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ᔑリℸ ̣ ! (Please! DO NOT touch it! It is far too important!)" The medic pleads, thumping on the other's chest. It coughs harshly, rubbing over it's left-side chest. "☌⍜⏁ ⟟⏁. (Got it.)" The other alien wheezes lightly. Cloog'narp rubs over the spot he hit. "ᒲ|| ᔑ!¡𝙹ꖎ𝙹⊣╎ᒷᓭ. (My apologies.)"

"╎ リᒷᒷ↸ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⎓ᔑꖎꖎ ᓭ╎↸ᒷ∴ᔑ||ᓭ. (I need to fall sideways.)"

"Oh." Cloog grips the other by the back of his neck. Just mere moments after the alien slumps. "╎ ᔑᒲ ∴ᒷᔑꖌ. (I am weak.)"

"Simple." The medic simply picks up the soldier. This one is frail and thin, easy to move. He ventures across the bay, the screen connected to the alien hovering along. Softly, the soldier is placed in the bed, flat. Flat-tipped tinted pink fingers tap along the screen, then the clipboard. A dark blue liquid rushes through the tube and into the inset needle. The alien shudders, though a small blink is given to the medic. The gender-nonconforming soldier relaxes into the warmth of the lightly-heated bed. "⊣∷∷𝙹𝙹-⍑. ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ 'ᓭ リ╎ᓵᒷ. (That's nice.)"

"╎'ᒲ ⊣ꖎᔑ↸. (I'm glad.)" Cloog gives the other a slowed blink. "ᒷ ̇/ᓵ⚍ᓭᒷ ᒲᒷ ⎓𝙹∷ ᔑ ʖ∷╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ リᒷᓭᓭ. (Excuse me for a brightness.)"

"∴ᔑ╎ℸ ̣. (Wait.)" The only soldier awake brushes the medic's arm. Cloog pauses. The other alien swipes it's hands together. "Name. Earthican? ᓵ𝙹⚍ꖎ↸ ||𝙹⚍ ᓭᔑ|| ᒲ|| リᔑᒲᒷ ╎リ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ꖎᔑリ⊣⚍ᔑ⊣ᒷ? (Could you say my name in that language??)"

"╎ ⍑ᔑ↸ ʖᒷ⎓𝙹∷ᒷ. (I had before.) It's Gloof'al."

The soldier's eyelid sweeps slow across it's glazing eye, the numbing drugs beginning to take over the other's body, but the blink being of their own accord, a thank you. They breath deep and even, eliminating any need to check up on the other's air-ducts. "ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ⎓ᒷᒷꖎᓭ ⊣𝙹𝙹𝙹𝙹𝙹𝙹𝙹𝙹𝙹↸... (This feels goooooooood...)"

"Good." The medic blinks back, calmness in each of his four eyes. The other alien seems to purr, a trill from it's throat. "||𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷ ᓭ𝙹𝙹𝙹𝙹𝙹 リ╎ᓵᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᒲᒷ... (You are sooooo nice to me...)"  Their hand shoots out with surprising speed. Cloog'narp jerks his own back fiercely. "No hands! リ𝙹 ⍑ᔑリ↸ᓭ!" The medic glowers. The other alien's organ sinks, broken to pieces. "ᔑ!¡𝙹ꖎ𝙹⊣╎ᒷᓭ... (Apologies...)" The soldier whines. Cloog sighs. "╎ℸ ̣ 'ᓭ ᔑꖎ∷╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣. ʖ⚍ℸ ̣ ↸𝙹 リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹⚍ᓵ⍑ ᒲ|| ⍑ᔑリ↸ᓭ. ╎ リᒷᒷ↸ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ∷ᒷᒲᔑ╎リ ᓭℸ ̣ ᒷ∷╎ꖎᒷ. ᔑリ↸... ╎ℸ ̣ 'ᓭ ℸ ̣ 𝙹𝙹 ╎リℸ ̣ ╎ᒲᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ ⎓𝙹∷ ᒲ|| ᓭ!¡ᒷᓵ╎ᒷᓭ. (It's alright. But do not touch my hands. I need to remain sterile. And... it's too intimate for my species.)"

"𝙹⍑ ᒲ|| ᓭℸ ̣ ᔑ∷ᓭ! (Oh my stars!)" A squeak break pasts the others lips. "ᒲᔑリ|| ᔑ!¡𝙹ꖎ𝙹⊣╎ᒷᓭ, ᒲᔑリ||! (Many apologies, many!)"

"リ𝙹 リᒷᒷ↸. (No need.)" The medic cringes heavily, a pit in his blood-pumping organ. "╎ ᒲ⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ∷ᒷℸ ̣ ⚍∷リ. (I must return.)"

"𝙹⍑." The other says quietly. "ᓵ𝙹⚍ꖎ↸ ||𝙹⚍...? ʖ∷╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᒲᒷ ᔑ ᓭ∴ᔑℸ ̣ ᓵ⍑?(Could you...? Bring to me a swatch?)"

"ᔑ⍑. ||ᒷᓭ. ╎ℸ ̣ ᓭꖎ╎!¡!¡ᒷ↸ ᒲ|| ℸ ̣ ⍑𝙹⚍⊣⍑ℸ ̣ ᓭ. (Ah. Yes. It slipped my thoughts.)"

...

Of all of the soldiers in the med bay, this one has been one of the most tolerable of them all. And also the most awake of them all. When he went to go retrieve the sustenance just a few moments after being requested, he then had to siphon the plates of Glop into the tubes connected to the rest of the patients in the medical-ward, which looked quite odd, as all he had to do was knock on the thick screen hooked up to each and every patient and simply dump it in there. Gloof'al keeps him company, though doesn't speak very much. Even though the soldier isn't talking, merely lapping up the Glop they've been given, just the prescence of the other brings a bit of calm to the medic.

Cloog'narp's task brings him all around the medical ward, the sounds of machinery beeping and wailing for moments fill the packed bay, underlined by soft, un-covered footsteps.

But, there's two more plates left. One for himself and,, what Cloog assumes to be the last patient's plate. The medic leans his weight on the cart, confident of it's balance. He merely watches the husk on the stretcher, indescribable for how hollow the corpse is.

The jar besides the body releases a bubble of carbon monoxide.

The medic takes that as good enough signage, and he picks up the last plate of Glop besides his, this reddish-clear mess that holds enough nutrients to fuel one of their soldiers for at least a day and a half. A feat for how much these aliens eat. So, plate in hand, he ventures over and unscrewed is the top of the jar, held in one of four hands. With the remaining two, Cloog reaches in, and he slowly drags the orifice he needs to the top of the jar, past the liquid that's slowly rebuilding the lost cells. He sets down the lid as carefully as can be, and then a wand is picked up. He swipes the tip of the wand across the lining of the stomach, and it splits open, a small, clean cut. Without the aid of a tool, the medic simply dumps the Glop into the body's stomach, reaching with his wand-hand to untwist, open, and stick his fingers into the tub of green goop from before. He pushes the incision closed, an important step if he doesn't want the cut to heal wide open. Then, he swipes the goop all over the cut, holding it shut.

In just one fraction of a brightness, the incision closes, healed nicely. The stomach is lowered back into the jar, the lid being twisted on with delicacy.

Once finished the alien releases an unnecessary breath. They don't even technically need to breathe. But it feels nice. The medic takes himself away from the human's bed-side, the cart in tow.

Cloog'narp swings the cart out of the way, positioning it just adjacent to the door. Now, he picks up his plate and he walks, plopping himself down on the floor next to the only other alien who's awake. The soldier nods to him, but they're far too busy scarfing down the gelatanous mess on their plate.

Cloog'narp eyes his own.

With a sigh, he begins to eat it as well.

The taste?

Absolutely nothing.

Which is far and away better than that ʖ⚍⊣⊣ᔑꖎ𝙹 taste they throw on everything nowadays.

Chapter Text

Four days after The Blast. 4:00 PM, 16:00.
...

"*tunk, tunk, tunk, tunk*"

Beach Bear's footsteps are harsh, but gentle as he goes down the stairs, trying his hardest to keep them silent, but his weight alone causes his steps to echo slightly.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs, glancing into the living-room as he makes his way into the kitchen. His trek takes him to the door-frame before he realizes that Mitzi wasn't asleep anymore, even though she was laying there. As soon as she catches sight of hims he begins to rise, brows pinched with a mixture of emotions. Beach Bear's brain hits him with a brutal amount of recollection.

Mitzi LOVED his hair. She always said that it was her tie to him, marking them as firm siblings with the curliness and the golden silk of their matching blonde hair. The mouse's expression displays far more than just sadness. She jumps up from the couch and Beach Bear's ears flame. "Heyyyy, Mitzi..."

"What are you "hey"ing me for???" Mitzi bounds across the household, clutching a far-too-big nightgown to herself. "What did you do?!"

"Um." Sea-glass eyes drift, to the tile, and then to the window. Then, he finally looks at her again. "I cut it off." He shrugs sheepishly. "I forgot, I'm sorry. I couldn't keep looking at it. I can't even take care of it right now. I haven't showered in a week, Mitzi, I just..." His face falls into his hands. "I don't know what to do anymore. I've got surfing, I've got Terry and I've got you guys and our gig, but. I just feel so hollow." The bear begins to spiral, though oddly calm. "It's stupid and we weren't even together. I don't even know what he wanted to talk about. I thought,, I thought it was gonna finally work out. I thought I could finally just be," Another shrug. "In love. Happy. Just. Hold him one more time." His voice pinches. White-furred hands drop, but tears do not. His paws hold outward. "I just want it to stop hurting." A great big breath resets his tone. "It's really hard. I just can't take care of it right now."

Mitzi is silent for a moment, contemplating.

"In love?" She squints, taken aback. Beach Bear throws his hands up. "Yep! Everybody else knows now, even his mom. I can't even say that it's healthy anymore. God, he probably-- told me to go there to let me down easy again, I don't know!' He shrugs pitifully. "I can't even think straight, cuz I'm not! I don't even know how you feel about these types of things. But yeah. I loved him." Another shrug. "I'm sorry about the hair."

"No, no, I mean. You already told me you two were in love. But I can't tell you what to do with your hair. I'm just sad we don't match anymore. I don't care if you love a guy, heck, I love a woman!" She lifts up her paws. "If this is as good a time as any to tell you! I don't care who you love. Sure, it's a bit weird ta me. I always thought of you guys like my brothers, or like, really good friends." Mitzi shakes her head. "It's not my choice. I don't know why you'd wanna be with Dook of all people. But I can't judge." Her long tail jiggles on the hard-wood floor. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." The polar bear waves it off. "Thanks though. Started bleeding for this month too, so watch out.

"What?!? NOW?! That's awful!! I don't wanna catch it now!" The rodent whines. Beach Bear groans hard. "God, I knowwwwww, I'm so done with this week."

"Me tooooo, ugh!"

The front door opens. Fatz steps into the house, Esmerelda just behind him. He opens his mouth first, but Esmerelda beats him to it, eyeing the polar bear down. "Oh NO!! Dear!! Your hair! What did you do? It's all uneven!!" She ushers forward. The woman yanks beach bear down and his eyes go wide. "Hey-- It's not that bad Momma LaRue--"

She brushes through his hair, running her fingers along the very tips of his fur where he cut it a bit too short. "Oh, it's the light. But where did it all go???"

"Momma Fifi helped me cut it." The polar bear shrugs sheepishly. He lifts, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Guys it's not that bad, I would've kept it if I knew it'd be such a fuss with you guys."

"I ain't fussin'." A thick hand wafts the air around. Fatz approaches, taking the oppourtunity to brush over the man's head. "Ya need a shower. Ya smell like weed and I'm sick of it."

Beach Bear''s eyes go wide as does his smile, Esmerelda lets him go, free to stand. "Fuuuuuuuck I forgot I still have that, god. Damn I want a bowl. Christ Fatz I completely forgot I had it." He lifts up, jamming a knuckle into his mouth to gnaw on nicely. It drops just long enough so he can talk. "I can just do it outside, sorry about the smell."

Fatz scoffs, dark-chocolate eyes rolling in his skull. "I'll be back--" He grips the fur on the other's hip as he turns to stalk off. Beach bear pauses, lip curled. "Uh, OW."

"Sayin' I'm sick of it means I'm sick of it PERIOD. What's yer deal? It can't be THAT good that you wanna flip flop around freaking out until ya pass out from cryin' or yer walkin' around smellin' like shit high outta yer mind actin' like Dook ain't DEAD."

Beach Bear's eyes darken hard enough that Fatz's hand retreats entirely. "Uhh, what I meant ta say was--"

"Beach Bear please." Mitzi speaks up, watching how the polar bear's tone shifts in an instant after that sentence leaves the man's lips. "Um. I didn't even know you did that kinda stuff until we got in the van that one time. I don't think it's healthy. Like, at all." She shakes her head slowly. "That kinda stuff degrades your mind with too much of it."

Beach Bear snorts a laugh, once again flip-flopping wildly with a crazed smile. "That's the shit they teach you in school, girl! I've been flying by the seat of my pants and with weed my entire life! Got me through the first time Dook almost died-- and IN MY ARMS TOO!" Beach Bear's arms fly out, brushing Fatz's nose. The gorilla back up. "Beach that's--"

"IN my arms." The polar bear continues, unhearing. "That's fucked up! It REALLY fucked me up! I WAS THE ONE WHO TOLD HIM TO GO OUTSIDE!" Beach bear points his hand straight out the door, bending with the force of his tone. "HE COULD'VE DIED. NOW he IS DEAD! I told him to go outside and I told him HE COULD'VE JUST GONE TO FUCKING COLLEGE--!!! Agh--!" The man's arm swings out, clapping against the wall sticking out, dividing the dining and the living rooms. He cradles it close, but only for a moment. He lets it throb in the air, welcoming the throbbing pain, cuz hey! He can actually feel something right now! UNLIKE HIS DEAD BEST FRIEND.

Beach Bear smiles into the silence of the room, eyes wide and teetering on border-line insanity. He simply wavers his hands up and down, tilting his head as if to say "what's the deal now?"

"Come on guys, tell me how crazy I am, I can take it!" He holds his arms further, his whole chest out, scars just barely peeking beneath his tangled white fur. "I know you all want to! I'm goin' fucking crazy guys! I don't know what to do anymore! I'm REALLY trying and i just! can't! fucking! exist--!" Each word is punctuated by a bruising thump of his fist on the wall, rattling the pictures in their frames. "Without going fucking crazy! I feel like I'm losing my mind! Like I truly do! I do!" He shoves his hands forward, highlighting absolutely nothing in the frame of his paws. "This is stupid and I'm digging myself a deeper hole already!" The polar bear throws his hands upward. "Y'know what?! FUCK IT!" Beach Bear's eyes turn to the roof, he hasn't looked at a single one of his bandmates since he started rambling. "I'm tired and I'm fucking crazy! I don't CARE! I'll wear cologne or something-- NOT ANY LA NUIT!" Claws dig into the man's own ears. "I'm never going to be able to smell that stuff again! GUESS I'M NEVER WALKING INTO A MALL AGAIN!"

The bits of the remaining members of the band just sit there. Staring at him. Like he's crazy. No dip.

Beach Bear gives them all a great big smile. "Oh, we're all gonna be quiet now? That's how it is? I lovvvvvvveeeee that."

Mitzi shrugs, face pinched and slightly red like she's holding back either tears or an outburst. "I don't know what you want us to say. I'm sorry." Her shoulders lift and fall again. "You're worryin' me, Beach Bear. This isn't like you."

Beach Bear's eyes well suddenly, but a bitter pinch seals the dam so the wetness never falls. "Y'all didn't know me before I got into this band." His voice cracks, tone clawing at his throat. This switch-up of emotions pisses him off. He claws at his own ears, relishing in the burn of the scratches. Much better than his mind trying to think for him. "I don't know what to do anymore." The tears come back, his vision wobbling. But again, like his love for a dead man, it never leaves his eyes. "I just don't. I can't even surf right now." He throws a hand up. It claps back on his thigh. "My only two ways to regulate are gone, It's the dead of winter and I can't even talk to Dook anymore cuz he's--" The polar bears whole face pinches, lip wobbling. He sits there like a beaten dog, sliding a hand over his mouth. "I don't know what to do anymore--"

A wraught gasp leaves his throat, a torn shudder falling seconds after. "I don't know if I can live without him." Finally does a single fat tear drop. "It's just so hard. I don't know what to do anymore. Everything I look at reminds me of him. Everything. I'm just so--" He drops his arms, holding them out, refusing to look his-- his family in the eyes. "Hollow. I have other things, yeah." He sniffles pathetically. "But it hurts. So bad. I just want it to stop. I'm sorry."

Of course, the room remains silent. Silent for long enough that he just shoves his hands in his pockets, letting a pathetic shrug rise. "I'm going outside. Anywhere. I don't know. Anywhere." He lets his expression remain how it is, lax with tears streaming, gone in just a few seconds. All this swinging of his emotions is making him brutally tired. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine..." Mitzi gives him a sad look, wrapped into herself with her paws over her elbows. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything." The polar bear waves a weak paw as he begins towards the door. Fatz doesn't stop him even as he passes by within arms reach. Just stares. Beach Bear gives Fatz and Esmerelda a wimpy, tired smile. But he addresses their leader first. "I'll try to tone it down, man. I'm sorry. Esmerelda?" He lifts a brow. "I don't really know what to tell you. Sorry for all that. I'm tired."

"Clearly." She nods, but without bitterness. "I can see it."

"Yeah." He shrugs, resting his paw on the knob of the front door. "I'm not gonna be back before dark. It gets so damn dark out here so fast." He takes in a breath, mentally preparing himself.

He knows the way.

He twists the knob, opening it to the cold, bitter air.

Exactly what he needs.

Exactly what he deserves.

Beach Bear looks back at the three in the room. The three people he just bombarded by unloading everything he could think of all at once at. He sighs, berift of much to do.

"Bye." He nods, lifting a flopping paw. Mitzi raises her lax hand, eyes focused to the floor. "Yeah. Bye."

Fatz and Esmerelda simply look at him, laying into eachother, fawning over eachother, simply existing while loving eachother. Fatz nods to him, tapping his fiance. "Oh!" She jolts, looking back. "What?"

Fatz sighs. "Whateva'. Don't get yaself killed. I don't wanna lose any more of my band anytime soon. Y'all still mean a lot ta me."

Beach Bear smiles, genuine. "Yeah. You too. Bye. Love you guys."

"Love you." A small smile graces Mitzi's face. "Please be careful."

"I will."

Beach Bear pauses. Of course, he's still expecting something. He doesn't have to wait long. Fatz nods to him. "I love you too, now get in here or close the door on yer way, it's too damn cold ta leave the door open. That's not-- I'm not tryna rush you out."

Beach Bear swings it into a crack, his foot out the door. "Yeah, I know."

Esmerelda waves her hand-bag. "Have fun. Don't get into too much trouble. Or too much fun. And hey?" She raises a painted on eyebrow, a nice shiny silver, since black doesn't show up well on her deeper-melanined-complexion. "If those sorts come up to you, have protection."

The bear's brows pinch. "I can fight somebody off if I really need to." He shrugs. "I don't get messed with much."

"Nawww..." She waves her hand in front of her face. The silver-back holds her handbag near her rounded and perfectly pudgy stomach. "It's those shooters you have to watch for. The CAMERA shooters." She clarifies.

Beach Bear's brows pinch. Esmerelda sighs hard, eyes rolling dangerously hard.

"The PORNO recruiters, pretty boy! Watch out for those! They reel in the first cutie they see." She bounces her curls, the same up-do she had on yesterday, but uncurled into thick rivlets of silky black. "Just don' go around searchin' up nuthin' on the thick and luscious side of those stores!"

Beach Bear's head jolts back, utter confusion written across his features. "Uh. Do I wanna ask why?"

"You might find me on the cover!" Esmerleda cackles aloud. Fatz's expression goes blatant with it's shock. "What'd you say now?!"

"Hush, baby, I'll show you soon. But I'm savin' it for our honey-moon." The woman smiles, cuddling even closer. Fatz quirks a brow. "You with anotha' man? Do you THINK I wanna see that?"

Her lips quirk up. Beach Bear's finger rises, primed to cut in. Esmerelda leans in, whispering something to the other gorilla. Beach Bear tilts his head, curious, but not THAT curious. The whispering continues.

Mitzi's entire face drops with a flaming hue. Her paws raise. And then cover her ears. Beach Bear covers his mouth. "Oh my god what'd she say???"

Mitzi simply walks off, into the house. And up the stairs. "NO. NO NO NO. NO."

Beach Bear's lips pinch. Esmerelda sets a hand over her lips. "Oh. Whoops. Girl has some ears like a hawk." She lifts her shoulders. "Love ya back Beach, be safe out there."

The polar bear holds up his hand.

And it drops. Because the question he was going to ask will only get him more trouble. "Yeah, bye."

He steps out of the door, pulling the heavy oak slab to the frame and pulling it shut.

The cold snow welcomes his eyes, glowing in the sunset.

He already wants to be back inside in the warmth.

But not enough to face the rest of the band again.

...

He didn't even get to tell Esmerelda about his own stories he's gotten from talking to those recruiters.

But...

If he did, he should probably leave out the one where he actually listened to them.

...

Y'know, as much as the memories come back into his head of those odd and honestly quite fun nights in the bed of a random joe, cuddled up with multitudes of men and few women far shorter than him all at once, ready and still just as willing to please him for a measly paycheck.

It doesn't exactly turn him on.

But...

He can't say that that isn't the kind of therapy he needs right now.

His tear-burned eyes turn to the sky, searching.

The bright of the moon searches back.

...

Dook never said he couldn't be with other people. Hell, he ENCOURAGED it. In fact?

It's weird to say that Beach Bear's near one hundred percent certain that he's sure that Dook has gotten off to that information multiple different times.

If that tell-tale thumping of the other's tail on the sheets that always pops up just after midnight is the right indicator for Beach Bear anyway.

In fact, that's the only tell Beach would ever get not to barge into their shared hotel room if he ever left for long enough. God forbid Dook actually figured out how to do his uh, business somewhere other than the main room where the door can simply open into.

...

Beach Bear squints hard into the sky, lips parted in thought.

...That's some pretty exhibitionist-type activity. There HAS been a few times where he's mistaken that tail-thumping on the mattress as something else like stomping children upstairs or rowdy adults drunk out of their minds, and simply just come right in, only to be a few feet away from a bright red Dook, only one hand clutched to the covers and ears raised up higher than hell, but even still, he'd always get a sheepish smile and a flirt from the spaniel just barely covered up by whatever hotel comforter he had slung up to his hips. But Beach would also be lying if he said he never came in of his own accord, hearing the thumping or not

But Dook also never had the forethought to change where he'd do it, even in the multitudes of times that Beach Bear's "caught" the other, per-say.

Like he wanted to be found out.

And each and every time Beach Bear came in, it was always EXACTLY right in the middle of Dook swinging the covers up, he's even come into the room while the other was in the process of throwing the sheets over himself, his white tipped tail thudding against the bed like wild hell incarnate, no matter how hard he tried to grab his rogue tail, an easy to catch sight since Beach Bear's seen it happen in this situation far too many times to count.

But still, every time he opened that door, Dook would be in the process of trying to cover himself up, never before the door opened.

And the wagging always got louder every step he would take to get closer to the door.

But then it would stop entirely whenever he passed right on by, ears swiveled to the entrance of the room, listening, but unbated in his steps. Playing with the drummer. Even in a time like that, Dook never stopped his natural ability. Neither of them ever brought attention to their silent game, always partaking, but never mentioning that it was happening almost each and every time they shared a hotel room together.

So almost every other week, yeah.

Now that... those kinds of thoughts might actually do something to him. It was a little game they played, and Beach Bear can't say he ever thought it was strange. Nah, far from it. It was hotter than anything he'll ever get from the spaniel now.

And besides, he doesn't actually wanna,, sleep with a stranger. Appealing as that was whenever he finally broke free from his bird-cage of a childhood home, it's just. Not really doing anything for him right now.

But thinking of his best friend like that? Not only is it within limits, it's--

It's fucking insane frankly.

But wasn't he always a little crazy?

He steps off the front porch, footsteps crunching in the snow. He cringes. But it's not as bad as freezing in space.

Beach Bear shrugs to himself, humming.

Well... he knows the way to town from here.

Maybe he can find something fun to do.

Something fun to do in a place he's technically not supposed to.

But not at a park. God. Never.

Maybe... in an alleyway.

Yeah.

Or...

Beach Bear rubs his thumb over the corner of his sick smile.

God, he always loved to climb.

And there's some pretty empty rooftops right next to that REALLY busy road coming in and out of New Orleans.

That only the uh... most observant would notice just the tops of his reddened ears from.

Yeah.

And it's getting dark.

Yeah.

His bare feet ache on the cold stabbing rocks on the side of the road.

If it's fun or not, well.

At least Dook might think it's hot.

Here's to hoping to Dook above that this stupid little stunt doesn't land him on a registry.

Chapter Text

July, 1988. Six years before The Blast.

...

"*Splat*"

Dook's brow furrows, raising a hairless eyebrow at the sight before him. Ketchup. On his space suit. Upper thigh area. He didn't see anybody walk in front of him, and there's absolutely no way somebody strolled right past him. He wipes it off with a scowl.

Is there some messy muh-fucker in this tree??? He can't catch a single break, huh?? First Beach Bear ghosts him for months and now this?

Dook cranes his neck up, glaring with an annoyance in his chest. It's ketchup yeah, but it is HELL to get that kinda stuff out of his space suit without throwing it in the washing machine. Even that is a process, separating his space suit one by one, putting the articles that can be washed into a pillowcase, messing with the washer's settings at the laundr-o-mat so it doesn't shred the glitters off of the fabric. It's a hassle. So that's why he's a little peeved.

He can't see past the thick base of the branch above him, and so he takes to his hands and knees, sliding onto them so he can crawl to his left, staring up into the leaves.

A foot. A black foot, completely bare of anything to make it look black unnaturally. Completely natural, pitch black soles. With white fur peeking over the tops of long, dark claws. Dook's heart ceases to beat entirely.

Dook comes forward, inching on his hands and knees in this cramped crawl, scared to be seen. But that's not entirely true as to why. As soon as he stands up, he knows his knees will give out. They're frail even now, quivering on the warm ground. Weak.

The more he moves the clearer the person becomes. A strong, white leg, hanging off the branch but hidden just inside the leaves from the view Dook had walked up. There's a grass band on the ankle. He goes farther, and shorts come to his eye, cut off at the thigh with a pattern of orangey sunsets basking at lone islands. Right around this time Dook hustles across the grass, raising up onto his toes to skitter across the ground, dark blues focused into the tree.

Beach Bear. That's Beach Bear. Casual as all get out. Just sitting there. Hamburger in mouth. The polar bear gnaws a big ol' honkin' bite off of the mess in his paws, moves it away from his snout, just. Just eating. Yeah.

He can't think to do anything but stare, struck through the heart with an arrow pinning him to the ground. He flops onto the side of his thigh. Dook's ears raise up slowly, level with his head, watching the man as he continues to do one of the simplest things on this Earth, dark eyes as wide as flying saucers. His cheeks heat up with a cherry glow.

"...Beach Bear?"

...

Beach Bear raises the hamburger up, snagging a great big bite off of the sandwich. He balances himself on this branch he's chosen as his resting spot, peering through the leaves. The green diamonds flutter and dance with the small breeze around his peephole, blazing a visciously confident chartreuse. The vision past the leaves is a boisterous bright white, though once his eyes adjust, he's met with the recently familiar view of the stage off in the distance. Far enough to hear the thumping music of the concert, but not hurt his ears, and also close enough to see a vague representation of what's going on. There's a swell in his heart just to be here, listening to the music that just sounds so much better when he's tripping like this off of the shroom-tea in his system. The men moving around on stage is just one of the many reasons he's come here. A Flock Of Seagulls. The music sounds like ecstacy in his ears, the only reason Beach Bear's only humming and not currently belting out as much of the lyrics as he knows is the burger in his hands. Hey, he can't exactly taste it, but it is delicious to feel all this hot sauce tingling his whole mouth right now.

Beach Bear swallows it down, poking his tongue out to collect the line of hot sauce and ketchup on his lips. The tingles tingle harder at the tip. For something he can't taste, the bun is nicely soft, firm enough to hold but not rock hard like those burgers Beach finds a dime a dozen on every boardwalk. Rock hard like his cock. 

The polar bear chomps a dent into the sandwich, chewing as delicate but still not as restrained as he can, fearful of biting off his tongue, but not to the extent where he'll slow himself down for it.

"...Beach Bear?"

Beach stops, of course. He pauses where he's at, curious. He's just hallucinating again. There's not a chance Beach has heard someone call for him twice now. Not one. Not with that accent.

Even still, that voice is FAR too familiar, and it wasn't in his ear this time like the last hallucination he had. It can't,, hurt to check.

So Beach Bear takes his burger still in the wrapper and folds the paper over the top, sealing it into the wrap. First he peers to his right, looking through the thin cracks between the leaves, and then below his branch to stare towards the dizzying ground. 

Nothing.

Then Beach swings his vision left, first to the leaves, and then down. He almost takes his eyes away, finding nothing from a few second glance. But once he finds it, he snaps his head back, and he sits there, frozen by the sight. 

Not a goddamn chance in the world.

"No way."

Beach Bear remains there, gaping. That goddamn dog stares right back, smiling and wagging at him like he hung all the stars and the planets and the moons up into the sky just for Dook to fawn after. Beach Bear nearly falls out of the tree with the haste he swings his leg over with, wobbling greatly. His wobbles kick him out nonetheless, pushing him off the branch and causing him to stumble when he lands on his feet at the tree's base. His legs feel like gelatin as he straightens and this swell in his heart is unlike anything he's felt up until now. In fact, the feeling overwhelms Beach Bear, throwing his voice into shivers. 

"Dook?"

The spaniel's grin doesn't fade, but wavers. This is all he's wanted. The man he's missed for six whole months, six HORRIBLE months of Dook's life, Beach Bear's standing right in front of him, glimmering above him in the stars like a celestial god. Dook's too scared to move, to talk. 

What if Beach Bear doesn't want him here? Beach Bear was the one who couldn't pick up the phone when Dook called it nearly seven times a day.

The nearly blank face the polar bear has going on makes his tail still from it's swinging, falling into these stilted thumps.

"Yeah?"

Something funny catches in Beach Bear's throat, something that he has to gasp through, releasing this choked squeak-like sound. His paw appears across his mouth on insitinct, his eyes scrunching with this huge grin that splits his face in two. Beach Bear slips his knuckle into his mouth, biting down on it hard just to keep himself from screaming with his excitement. Even still this high pitched shudder comes past, muffled by his paw. Dook's jumpsuit glimmers like there's real life stars all across it, the glitters catching in the light and bringing brilliant shimmers to Beach's crystal blue eyes. The stars move across the glittery fabric like a disco ball, bringing forth bedazzling speckles of every color in the rainbow, dotted across his space suit in an array of shapes. Diamonds, stars, simple circles. It's glorious. 

But it's nothing compared to the man's face. Just above that suit lays Dook's enchanting features. His heavy eyebags framing dark marine irises, his lightly freckled snout that curves into a soft arch at his lips, his gorgeous blush. But there's things missing, replaced. No smile. Just a lightly opened gap between his lax lips. His eyes don't yell with excitement, or serenity.  They speak to him with...

Dread.

The sight has Beach Bear cocking his head, his brows drawing together into a thick furrow. His smile slips at the edges. 

"Are you okay?" He asks with an uncontrolled panic, twiddling his claws by his side. Dook nods, but very slowly. Hesitant. Beach Bear begins to lower himself, more towards a squat. It's just too akward to stand over the other man, and it doesn't feel right not being able to see the mixed spaniel's face in full. "It's alright if you're not. I'm here. Are you sure you're alright?" He leaves off the part about trying to call the dog for months. That can wait, as much as it burns in Beach's soul to tell Dook that. 

Slowly Beach Bear slips onto his knees in the silence, copying the dog's position. 

Dook's tail curls to his glittery thigh, his hands already in his lap and drawn close to him. He's fiddling with his gloves, tugging them further down on his paws even though they're already on and snapped down. His eyes don't meet Beach Bear's anymore, stuck to the ground like pikes. His breathing is becoming rather stilted, fast, but not fast enough to warrant stopping it. Beach Bear reaches out, hovering his hand towards Dook, laying it on his knee when it seems like the man doesn't mind. Dook jumps with a gasp, his hand slipping across his mouth, though he doesn't brush the bear's paw away. The dog sucks in a breath, his voice wavering in the undertones. He waves a paw at Beach Bear's hand, but doesn't remove it himself. "'m dirty."

Beach Bear shrugs, way past caring about dirt when his best bud's on the ground. "That's fine. I'm not the cleanest guy around right now."

Dook shakes his head, drawing his knees closer to him, so he can loops his arms and rest his paws on the tops, causing the polar bear's hand to slide off of him. It's not a position Beach Bear's seen him in in a long while, and just the sight of the man cowering in any sort of way claws at his heart. He replaces his hand on the spaniel's shoulder. He's met with a wimpy growl. It may not be an angry growl, but definitely one of discontent. Beach Bear sets his hand near the dog instead, trying to ignore how the grass morphs in front of him. "I'm not really convinced you're okay, Dook."

Dook shrugs, bringing his hand to his mouth, biting down on the thumb-part of his leather glove. It drops in a second. "Yeah, not really."

"Yeah?" Beach Bear tries, cautious. "I'm sorry."

The spaniel raises a shoulder, finally turning his eyes back to the other man.

"I tried to get you on tha phone... for months." 

Beach Bear's head jolts back with sheer shock. "I have called you MULTIPLE times in the past three months, you've been out of the house every time." He points at the other man, just a bit peeved about that. Though, he calms. "I'm sorry, Dook. I didn't,, like I didn't exactly know what to do. That payphone at the beach has been out basically since you came over acting like a corpse walked in front of you like five seconds before you came in. What was that all about??"

"It's nunna ya buisiness what I do outta the house." Dook bites through his teeth, growling beneath it defensively. "Ya couldn't a told me I was callin' a payphone for the past three years?" He tries to calm himself, forcing his voice into a netral tone, but it comes out more like a growl with the vibrations rumbling like a cement mixer in his throat.

As much as Beach Bear could snap back and tear into Dook for his own worries and problems, it's not worth it. He can't be mad at Dook, especially not knowing what's been going on with him for months. And this high is making him miraculously open-minded. He brushes his hand across the grass, feeling the texture. "It's not my business, and I'm not gonna force you to tell me. I'm worried." The man sets a hand on his own fluffy chest. "The first time I see you in forever and you're upset. It's not fair to you. I tried to tell you, but, the phone at my apartment complex has been gone since forever. And I'm also not judging!" Beach Bear jumps to raise a finger. "You just weren't there, you were never home. I don't know how many times I've heard one of your brothers pick up thinking it was gonna be you. It hurt. I had no way to tell you. I thought you hated me all of a sudden, like you got sick of me like,, anybody else would."

Dook's face had slowly began to soften throughtout the man's words, but it drops at the end, falling towards sadness. "No. No, Beach Bear. I couldn't get sick of you."  Dook pushes his boots through the grass, his knees lowering from his chest, arched above the ground with his hands over them. His paw lifts and sticks in the air, stagnant with Dook's eyes on the ground. Actually thinking about what he's going to say, what it might do. 

"...I'm sorry, I shouldn'ta snapped at ya." Dook folds his hands together, then slides them across his thighs. "It's been so rough. I'm not mad at ya. So much happened, and then I just." His padded shoulders raise and drop. "Couldn't tell ya a thing. I thought you hated me too. I'm sorry ya tried ta get a hold of me all this time. If I knew ya were, hell, I wouldn'ta left the house for anything." His grin returns.

Beach Bear smiles, this soft little smirk. His bangs fall across his face, shaking his head fondly. "I couldn't ever hate you, Dook." His paw drifts. It ends up on Dook's calf this time, sticking there for a few beats, then patting his leg. "I wouldn't have left either. Besides,, y'know, going to that payphone. I should've told you it was a payphone. When I moved," Beach stabs a thumb behind himself. "I didn't know they weren't going to have a phone line, anywhere. The closest one is at that beach. You know what's probably the reason why you never found out?"

Dooks shrugs. "Lay it on me."

Beach Bear snickers to himself, fraught with dirty jokes galore. "You're the only one who calls that payphone. I've never seen anybody pick up that phone on the miracle that it rings. It's always you, and all the regulars there know who you're calling for." His finger stabs a nail towards the ground. "I've had people I don't even know yelling for me with your name." Dook chuckles deeply in his chest at that, an actual, heartfelt laugh. "Oh man, that's crazy. I've been worrying ta death ova' nothin'? Man, I'm sorry I got like that, I'm sorry again that you've been tryin' too. You can't even begin ta imagine how much I missed ya." He leans back against the tree. "I missed talkin' ta ya. Seein' ya face. Nothin' beats ol' blue eyes."

Beach Bear's smile draws higher, his eyes softening with a shared emotion. "Aww, I did too. All of your dog-like handsomeness." The man snorts. "But I did too. So much. It's been so boring without you, s'been rough. I've spent just about every waking hour trying to call you, or surfing to get you out of my head." The bear admits. He holds his hand up, rubbing his claws through the fur on the back of it. That ring on his finger glints in the light like the gates of heaven. He waits to mention it however, leaning towards the dog as the other tries to find words.

Dook remains silent for far too long, eventually he brings his gaze back to the ground. Beach Bear reaches over and whacks his shoulder lightly. "Hey, whatcha going into space for?"

The spaniel draws his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on the inside. Dook clears his throat, taking a deep breath.

And another.

And a third.

The next breath that comes though bears words. Hastily thrown out words. Dook looks sheepish and embarrassed to admit it, but it goes, tossed into existence with a wince. "I been kinda sleepin' in random people's beds."

Beach Bear cocks his head with a small frown, shrugging. That's wild. "Like how? If you even want to tell me." 

Dook lifts his shoulders, and they stick there. "Just sleepin'. I haven't had a good night 'a sleep since, well, that night I slept on ya without askin'." He lifts a paw. "It's just been cuddlin'!" The spaniel throws out, not wanting to make the other man think he's been whoring around. "I don' want you ta hafta worry 'bout my stupid choices. I'm safe, or I try ta be. That's basically how I got here. It's just that, every night I try to go ta bed by myself, it's-- it's awful." Dook holds his hands out, like he's got nothing to do with them. "I didn' know what to do, and I couldn't call you. You know I call you almost every day." Dook waves a hand towards the other man. "I wracked up so much on the phone bill that General makes me use the payphone outside the house sometimes." He rolls his shoulders. "I couldn't call you and-- that stupid shit happened that night, and I just started spiraling. I got so sick 'a rollin' around in bed until the sun came up. I went out, that one club I brought you to that one Christmas, Y'know?" Dook sighs. "I went and I begged, and begged and begged and begged anybody ta just, let me stay the night. The couch, the bed, hell even the floor. It didn't work. I still couldn't sleep, I still couldn't... couldn't stop thinking about how bad I fucked up with you. How bad I fucked up with myself."

"Oh." Beach Bear shifts in his position, leaning to his side so he can instead cross his legs together. "And how's that..? Why do you think you fucked up with me?" He scoots forward, closer to the drummer. Dook sighs. "I mean. I came inta' ya house without even askin'. Almost smoked ya stuff without askin'. Made you sleep on the couch wit' me and laid on top 'a ya, again, without askin' ya a damn thing first." He raises his hands. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

Beach Bear shakes his head, his brows pinched together. "Dook. I thought you got like, attacked again. I wanted to be there. I don't care if you smoke what I've got, I just didn't want you to get high because you're upset. I liked cuddling." Beach admits with a soft smile striking him suddenly, looking off towards the ground, a tad unsure to meet the man's eyes. "I've always had problems going to sleep. It's why I was smoking in the first place. Helps me sleep. There's a whole bunch of stuff that keeps me up at night, mostly my life before you guys came around." The polar bear lifts his gaze to Dook's. "That's one of the best nights of sleep I've gotten in a long time. I liked having you on me."

Before Dook can say anything, if he even was, Beach Bear throws up his hands, shaking them anxiously. "Not like in a romantic way!"

Dook cocks his head back, confused. "Yeah? Okay. I wuddn't gonna call you nothin'. I get it. I mean I, I cuddled with a few guys here an' there. It's not... gay. Not unless ya get chubbed, but. Y'know. I'm sorry ya got my same issue."

Beach Bear laughs. If only he knew. "It's alright, it's been a constant for awhile. But I guess you can see it like that. Not neccesarily, though. You don't have to get hard from cuddling to be gay. I really didn't think you'd be someone to cuddle with men, not that you're homophobic. I thought you'd detest even the idea of it."

The spaniel shrugs. "It's,, alright." He tries to throw those certain memories out of his head, but they overwhelm the vast majority of his snuggling excursions. "I... kinda like it better. Don't get me wrong!" Dook holds up a finger. "I think boobs are cool, but they aren't that nice ta lay on. And snugglin' wit' humans is really bony." The dog turns his head out to his left, just scanning the open area. "I dunno. I just haven't, really clicked with a woman in a while. I haven't felt,, much of anything."

Beach Bear's jaw drops, slapped with astonishment. Holy Grail. Classic newbie "You. Dook LaRue, haven't been hounding after a single woman since whenever the hell?? What?"

"Ya don't hafta rub it in." Dook's paw slides over his eyes. Beach Bear jumps when he realizes his error. "No! No I'm not, not like that. That's my bad. I'm just,, you said you had basically all you ever wanted on New Years. You specifically mentioned the women. What happened, Dook?"

The spaniel shrugs, for he doesn't know himself. "I dunno. It just kinda happened one night."

"That night?"

Dook nods. 

Beach Bear lifts his shoulders. "It's okay, you don't gotta tell me specifics. I think I get it anyway."

"I didn' sleep with her." Dook throws out, narrowing Beach Bear down with their eyes locked, making damn sure that the other knows. Makes Beach's heart flutter with the hope all these words give him. "She kissed me outta nowhere and I ran the fuck off."

The longer Beach looks into Dook's eyes the more magic they gain, twinkling with the reflections of light. His heartbeat pounds to the intro of this song, a song he recognizes. Dancing in the Dark. He hums along without thought, the words bubbling in his chest like thought-vomit. It's overwhelming how much he wants to bust out into song right along with his this band. But he restrains himself, even as his brain wanders in the pause. "Why? The polar bear pries. 

"I hated it. I can't eva' fo'get tha taste 'a her mouth. I haven't touched a daquiri since. Tasted like a disturbin' amount of fake ass strawberry and vodka. Scared the hell out of me when all I felt was hatred! It's stupid!" Dook suddenly takes a hold and rips at his glove, unsnapping them with a ferocity, pulling the damn things off and throwing them to the ground. "EVERYTHING is stupid! I'm stupid! Why can't I just be fucking normal for once in my GODDAMN LIFE?!"

"You're not stupid. Who the fuck wants to be normal?" Beach Bear raises his hands up. "ME, BEACH BEAR! I DO!" Dook nearly barks the whole thing with his hands stabbing into his own chest, an anger in his voice Beach Bear hasn't ever heard. It shocks him, enough to freeze him with his head jerked back. Dook throws his hands out, an unfamiliar sight with his bare peachy palms out and long black, hooked claws at the ends of his fingers. "It's so fucking hard! I can't have a single day where I'm not struggling to keep myself happy all day! Is it so bad to wanna have ONE day where I'm just fine the whole way through?! Do I really have to deal with this BULLSHIT because I somehow convinced myself I hate women?!" Dook slaps his hands on top of his head, raking his claws down his ears in a display that frankly makes the other man sick, his ears jumping from his sharp nails but still pinned beneath his shaking paws. "I can't do it, Beach Bear, I can't keep doing this! It's a fucking. struggle. every. goddamn. day." He slaps the back of his fingers against his palm at each word, clapping loudly despite his furred knuckles. The dog jams his knuckle into his mouth, clenching his jaw on it hard. It's released with clear grooves on it. "It's too much! I swear ta god I'm gonna break one of these days! I'm gonna snap and fucking maul another fucking person and I can't live with myself when every other time I look in the mirror I can't see anything but his fucking face, Beach Bear!" The man's voice breaks halfway through, devolving into this shaky mess. Dook drags his claws down his snout, delivering a blisteringly hard knock to the side of his head. "It's so fucking hard."  Beach Bear simply sits there with his mouth agape, frozen with nothing to do. 

Eventually his brows furrow. "Fuck."

Dook nods, sucking in a hard, resetting breath. "Yeah." He sniffes greatly, his paw wiping at his eyes. 

They sit there in the silence.

White furred knees uncross, folding to the side, then lifting, so they can support the weight of their owner. Beach Bear shuffles through the grass, crouching forward on his hands and knees. 

"...Can I  touch you?" 

The spaniel's shoulders lift and drop. "If you wanna touch garbage, sure."

Beach Bear smiles oddly enough. "Y'know what? I love garbage."

The polar bear wraps his arms around the other man, drawing him close to his chest. It knocks Dook's balance off, but it also gives Beach Bear the oppourtunity to drag the dog into his lap, holding him as close as he can. "You're not really garbage, Dook. I know I keep saying it, but I'm sorry you've had to deal with that. That's rough. Someone as sweet as you doesn't deserve that kinda shit."

"You're sweet." Dook sniffles. He tucks his own arms under Beach Bear's, drawing his bare paws around the man's back. They don't fit all the way around, nearly, but just out of reach. The texture on his hands is as soft as the skies, thick enough to bury his fingers into. Dook leans forward, right at the perfect height in the polar bear's lap to push his face into the cotton candy thick plume of fur at Beach Bear's chest, burying his snout into the hollow furs, the strands falling across his nose. A gasp forces past his defenses. It's perfect. It's always been perfect. His claws burrow into the blanket of pristine white fur, stained at the base by sand, leaving a deep rooted scent. Like sun warmed rocks. 

Beach Bear drags his paw down the spaniel's head, knocking that deedly bopper hat off. He pets across the other man's prickly, shaved fur, rubbing his palm over Dook's round skull. "You're charming."

Dook smiles just a bit. "You're the charmin' one." He lets the petting happen, unbothered by it anyway. He leans into it even, raising his head so Beach Bear's hand slips from his ears. It lands on the back of his neck instead, resting over the studded choker around his neck. Dook claws at the buckle stuck at the side of his throat, unhooking it and pulling it from the clutches of the popped collar on his suit. Beach Bear lifts his hand to let it happen, then sets and scratches his claws lightly at the man's neck. "Enh. You're more charming. I love how unabashed you act on stage."

Dook chuckles, sighing happily at the touch. "That betta' mean something good." He leans into the polar bear's touch. "Yer pretty." It slips from Dook's mouth without much notice from himself, caught up in this attention. Beach Bear's smile couldn't get any bigger. "Yeah? You're pretty."

The spaniel drops his head into Beach Bear's chest, nuzzling the mass amounts of fur. His heart sings with these praises. 

Then it drops. He suddenly goes serious, pushing himself away from the polar bear. Beach Bear's brows draw together. "What?"

Dook puts both of his hands on the man's chest. "I'm not gay." The spaniel throws out, almost more like he's telling himself. Beach Bear smiles. "It's fine if you are, if you aren't. I don't care either way." The polar bear offers. Dook, feeling something odd, rubs his palm at the spot that his left hand rests over. His heart only serves to fill with dread. His eyes blow wide. "Why do ya have a scar here?" His voice drips, oozes with fear. Beach Bear takes the dog by both of his wrists, gentle. "It's not bad. You're gonna have to give me a bit to tell you though, okay?"

Those heavy brows draw tighter. "It's not bad? You have a thick ol' scar on ya boob, Beach."

"Don't call it that." Beach Bear holds up a finger. "Later. Please."

"Okay." Dook nods slowly, a bit too high to try to formulate any words to ask about that first part. "Does it hurt? It doesn't feel very old." 

Beach Bear reaches past Dook to thumb at the scar. "No. It did. I had to get surgery for it a couple years back."

"..." The spaniel pauses. "You did?"

"Yeah." Beach Bear takes the man by his hand, the right one. He moves it, guiding Dook. The dog trails a finger down, then up his chest, finding the scar tissue, then dragging his finger carefully across it.

"Ya never told me." Dook tries, continuing to feel the raised skin with his rough thumbprint. Beach Bear nods, shivering slightly at the touch. "Yeah, I- I know. I didn't know how you'd take it." He sets a paw on Dook's thigh. "It was scary, but a good kind of scary. Got a lot off my chest!" He cackles out loud, struck with an anxious laugh. "Ah. I had to take a trip to get there. It's a specific thing. Not a lot of people do that kind of surgery around here."

The spaniel whines quietly. "I would've went down there wit' ya."

Beach Bear nods once again. "I know. I wanted you there. But I had to do it on my own. I wouldn't have gone through with it unless I marched in. I probably would've just drove around with you and put it off." The polar bear tilts his head.  "Well, I'm not sure. Maybe if the circumstances were different, I could've brought you. I called you though, later in the day. They had a phone in the hall. Do you remember that? I called you, and you thought I was higher than hell."

"I thought you were really tired." Dook smiles.

Beach shrugs, rubbing his paw across Dook's glittery back. "That too. Put me on the good drugs. I was lucky enough to get a room by the phone, I couldn't get up so one of the nurses had to stretch the cord over, I was in so much pain."

"Aww." Dook drops his head into the man's fur, wrapping and clinging to him tighter. "That sucks. I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

...

"Hey though." One of Dook's hand leaves him, pressing against his own belly, near his hip. "Scar buddies."

Beach Bear's smile goes a tad wobbly, his paw lifting, cupping the soft of Dook's cheek. The other man leans into it, eyes shut peacefully. "I love that."

Dook's eyes come back into view, though Beach Bear finds them a tad off, a bit red. He sounds an inquisitive hum. "Are you high right now?"

Dook nods, his smile turning even higher at the edges. "Yeah, hella. I got really sad."

"Oh." Beach pats the other man's back with concern on his features. "...That's not good."

The spaniel raises his padded shoulders. "If I started drinkin' it away I wuddn' have stopped."

"Yeah???" The polar bear's brows furrow deeply despite his smile, sucking in a breath. "Sounds like a problem, huh?"

Dook slides a hand through the air. "Wayyyyyy ahead 'a you. Don' let me drink nuttin'."

"Yeah, I won't." Beach Bear's voice comes out rather blunt, patting across the man's back. "When did that happen?"

A ginger hand slaps down on the polar bear's shoulder, an unfamiliar feeling without the leather. The dog's smile is bright, but not in the eyes. "Why don'tch mind ya buisiness, Beach Bear?"

The man raises his hands. "Over-stepping, got it." He sets them back down on the dog's leg, then hip. "Do you wanna? I dunno, do something?" Beach Bear cocks his head in the direction of music. "Do you not hear who's playing right now?" The bear's smile splits across hs face, something he tries to restrain visciously, but to no avail. "That's my jam, man."

Dook's smile goes sappy with that. "How could I fo'get? I been feelin' ya hummin' for the past twenty minutes."

"Really?" The polar bear chuckles softly. "I was trying not to. I'm pretty high myself, baby girl." 

"Now I like baby girl!" Dook whacks his friend on the hand. He points up at the man's face. "Use it more."

"I thought you weren't gay? Getting me to call you that is kinda gay. I mean there's a bunch of types to it too." 

There's just a brief pause, but it's interrupted soon by the dog's raised finger. "I'm not gay."

"But you hate women." Beach Bear raises an eyebrow, then his hands. "I'm not pushing, you don't have to be in love with men, I'm just saying. Might be an option. That's the last I'll say of it."

"Beach Bear." Dook takes in a breath. "I am not,, doing this today." The spaniel pushes his hands behind him, dragging himself out of the man's lap. "Leave me alone about it. I dunno what yer tryna do but I'm. Not. A Fag." He holds his hand out. "Knock it the fuck off. I'm not doin' it. You said yerself you got stuff you wanna wait on, well I don't know what the hell's going on with me, I wanna hang out and not focus on that for once in," The dog physically counts off his fingers. "Yeah, six months? So I'm good, Beach Bear, I'm so far beyond good on trying to call myself a queer because something happened six months ago out of the blue. I love ya, as my best friend, but I can't do it right now. If yer gay you can do everything ya want, I'm sure you'd be able ta find just about anyone ya want out here if ya are. But it's not gonna be me. I don't know what you think of me but I'm not gonna do this flirting, or this- this--" He waves his hands at the man's lap. "Love shovin'?? I can't do it. Ya don' talk ta me like this normally. What are you on anyway??? You're not actin' like ya usually do." Dook eyes up the other anthro. "Do I gotta be worried you're gonna try ta do something to me???"

"NO!" Beach Bear quickly grasps the spaniels hand, clutching it tight. "No! Not at all, Dook! Why would you-? What the FUCK!? No! God, Dook, I'm not gonna assault you! What the hell, man?! I'm sorry, I won't mention it again, you can figure it out on your own if you really want to but. Fuck! I'm not gonna HURT you." The white furred man rests a hand atop his own chest. "What the fuck? I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to scare you. I'm-- Do you really think I'm gonna hurt you because I like men? Women. Everything?" The polar bear scoffs, only at the sheer confusion he's fraught with. "I thought you trusted me! I wont talk about it, I don't wanna scare you. But that's not what gay people do, Dook. And you're right, it's not weed, it's magic mushrooms. But I am wayyyyy conscious enough to not assault people, Dook. Why would-- I thought you wanted a little bit of affection, I dunno! You said you were cuddling men so I thought it might help you calm down and I know I like hugs from you, and I called you sweet because you are, and--" He drops his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, that was fucked up, I really didn't mean it like I was trying to come onto you. Maybe it was a little bit, man, I don't know. I overstepped. I'll leave it alone, I just,, didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

The silence brews. Not much of a silence though, A Flock Of Seagullsis still cranking 'em out just a mile away at most.

Dook sighs, a heavy things. "It's fine." He sets his hand on Beach Bear's arm, but it soon turns bigger, a hug instead. Dook settles his chin on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry too. I know ya just,, I don't know ya as well as I think sometimes. You got stuff goin' on too. I put a lot a' blame on ya for things ya couldn't control. I'm sorry fo' callin' ya a rapist too, that's not fair ta ya."

Beach Bear shrugs, shaking his head, weak voiced. "Nah, It's fine." A sniff comes, then another quickly, strengthening his tone. "I'd probably do the same thing in your situation. You've got a lot going on too." To that Dook raises his shoulders. "It's still naht fair ta ya. You didn't do nothin'. I'm just. Worried. I neva' knew anything about what it's like bein' queer other than it sendin' you straight ta hell. But I know I'm already goin'. I thought I loved women all my life. It didn't exactly help when ya got millions a' different people tellin' ya all theses things, how ya supposed ta feel about guys and how it's a crime everywhere and everyone'll hate you. That don't give me a right ta try ta call you a demon. I'm sorry. I do like the cuddling, but. 's a lot. All at once. I neva even considered lovin' on a man. It used to be so easy." 

Beach Bear nods. To all of it. He opens his mouth to let free these words, words he's wanted to say for years now. But it won't help. It'd only serve to confused Dook even more. Still, he bobs his head, golden hair bouncing with it. "It only just got easy for me when I left that hell-hole." He shrugs. "But I get it. It is hard. There's so much to think about. There's a lot of fear with being gay. Being trans. There's so many new things to be scared about. But there's a lot of things that feel so much better than that. The sex for one!" Beach Bear jabs it out with barely a bit of remorse for the either of them, chuckling brightly. Dook smirks along with him. "Really? And... you really are gay? I wasn't actually thinkin' you were. Whaz trans?"

Beach Bear tilts his head, just peeking around the area. He nods. "Mmh, yeah. I mean. Not fully. I'm bisexual. I like both,, all. It's better to be honest, I'm at the point where I'm not that scared anymore. I used to be... horribly scared. But it got easier the longer I stopped caring about what people think. It's not like I'll see them again. Hell, that's the only reason I didn't say anything about it. I know you and Mitzi, and Fatz And Billy Bob, Looney Bird. You all get it, you're pretty down with all kinds of love. Maybe even Rolfe. I just didn't want anything to change. Trans is like,," He pauses. "Well. I'll tell you in a second."

Dook shrugs. "I think it woulda helped me more if I knew ya were from the start, but I get it. I wouldn't have said anythin' ta make ya hurt on purpose. I know I'm not,, very conscious, sometimes. But I try not ta hurt people. It's alright." He folds his hands together, then puts one on the ground, raising himself to his feet. Even standing, Beach Bear feels way bigger than him, coming up to Dook's shoulders easily. "Bisexual is...? Liking both? Right?"

"Yeah." Beach Bear shrugs. "I thought that's what would've happened with you. Maybe you got sick of women, like you don't hate them but. It's kinda the same for you, isn't it? Going out to that bar, trying to pick up any woman you see? You tell me about doing that, and I've seen you do it each time when we all hit the bar. Maybe you ran yourself ragged with all the monotony."

"Motony?" Dook asks. Beach Bear waves his hand. "MO-notony. It gets repetitive, it keeps happening on and on and on?" The man circles his paw in the air. "So maybe you got sick of the same thing happening and you just,, kinda took it as you not liking women? Maybe you convinced yourself you loved women when you were younger. You might even just be, someone who doesn't love anyone. I dont think that last one is it though. I mean. you loved Lady, didn't you?"

Dook furrows his brows. "Yeah. I did. She was my everything for a while. She didn't wanna stay so I let her go. Broke my heart." He raises his hands up. "That was years ago, took me a few ta fully get over it."

Beach Bear swishes his paw across his fuzzed chest, thumbing his scar. "Yeah. So. Maybe you're just bisexual. If you don't wanna talk about this anymore it's alright."

Dook's head shakes. "Nah, It's okay. It's,, a bit easier talkin' about it now. I... Bisexual duddn't sound as scary as bein' gay."

"Yeah," The polar bear drags his own feet beneath himself, bringing his height to it's fullest. "It's not that scary when you get used to it. My folks don't know, you know I don't talk to them, but if they knew I'm sure my own mother would've put me in the grave. But that's fine, because I know I could hold her off, and I'm big enough that if someone tried to mess with me I could take them if I really had to. But it's fucked up it's so hated. It's stupid we have to fight for it. Being gay, for both men and women, has been a thing at least since the Ancient Greeks. It's not like it kills--"

Beach Bear sucks in a hard breath.

"Okay, if you're not careful you can get HIV. But you know about that."

Dook's brows furrow hard. Beach Bear raises a finger, before Dook can say what he already knows. "HIV is a virus type thing that fucks with your body and it can kill you. But! You get it if you fuck raw or if you rub up on somebody's private bits without a condom, or if that person you're fuckin' with doesnt wear a condom and enters you. If you taste their cum, but that's a rarer way. I have a bunch of articles cut out from the post and stuff, and there's some books in the library near me." Beach shrugs. "But you don't have to sleep with someone by entering them or them entering you, I'm sure you already know. Just wear a condom. Make whoever you sleep with wear one. Most importantly, you should probably ask them if they have it first, before you start gettin' dirty. Better yet, ask your doctor."

Bare peachy palms raise up defensively. "I didn' know about all a' that, that's fo' sure." Dook sweeps his hands across his jumpsuit, his tongue peeking past his teeth like a spritzed cat, his tone tinged oddly. "Where in HELL did I put those things?"

"Ah." A dark hand falls behind Dook, appearing with his yellow-lined tool gloves. "The ground. I haven't seen you take them off in a while."

"I like gloves." The spaniel retrieves them, sliding them onto his ginger-furred paws. His ginger hue sticks out a lot more on his knuckles where the fur is thinner, the back of his hands. "If 'm not wearin' em starts gettin' me angry. Anxious. I don' like feelin' everything all the time. And I don't like losing em."

"Ooh." Beach Bear tsks. "That's fair. Yeah I kinda heard it in your voice for a second."

Dook crosses his arms, though his face is neutral, curious. "Really?"

"Mmhm." Beach Bear hums. He lifts a paw, swishing it near his flower-dressed neck. "I like it, it's pretty. Your voice. But it's like this higher-pitched thing you got going on sometimes. Your voice is really relaxed to me, but you get kinda tense and jumpy with it. It's your ears too. You kinda start messing with whatever's in your hands, drumstick, pens, forks, I've seen you twirl a fench fry a couple of times not even out of anxiousness. It's cute." Beach Bear holds out his palm. "That's not inherently romantic, by the way. Take it how you want. Are you looking at me right now or is that me?"

The vision he's got switches from Dook staring literally star-eyed into the sky to a simple confused expression, if not a little melty. "You can't look at yaself. I was lookin' ova' there. You think it's pretty?"

"Gorgeous." Beach Bear follows the finger that Dook lifts, all the way to where it's trajectory lies. As his eyes attempt to adjust, he takes his mess of a burger out of his pocket, then another, tapping the dog with it. "Burger."

Dook's paw falters, then falls out of the air, taking the offering from his friend. "Like, fo' me?" 

"Yuh." Beach Bear unwraps and mows a bite out of it, resting the back of his hand across his lips. "W'ere we loo'in?"

"Ew, Beach Bear." Dook chuckles, swapping the item between his hands, unsure what to do with it at the moment. The polar bear kicks at the ground with a shrug, taking the time to finish that bite. "I coulda spit it out if you wanted to hear me talk normally."

Dook cocks his head back and forth. "Maybe. I like yours too."

Beach Bear smiles, raising his shoulders. "Ahh. Thank you. I've been tryin' on it." He rests his hand over his throat. "I love doing it. I've always sung, I'm sure I've said it already. Started young when my mom taught e classical ballads as a tyke, and now I'm here." He raises his view to the twinkling, wobbly sky. "I wish it could've turned out different with my folks sometimes. I hate them, but. It gets lonely without much family around. It's been a while since we all hung out as a band."

Dook's view turns down instead. "Yeah. It cer'aintly has been a while. I'm sure It'll get easier wheneva' Mitzi graduates. Whateva' that headstart thing is seems like it'll help her get somewhere good. I know she's headed good places. I wish it could've been easier fo you and ya family. Sometimes,, things just don't work out how ya want em too. It's... like a piece a' you fell out a long time ago."

His snout lifts, towards the stars. Beach Bear focuses his blurred vision onto the other man. 

With a sigh, the polar bear rests his hand on the other's shoulder, shaking him. "How's that part going? Space? You're still saving up for that fancy place aren't you?"

Dook raises and drops his shoulders. "Well. Yeah. But it's neva' gonna be enough. I don' even know how I'd find a way ta get through it. I was awful in school, Beach." He flicks a hand in the direction of, not much. "I couldn't keep myself focused ta save mah life. Mah grades were like a nuke goin' off every time it came around." He spins his finger in a circle. "My Ma didn' mind, but I know it always worried her ragged. I neva' was very good at tryna learn all these things they kept shovin' at me. I can't figure out nothin' past double digits unless ya give me a calclator, and I can't multiply fast enough ta keep up in some sorta-- gameshow classroom."

He crosses his arms, leaning to one side. "I dunno if it'll ever happen. I dunno if they even do those prgrams anymore. I don' think I'll ever see the galaxy at this point. It's been all my life. It's the only thing I've eva' wanted ta do. I don't know what I'm gon' do if I don' find out what's out there. I need to know, Beach." Dook snaps, grabbing the man's arm with vigor. "I don't think I can live on a planet so,, explored. I love Earth. But iI wanna see the moon." The spaniel brushes his fingers through soft furs. "I know there's things out there, thing we don' unda'stand. But I could. I'm not,, I'm not very normal, Beach." He clutches the bear's arm tight. Beach Bear cocks his head, though he's laid silent with Dook's bundles of words. "But out there? There's so much. There's so much to do, so much to see. Even if there's no aliens, or robots or anything like that. I wanna be there. I need  to be there. It's everything I've ever wanted, and I just..."

Dook drops his hand, letting out a soft breath. "I can't. There's no way ta get there, there's no way to-- to see it. I can't find a way ta get there and I'm not smart enough ta, build my own rocket. Build a life support, build-- the fuel! There's so much, and there's so little time for it. I don't know what NASA's gonna do in the next-- Hell they could shut down tomorrow. I don't know how I'll ever find it. I don' know if I'll have the funds to begin with. I don' know if I'll make it like this."

...

Beach Bear lets the pause brew, gathering his thoughts, staring at the ground. He feels rather blank at the moment. Unsure what to do. "I don't know."

Dook folds his hands together. "I just, wanna see it once. I'd do anything ta be there."

"Yeah." Beach flexes his claws. "I get that."

Dook stays silent.

He points out into the night, near the crowd of the stage and between the booths. "It's Scorpius. I slipped mah mind ta tell ya what I was lookin' at."

"Mh." The polar bear looks to where he remembers the dog pointing. "The constellation?"

"You know it?" Dook asks. Beach Bear nods. "Yeah. You told me before."

"Oh." 

...

An arms swings over Dook's shoulders, resting there, brushing against the dog's elbow. The two of them stand side by side, staring towards the sky. Beach Bear tilts his head. "We're all still here. On Earth. Whether you go or not, I'll always still be here. I'm always just, gonna be around. Surfing, playing songs with you guys,, trying to... find someone to truly love." The polar bear takes in a breath. "I just want you to be happy."

It takes a second, but the dog nods, his long ears dangling over the other's arm. "Thank ya. I hope it happens, but, I wouldn't mind it to stay with you and the rest of the band for my lifetime. I just feel so... connected. To whateva's out there."

Beach Bear smiles. "It's like the ocean for me, I'm sure. I'd love to stay with you forever, but I could take it if you left." The polar bear sucks in a sudden breath, his voice a tad wavery. "I can take it."

Dook turns his head slightly, opening his vision. The surfer slides a paw over his mouth, shutting his eyes tight for a moment. The hand drops, but Beach Bear's tone sticks, furthering even, dragging into a near incomprehensible whine. "I'm too high to think about this right nnnow."

"You alright?" Dook slings his own arm around the other. Beach Bear nods, but a sob breaks through. "Yeah." He sniffles. Beach drags the back of his hands across his eyes, wetting the soft-yellow of his fur to a darker light grey. "I'm just high and overemotional. Terry told me there's gonna be highs and lows to this." Beach Bear lets out a quite pained whimper, then give the dog a weirdly okay smile. "I'll be good in a minute."

The polar bear's sudden crying still continues, though it's marked with these kinda horrific pitiful laughs. They're wet and quite shaky. Dook's ears rise with a hot flush. 

Dook lifts his hand. It hovers in the air. 

He sets it on the other's back, carding through his thick fur. "I forgot you were trippin' already."

"Mmhm." The surfer takes in a shuddering breath. "This feels good but it feels so horrible." He whimpers, then giggles. "I just want you to be happy." Beach Bear grips fistfuls of his own hair, just feeling the salt-wethered strands on his palms. The ground bends around him, still glittering, but in a way that kinda freaks him out. "Do you think they have waves in space?" 

"Do you wan' come with me?" Dook offers, a brow raised. His own eyes water, pulling at his reserves. "It's alright, I don' mind if ya cry, I jus' don''t know why ya are."

Beach Bear gasps, though it gains them nothing but a choked sob. He coughs, clearing his throat with horrid noises.

"ow."

Dook presses his hand to the bear's chest, forcing him straight against the tree. "Beach Bear, yer gonna keel if ya don't calm down. Startin' ta freak me out, Beach. I don' want ya ta pass out on me."

"I don't know how you don't know." Beach Bear takes in a couple softer breaths, rolling his head against the trunk. "It's just crazy to me. I want you to go, don't get me wrong." The man takes a hold of the other's hand, holding it gingerly in both paws. "I think I'd miss you too much."

...

Dook twiddles his fingers.

"Why? I'd miss you too. I just. I didn't think you liked me that much. I know we're friends, I consider you my best. But. I didn' know if you did."

"Dook." Beach Bear's head thunks onto the trunk. "You are. It's... It's so much harder than that though." He rubs his thumbs across the dog's gloved hand. 

Dook raises his shoulders, like it's just so easy. "Like a lot of things in my life."

The polar bear hums. "Nnnhhh. Yeah? If you wanna take it like that."

The spaniel sighs. "You don' wan' me ta go."

"No!" Beach Bear jolts. "No, I want you to go! I want you to be happy wherever you are. I'm. I love... your passion,, towards it. Your voice, your face, your eyes, your space-suit, your-- Everything. All of it. You're just, my everything. I don't-- I don't really know where I'd be without you. I'm..." He folds, the holds his hands out, fingers still locked, eyes to the ground suddenly. He takes a moment to breathe, coming back to the other's face. "I do love you. Actually. Not just some,, "Oh you're gay so I'm gonna see if you sleep with me" thing. It's... been for a long time. Basically since I knew you." Beach Bear forces it out like it pains him, his sea-glass eyes drifting away rather quickly, down the spaniel's body, from the hand that Beach Bear holds to the spacenut's boots. "And it's stupid I know. I'm stupid. I don't know what I think is gonna happen now, I'm high as hell and I don't even know if you're real right now," The bear takes in a deep breath. "But I hope you are. I've wanted to tell you since, forever. But I thought it was stupid because." He waves a hand out, off of the dog's own. "I thought you were straight. Even if you weren't, I thought you just. Wouldn't care. Or something like that. I thought it wouldn't work out. I don't," He cards a hand through his hair. "Deserve someone like you. At all."

More quiet lulls in the air. A person walks past the two of them, ignored for the most part.

Dook nods, blankly staring at the bear's chest. He leans away, not taking his hand back, but loosening his grip slightly. Beach Bear lets it go, though it stick there. 

"I didn'... expect that."

"Yeah." Beach Bear rolls his shoulders. "I don't expect you to feel the same, and that's not out of malice, that's just. I know you're going through a lot. A lot happened, so I've heard." The bear lifts his paws. "It probably wasn't a good idea to tell you in the first place."

Dook shrugs. "It's fine. It is a lot. It's okay." He does take the man's hand again. "I'm glad ya told me. I don' think I deserve you, you deserve anyone you want, I'm just, I don't-- I don't... really think I'm ready for that. I can't be gay."

A smile grace's the polar bear's damp face. "I know. It's okay."

The drummer nods slowly. "Okay. I'm sorry."

Beach Bear laughs, a weak thing, but at least not hollow. It's bright, even. Like sun cracking through the dark rain-bearing clouds. "You don't have to be. I'm just happy to get it out. I'm sorry if it's too much."

"No." Dook flips one of his hands over. "I think you're wonderful. I don' think you're stupid eitha'. It's not somethin' you gotta apologize for. I think it's great, love is wonderful. It's something that can last over lifetimes, past death inta heaven. But, I wouldn't want you ta suffer because of it. Things happen and you chose ta love me. I'm flattered, really. I don't wanna..." The man drops his paw. "I don' wanna break your heart though, Beach Bear. I don' know much anymore." Dook scratches at his chin. "A lot of stuff's been scramblin' mah brain recently. I wanna... I wanna think about it. I would do everything ya want me to, and I want to still be with you." The dog pauses. "I just don't wanna break yer heart if I'm not sure I really love ya like you want me to." Dook wipes at his nose, though it's dry. "That's some profound stuff though, Beach Bear. I always find somethin' about you that reminds me ya went ta college." He chuckles lightly. "...I'm sorry ya fell in love with me."

A shake of golden blonde hair. "I'm not. I'm just happy I got to spend my best years with you."

Dook bobs his head, frowning without conscience. "There's still a lot of years ahead of us. I'm still gonna be playin' in the band with ya for the next coupla years. I'm gonna be an old man behind the drums either way mah path leads."

"Yeah." Beach Bear rests his hand atop the dog's head, just besides the hat. "I know. I'm glad. I know I'll be happy to know you finally went though, when you go to space."

The spaniel tilts his head. "If."

"When." The other corrects. "I'll make it happen."

"You don' have to." A flush follows Dook's hand swiping over his snout. Beach Bear hums. "Mmh. I think I will. I have no use for monetary gain."

"Ah yeah. The socialist thing, right?"

Beach smirks. "Correct, Star Child. And I mean, I'll still do anything to make you happy. I don't expect anything out of it."

"If ya wanna help me, all power to ya." Dook raises his hands. "But that just means I can whisk ya off for mystery excursions when that does happen."

"Oh I'd love that." Beach lifts his paws similarily. "Please, I beg you, take me on dates throughout The Milky Way."

Dook narrows him down with a point. "As friends or as lova's, I'm open to the idea. Not just The Milky Way Galaxy eitha'. The whole universe, Beach Bear." He waves his hand across the blanket of stars in the night sky. "Every inch of it will be my oysta'. My soul. I need it."

"I need you." The polar bear pushes back, a clear flirt in his tone. Dook smirks. "I'll always be around you someway."

"Perfect." Beach sneaks the tip of his claw onto Dook's nose. "Like you. Do you care for this?"

Dook shrugs, bending down to retrieve the forgotten burger on the ground, still wrapped up, maybe consumable. "I don' mind it. You're perfect-er."

"No contest." The polar bear clicks his tongue, following the man's figure as he turned and bent towards the dirt. "Does that mean I can tell you everything I love about you? Features included?" He points all over Dook as he stands straight. The other raises his hands. "If ya want to."

Beach Bear sucks in a godly breath, more of a whimper really. His hands clap together. "Your ass is out of this world. It is so fine."

The spaniel's brows couldn't go any higher, matched with an incredulous smile that nearly touch those brows. "Really?! Me? Wait, my ass?" He questions out of the blue, turning confused eyes around and to his own posterior.

"Oh yeah." Beach Bear slides his hands in the air opposite to eachother. "I have seen nothing like that in my life. I know people that would kill for that and you don't even know you got it?? You don't know what I'd do to it, are you kidding? Got that full course meal, bisquits, baked chicked, the best Jell-o I've ever had in my life?? How." The polar bear brings his clasped hands to his forehead. "How. How do you got so much?"

Dook puts his hands on his hips, beginning to turn around, but he's stopped by the sheer grip Beach Bear lays on his shoulder. "If I get another look I can't control if I'm bricked or not. It's too perfect."

"Oh good gracious." The spaniel teases. "Beach Bear you know I can't handle myself with that kind of attention, I'm a hound dog. I don' wanna use ya like that."

Beach Bear holds up his hands. "I'm simple. I don't care to be used a little. Hell I want you to use me." He just about purrs it with a growl brewing past his throat.

"Beach Bear." Dook lets out a breath, flushed greatly by a hot blush all over, but he has to deny. "I can't let you do that to yaself." 

"Alright." The man huffs. "Too much, I get it."

"I jus' don't want ya ta take yaself fo' granted." The dog shrugs, hands fidgeting at the folds of fabric near his hips, pulling it loose. "There's a buncha people you could have insteada wasting ya good looks on my confused ass."

"Well thank youuu." The bear slides a hand onto his chest. Reminds him that burger disappeared along the way, probably on the dirt somewhere. He takes the time to scan the ground, spotting an object on the ground that he picks up and shoves in his pocket. "It's a nice ass, confused or not. But I won't take it past that. I'll take whatever's given to me but I'm not gonna force. Unless you want me to."

Dook smiles, trying to subtly adjust himself in his space-suit. "Well... Good. I can't stop ya from lookin' but I can warn ya. I'm fixin' ta get closer ta the music if you're followin'."

"Dook, Baby Girl." The polar bear starts. "I am gonna follow that until my eyes pop out of my head, you won't find me stopping."

"I still really like that." Dook points behind himself as he turns, beginning to walk off. 

Beach Bear whacks the branch above him and hurries to slip on his sandals, having fallen out of tree to the dirt by the slap. The man hurries, once he's close enough he starts following along with slower steps. Longer legs after all. "Is there a reason?"

"Mmh." The spaniel moves his head around, glittering rainbow sparkles the further he walks into the view of the big bright lights shining a good hundred feet from where they're at now. "Not p'ticularly. 'S nice."

The polar bear clasps his hands together, speeding up to manuever to the dog's side instead of right behind. "Now this is a stretch and probably not right. I'm not saying it to make fun. Would you wear a dress or a skirt in your life?"

The dog's steps stop, and his head turns with an indescribable expression, leaning more towards disapointment, embarrassment? From what Beach Bear reads of it anyway. The drummer babbles. "Wh-what? I don' think so! Not since I was a kid. I um. My mah liked dressin' me up in bows but she neva' really tried ta do that. Haven't ya eva' played in ya motha's closet befo'? Does that name make it mean I like wearin' dresses or somethin'? Are ya tryna run me around wit' sumn' I don' get?" Dook cocks his head. "But, nah, not really, Beach. Have you? Is this comin' from somewhere?"

Beach Bear lifts his shoulders, continuing to walk past the dog with a smile. "Nah! I've been put in one before but I don't care for them. I was curious if maybe you did. Not just the "gay" thing." The man throws it up in quotes, then lays a paw on the other's crook near his neck, his sandaled feet following along with the bright lights dotting the path in front of them. "But I don't actually know anybody that I can say that they like dresses, man or woman. I know Mitzi does, but the last time I tried to say anything about gender to Billy Bob he started gettin' all red and incomprehensible." Beach Bear laughs. "Which, that's fine. But I've always been curious. Specifically with you. You'd look sex-- good in it. I think so anyway. I feel like you'd try something if your lover wanted you to, yeah? You seem the type. Don'tcha remember watching Rocky Horror Picture Show? That's full of cross-dressing."

Dook's ear bops, flicking against his white-furred paw. "It is, yeah. It'sa good movie. Not really about aliens though. I jus' don' really know. I neva tried. I'll do it if ya really wanna see it, I jus' don't think it'd feel any different than regula' clothes." He rubs his palms together, creating these small squeaking noises from the leather contacting. "If ya give me time ta think about it I might do it. Ya not tryin' ta get me ta do this kinda stuff for blackmail?"

"Nope." The man slides a casual hand in the air. "Genuinely just interested in seeing you in one. It's not a sexual thing, well not-- I guess not really, but... I'm not sure, man. I'm just following the flow of the universe right now. Whatever thoughts come up, I'll let you know."

"Huh." The spaniel hums. "So if I wanted ta tell ya something weird ya'd jus' kinda go with it?"

"Yeah, sure." Beach Bear holds up his paw from Dook's shoulder, his finger glinting in the light. "Speaking of that." He brings his free hand over to the one on Dook, unwilling to be free from the other's touch. Beach slips the ring off of his finger, holding it out between his pointer and middle finger, balanced between the two. "Found that in your van."

"Wh-- huh??" Dook snags the ring up rather abruptly. He brings his eye to it, staring it down like a hawk. "You've had this the entire time we been lookin'???"

"What??" Beach Bear's head jerks with the shock. "I mean, for half a year, yeah. Is it important? I looked kinda basic to me, no offense." He holds his bare paws up.

"Oh. It's been gone fo' longa' than that. Nah, it's not mine. My Uncle Fido gave it ta my brotha' Willie befo' everythin' started fallin' apart. We thought it got stolen like the rest a' the stuff Willie had on 'im. I don' know how you got a hold a this." Dook takes off one of his gloves, testing the ring on each of his fingers, settling on sliding it onto his middle-most finger on the right hand. The glove goes back on, snapped down tight. "Thank ya though. I'm jus' shocked really. I didn't think we'd eva' see it again."

Beach Bear's eyes go wide. "What??? That's crazy! I'm glad I found it then. I was just messing with the carpet in your van, like rubbing it? It just kinda came out, like between the back seats and that nasty shag rug." The polar bear lifts his hand momentarily. "You're welcome for that, I didn't know it was special. I would've told you sooner but I forgot 'cuz I didn't want to distract you when you're drving. I know you kinda zone out doing it, and I've had too many times where you've looked straight at me for a hot minute forgetting where the hell you're at." The man chuckles. "It's fine, but it scares me half to death."

"Oh yeahhhhhh." The spaniel joins in the laughter. "Heh, I can't remember where I'm at half the time anyway. That's why I got you."

Beach Bear smiles. "I love to do it."

Dook stops where he's at, stuck in place. The polar bear freezes as well, brows furred with amusement. "What now?"

"Um." The dog starts. "We're walking away from everything."

"OH!" Beach Bear tears into a fit of laughter, barking these noises out like a seal. "Hahaha! I can't see a damn thing right, Dook!" He throws his hand outward. "I thought I was following lights! Those were cool! Kinda looked like jellyfish, y'know?"

...

Dook takes the other man by the hand, locking their fingers together. Beach can feel the solid metal of the ring through the leather as he's tugged along. "I'm takin' you ta get some wata'. Ya hand is sweatier than mah nuts in August, Beach."

"Heheheh. Delectable."

Dook groans. "Now that's jus' gross Beach Bear. Ya should know yaself how awful that is."

The polar bear stumbles along after Dook the second the other turns around, holding his arm out awkwardly to try to mediate their height difference. Dook has to hold his own arm up, leading the bear back to the event. "In fact, I don't know."

"Yer lyin' and yer high."

"I have no balls." Beach Bear snickers, well aware of how delirious he sounds. That's the fun of it. "Nothing to stick awkwardly to my leg or to squash on accident. I've never suffered a kicked nut incident. I have suffered sweaty shorts syndrome though. Like, currently."

Dook hollers, this amused? annoyed thing? "WOAH-HOH! Beach Bear if ya don' stop fuckin' wit' me It might jus' be yer lucky day for it! I'd hate for ya to live wit' a busted ball bein' higher than hell too! It's a right of passage! Yer a man, ain'tcha?" The dog teases.

Beach Bear busts out with a bark of laughter. "Every way but legally!"

"Now what in tha hell does that mean??" Dook throws a glance up to the other man. "Yer mixin' me up, are you jokin' or not? What kinda skit is this?"

"That's something I gotta tell you when I'm sober. Boop!" Beach Bear smudges his finger against the dog's nose. "You gotta wai-ait~!"

"First ya tell me ta put on a dress, now ya tellin' me ya ain't a man at all! What's gotten inta ya tonight?"

"Not you."

Dook's face bursts with a cherry-flame, his hand slapping over his mouth. He rolls his eyes, huffing audibly. "Shtop."

"Fine." The polar bear giggles. "I am a man. I just happen to lack a key feature."

Dook rubs his paw across his eyes, rolling it down his ear. "Is this why ya brought up the "Sweet Transvestite" stuff?"

Beach Bear gasps. "Yeah actually! Do you get it? It is pretty hot out here, fuck." The man throws out that last part with a wave of his paw at his face.

"You want to act like a woman?" The dog offers, raising his hands with no other options. "I'm all for it I guess, I don' get the "I have no balls" part though."

The polar bear raises his hands, eyes wide and crazy. "Nah, I don't want to. I swear I'm not fucking with you about that part though. I fucking don't, Dook." The man giggles like a psycho, shrieky. "This is so stupid." He covers his mouth.

"You are! Yer trickin' me!" Dook snatches his hand away to throw them out at the other man, focusing right on the area of subject, then up to the man's face, back and forth. His expression drops grimly. "Yer tryna get an excuse ta flash me."

"Hahaha! Nope." Beach Bear slides a hand outward. "You're wrong there. I'm not. I mean that fully." He holds up his paws. "I can just leave it here."

Dook gapes. "Why would I want that?! Yer gonna leave me wondering about that all night!"

The polar bear's smile can only grow bigger. "You're gonna be thinking about what's in my Jams all night?"

"I can't believe yo stupid ass." Dook snags the other man's hand once again, tugging him with a force that trips the man to his knees. The dog jumps, shocked with his own strength. Or the lack of it from the bear. "That couldn' have been THAT hard." His expression shows more worry than it does anger, however. Beach Bear clutches the other's hand, bowing his head with raucious laughter. "Hehehehehe! Ah-heheh! Pull me arond some more, why don''t you! Pull me by my hair next." The polar bear stares star-eyed up at the man's face only a few inches from his own. Beach Bear's peachy complexion bears an even hotter hue than Dook had moments ago, marred with shiny slick sweat across his sun-weathered features, enticing like those men off of Baywatch. Hell even better than that. There Dook goes again with the confusing thoughts. And with the confusing stiffening seen in his body and other place alike. Dook shoves his hand against the polar bear's face, his heated blush flaming hotter with the panting hot breath coming out of his bandmate. "Beach Bear I told you."

The polar bear huddles closer, taking a hold of the other's hand, moving it across his hot skin to rest over his snout, framing his crystalline eye with the dog's fingers. "Your hand's cold. But you're so fucking HOT to me. Wish I could just ravage you."

Dook swallows harshly, a hot pit forming just below his stomach. A tad bit chubbed. "Uh-huh. Ya need water."

Beach Bear's eyelids drag lower. "You know what I need, I been sayin' it all night, Baby Girl."

"The only reason I'm not leavin' you here alone is 'cuz yer clearly not in yer right mind." Dook huffs. "C'mon, get up." He tugs the man's arm. Beach Bear moves forward, but sways right back to where he was. "Woah-- That's enough." He holds up a finger. "I can do it."

"But ya clearly can't watch ya filthy mouth, huh?" The spaniel crosses his arms, allowing the bear to try to stand himself. Beach Bear pushes at the dirt, pulling a foot underneath him. "I haven't said anything dirty, the message only sounds dirty to your sinuous ears." The polar bear reaches up and flicks the man's appendage, past the smack that Dook lays upon the back of his hand. The guitarist rises to his feet, puffing out a great big breath. "Hooh! Yeah, water's good." 

"Good." Dook grabs the other's hand for the third time. He starts walking, slower this time. "I'm good on the antics. Let's jus' get you wit' somethin' in ya system."

"Besides lust." 

"Besides lust." The dogs flicks a hand. 

Chapter Text

...
January 8th, the same day.
...

The cold is biting and whipping around Beach Bear's ears, snapping at his peachy-tan skin in the inside of the little white nubs. The appendages remain downward, to avoid the chill. He rests his arms on the edge, peering down the long drop that welcomes his dull ice irises.

The rooftop around Beach Bear is covered in snow, his footsteps the only discrepancy in the pure white dust.

He couldn't bring himself to do anything on the roof but stare off the side. It's just that, yeah, stupid as it sounds. Touching himself isn't appealing anymore. And it scares him a bit. Sexuality has been a constant in his life, it was the only thing that kept him from going brutally insane in his parent's house those fourteen odd years ago. That constant carried on through him joining the band, falling in love with Dook. Even after he told Dook of his feelings, it continued. Fantasies, dirty thoughts in the back of his head. Fantasies that he couldn't always fulfill himself, not without another... being to help.

Dook always acted like he had no idea whether or not he loved men, loved Beach Bear. But Beach could always make out the small breathy shudders of the spaniel in the dark of night in his silent kitchen over the phone, his apartment shared with his brothers. He'd always try to act so quiet, so secretive. Desperate, trying and failing to be silent as Beach Bear would recount the activities of the night he'd had, some random floozy laid up in his bed for hours on end faceless and never some twig-thin dame or dude, as much as Beach Bear loved every kind of body type. But that would ruin the fun, wouldn't it?

The fun of pretending that Dook was the one man-handling his big self into whatever position he so chose to do absolutely EVERYTHING to the other man. Everything that is,, except...

He'll never let anybody else inside him in the more... intimate spot he has, not unless their name is Dook Monroe LaRue. Fuck getting knocked up by some asshole who doesn't know how to use a condom.

But hey.

It's not going to happen anymore.

So what's the point? Why should he even attempt to work himself up if he knows it'll get him nowhere?

A sigh penetrates the air.

This is the stupidest shit he could be thinking about right now.

But does anything else in life seem appealing? All he has left is the band, his surfboard, his guitar and--

Terry.

Beach Bear jumps to his feet, stumbling back away from the ledge with his heart dropping the ten stories he climbed up the side of the fire escape. He falls back on his tail, blood pounding through his veins, legs squeezed together.

Nearly fell off the side of the building.

A certain bit of throbbing awakens between his legs. Beach Bear eyes himself down like his bits are somehow talking to him, telling him shit he doesn't wanna hear.

It's that same feeling he got YEARS ago, even before the band.

Fantastic.

His feet thunk of the concrete of the roof, bolting to his full height.

That can be a later conversation he has with himself.

He needs to call Terry.

...

"*Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring*"

The phone is ice cold in the hands of a shivering, derelict man, free arm wrapped around his sides and pressed to the lower of his abdomen, attempting to stave away the aching pain that threatens to cripple him in his entirety. The phone rings and rings, and although Beach Bear is worried, this is nothing new. It always took Terry quite a bit of time to get to the phone, if he was even near the phone that Beach Bear is currently calling. Or if it's...

"Dawg. Come on." The phone slips back onto the receiver, ceasing the endless ringing. The bits of change he put in falls out int the well, picked up with thin claws, and then slid right back in the machine.

"*Deet Deet Deet Deet Deet Deet Deet Deet Deet Deet*"

The numbers punch audibly through the phone line. A shivering clawed finger stabs the last remaining button, and then he waits, ear held awkwardly to his head. Full Homo-Sapien's and their inability to cater to those with oddly-placed ears.

He waits.

An automated voice recording babbles into his ear, words he's heard far too often now, so often in fact that he repeats the mantra under his breath.

When prompted, he punches in some numbers, specific and some repeated.

Finished, he hangs up. Beach Bear shuffles the short, fridgid distance to the wall just a foot from the phone, crouching, and huddling his limbs to his chest. His thick furs trap the heat in, but the wind is like daggers on his skin. White ears poke out when he tucks his head, his scalp only white, berift of silky gold curtains to curl around the appendage.

The wind bites like the teeth of a frozen cold lover.

Here's to hoping he doesn't freeze to death too.

...
Key West, Florida, USA.
...

"*BEEDEEP BEEDEEP BEEP*"

The electronic beeping fills the air of South Beach, bay and Atlantic breeze billows across the moonlit white sand that the pager was thrown to, the green calculator-type screen lighting up as it rings a tune. From over the crash of a fallen wave, a lobster blue as the night arrives, arms thrown out and two-toed feet planted firmly onto a waxed and smooth-riding orange laquered board, the brine of the ocean gliding as clean as jelly beneath the pearly white underside of the surf board. He crouches, claws hooked around the edges of his ride.

"Brah!!!"

After hitting a quite well-done spin off of the peak of the wave, his balance flips and he's sent head over heels into the ocean's water, kicking his board far off, yelping into the moonlight's beams.

"*Splash!*"

The gemstone board slaps against the flat of the water, the lullaby of the waves take over the sandy beach.

"Brrblgrbph." The lobster appears from the depths, his anttenules dripping with the salty mess he lets dribble from his mouth. Large claws are planted atop his surf-board, then, he hoists himself onto the top of it, his azure-skinned chest slapping wetly on the clear, waxed laquer, his great chelipids clacking atop the surface.

"*BEEDEEP BEEDEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*"

The pager screams, more insistent now. The surfer's antannaes sway in warm night air, pitch black eyes afixed to the sand shore.

"OHHHHHHHHH THAT'S MY BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!" The oceanic cephalopod begins to paddle with a vigor harder than Leonardo worked on designs for the flying machine. The salt in the water brushes his eyes, but it does nothing to his sight. Amphibious-ness bro!

Just a short distance from the shore he stops, letting the flow of the ocean take him and be free. The board slips onto the sand, the lobster scuttles off of it like a creature, pinching the nose of his board, flipping it over, and dragging it as he tumbles across the uneven golden dust, dropping it a short distance from his device, then flopping to his knees to scoop up the pager.

The screen lights up as soon as he clicks one of the buttons. His suspicious are confirmed as the words Beach-Ursidae flashes on the screen.

In just a few short minutes, the man shoots across the land, barreling hard on his thin toes.

It is unbelievable how fast he punches in the number attached to the short message. The phone rings.

It takes a bit of time, but not more than five minutes before the other side of the line opens up. Terry's claw flies into the air. "BEACH BEAR!!!!! MY MAN!!!! What's poppin' on the dot? What's the deal? What's goin' on in your little world? I take it you got that date worked out? Huh? Huh? What's the deal on Hot-Dog-Drum-Dog, man? You ain't called me in a week! Get any action??? Any...? Juicy little tidbits for the poor Romani people of Notre Dame-eeeeeeee?! You can talk now that's my bad, I got excited." The line goes dead for a second. "So Whazz going on?"

"Ummmmm...." The polar bear hums through the phone. "Um. Yeah,, no. The date didn't work out, man. I uh... Yeah. Um..." Beach Bear's tongue clicks a couple times over the phone. "Uhhhh. So bad news."

Terry sucks in a hiss, mentally preparing for the story of a lifetime, featuring gentle rejection, depression, partying or it's perhaps another surfing accident. Or something to do with the guy's band in general. Or Beach Bear got his hair caught in the ceiling fan again. Yep. It would be the fourth time now. "Yeah lay it on me. I think I can handle a mood killer right now. My life's pretty stagnant right now. Actually could you hold for a second?"

"Oh! Ummmm... Yeah..? Sure I don't care, man."

"Alright cool."

Terry wanders away from the phone.

...

Beach Bear shuffles side to side, arm huddled around his side, snout twisted into an uncomfortable grimace.

He's gonna have to shower the blood off from between his legs at this point. The fabric of the pajama shorts are pinched and pulled away from his problem-area, to avoid the stain of crimson iron.

The polar bear huffs.

...

"Alright I'm back." A slurp can be heard over the phone. Beach Bear physically moves the phone away from his cupped hand (being used like a tube to actually talk into the thing) to stare down the phone like it was the one who did such a thing. The handset is pressed to his ear once more. "Did you just go get a Capri-Sun or some shit, dude?"

A lip smack comes over the line. "How'd you know?! You're magic, Ah-brah-cada-bruh! It's a Pacific cooler. They should make an Atlantic cooler, huh? Seems more fitting fah sure. So what's the deets? I'm prepared with my pouch in hand."

"OH! Yeah, yeah. I got distracted by your Pouch Energy." Beach Bear thunks his head. "Um. Yeah! So he's uh... I was waiting around for him, and y'know. I don't know if you heard? It's kind of... all over the news right now?? Yeah. So that Blast thing happened and I was still waiting around for Dook, and y'know, I was really waiting!!! Like for a loong time, and I mean LONGGGGGG. I'm talking a full hour after, and I mean, that's not that long, but like. The Blast happened right when he was supposed to be with me at this diner in Chattanooga and... he just wasn't there. I kinda thought he got into an accident or something and... Well yeah. He did." Beach Bear points into the snowy sky, miming how a bottle rocket takes off. "He shot himself straight into fuckin' space, man. He really wasn't lying about it. That whole Blast thing was Dook taking off. He's dead, Terry. There's no way he made it at the point." The polar bear sucks in a hitched breath. "Yeah. So. It didn't work out.  Haven't been getting any action unless you count yelling at the remaining members of The Rock-afire Explosion about how much of a mess I am." He sighs a visible breath, rubbing his face with his icy-cold fingertips, his nails stabbing his fridgid skin. "It's so fuckin' cold in New Orleans right now I don't know HOW this shit is possible!"

Terry clicks his claws together.

"Major bummer, dude."

...

The phone clatters to the ground.

Beach Bear's barking laughter shoots through the phone without any issue at this distance.

Terry lets a smile grace his features, because FUCK. That's some rough shit. But at least he got a laugh out of his friend. But damn?!?! Bro's gone?! That's tough. Really tough shit. Beach Bear giggles through the line. "That'sisisis the WORST--" He devolves into higher cackles. "Shit to say at a funeral!!!" The devolving continues.

Terry shrugs. "Sure is!"

The laughing goes on.

Then.

It fades.

An odd silence takes over their conversation.

...

"Damn bro, I can't believe it. I guess it's cool he made it. It's like fate or somethin', brah. Like he's one with the stars." Terry begins. "Like... dang. I met that dude. Not for that long but... I thought he was cool enough, freaky lil dude. But I also met him when he was high and then drunk. I dunno HOW he survived taking that amount of gummies and shots in one night, and keeping it secret with the alcohol at that."

"Enh." Beach Bear picks one bit of that and keeps it going. "He threw up on me while we were cuddling. But that might've been the cross-fade he had going on. Good cuddles!" The polar bear cocks his head to one side, but then he goes to the other side and he cringes. "But... cleaning upchuck out of my fur without a proper shower was pretty awful, even if he tried to help me. But he was too damn drunk." Beach Bear shakes his head, brows pinching with worry. "He was really messed up, man. It was one of the weirdest concert experiences I'VE ever had, I dunno about you. I'ss take reliving that night over ANYTHING that's happened since he left Earth, man." The other's voice pinches, but a deep breath tides away the tears, remaining is the tone. "His family's so nice."

"That's good. He really seemed like he loved his family. Brah's cool like that. Not everybody gets a good situation, so y'know. I'm glad he had it while it lasted. I know for sure you guys were probably the best years of his life, if talking to that nut shows me any kind of intuition, ya feel? Homie always was an intergalactic dreamer, it's fitting. And I don't mean to pry, y'know, but like..." Terry hums. "Uhhh... what kinda set-up did he have? Do you know? He must've been smart as fuck to build something that actually got past the atmosphere."

"I could ask Looney-Bird but it's a toss-up if he'll get to what I need to hear. He gets rambly. He was there when it happened, like he's been telling everyone." Beach Bear throws up a hand, not in any distain. "God knows if the rest of the band is even there right now. Fatz is jumping on my back about how much I'm smoking, but. Dude. The guy I fawned over for thirteen whole years is dead." The polar bear pauses, rifling his brain. "Yeah, wow. Thirteen. Y'know it's easy to forget how long it is when you're loving mostly every second. I guess all the whackin' it kept me sane for long enough. But fuck. Guess I'll never get that kiss. Or see 'im in the dress. I still think it'd look good. Little bit of white silk, some gold. A we-eeeeeedding dress!" The polar bear mulls it over in his head, blantantly ignoring the huge problem eliminating any chance of it being a real image. "Dark navy."

"Still won't see that ass either."

"God, Ter!" Beach Bear whines without shame into the phone. "My only ever glimpse and it was from a broken lock for five seconds... I can't even count it. I'm gonna miss that ass just as much as his god-gifted droopy blue eyes."

A click of a tongue comes through the phone, miraculous, seeing as Terry's tongue can't even reach past his "lips." "They definitely were droopy. I thought you didn't believe in god, broseph."

"I'm agnostic, dawg, I told you." Beach Bear's forehead drops, thunking against the pay-phone's protective shield. "Still, he's Christian, they can still be god-gifted, and looked like they were. Like the dark twinkling night." Sea glass drifts to the stars in the sky. "Yeah... A little bit darker than it is now though. They're only ever that blue on stage, y'know?"

"Actually yeah, I caught that!" Terry chuckles into the phone. "I thought I was too baked. Like somehow Mary Jane can change color that much." He shrugs a laugh. "Yeah they looked black to me, bro. Still cool. My eyes are brown, don'tcha know?"

Beach Bear shakes his head, his nails clicking atop the metal casing. "Do you think I forgot? I've known you longer than I knew him. Damn, that's weird to think of. But seriously Ter, I see you in the bright of the sun more than I do at night, I didn't forget it. Dark bark mahogany, I know."

"You betcha! Last time ya told me it was bark mahogany and I nearly strangled you." The lobster shakes his claw. Beach Bear rolls his eyes, even if unseen. "Yeah, sure, like you can compare to Fatz's gorilla-grip. What are you doing right now anyway?"

"Eh." Ruffling scratches the receiver. Beach Bear squints a bit. "Wha' waz that?"

"Scratching my ear." Terry shrugs. "You don't have any, man--" "ANYWAY!!! I'm surfin' man! It's pretty warm right now, like a perfect night, perfect mix of temps, bro."

Beach Bear stands there quietly in the icy wind that blows through his fur, ruffling the moonlit strands. Large than normal, pearly canines chatter behind chill-chapped lips.

"YEAH! Sure is, Ter!"

"Yup! Enjoy your white January!" The wet surfer cackles into the night air. "I'm glad I'm not there. Why are you outside? I can hear the w-ww-wiiind, dude!!! You SOUND cold! Go inside, you cretin!" His claw thunks the side of the phone. Beach Bear cringes back. Terry giggles like a loon. "Ahhhh, go inside. Where are you? What are YOU doing, Mr. Wet-Landform Ursidae?"

Beach Bear groans heavily. "Standing in the cold! If you must know...? I went climbing a bit. Man, honestly???"

Terry chuckles. "Lay it down on me."

The polar bear knocks his head against the metal shell. "I can't. even. jack. off. My mind's fucked. I have nothing to get off to anymore and I don't even feel horny. Now that. THAT worries me. Me. Beach Bear, the horniest trans guy in the West Key!"

A person walks by him with their coat bundled tight, dark irises drawn to his with a seriously funny look. Beach Bear winks and clicks his tongue, a finger gun on offer. "Hey how ya doin'? Keep them eyes to yaself." He shakes his head once the guy turns the corner. Terry hums. "What?"

"Some guy lookin' at me like a bag of cereal." The bear scoffs a laugh. "You or him being the cereal. Important question, brah, need the answer. Pronto."

"HIM, Terry!" Beach Bear rolls his eyes. "Your stupidity has blessed my cold heart with warmth, thanks man." "No problem my freaky friend." The lobster bows to the emotionless payphone. Beach's nose runs, twitching. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. He already needs a shower. Actually. That sounds great right about now. But he doesn't want to waste up all of Momma LaRue's hot water. Beach Bear shrugs. "Do you think gym memberships carry over to different areas if they're the same brand?"

Terry waves his claw outward. "Oh yeah! I don't see why not, man. It'd be mondo bizzaro if they didn't." Beach Bear cocks his head. "Yeah, real Super-man levels of Bizzaro. I guess I'll find out. Maybe I'll find something to do for once, finally get that membership some use. I'm getting flabby man." He pinches his gut, not too out there, but definitely enough to grab and wobble. Nothing wrong with a little chub, in fact it's a lot of the reason why he loves Dook's physique, but it came sort of out of nowhere. Always happens in the winter months. "It's cool but. Yeah. Weird."

Terry's end of the line goes silent. Beach Bear waits.

"No offense." The lobster starts. Beach drops his head to the cold metal beneath his arms. "Man, Terry, what?"

More silence. Beach can hear the sound of the lobster waving around his claws. "Um. I... How do I put it? Ummmm... Like this!"

Terry holds the phone close.

"Your dick exploded. You always get weirdly athletic whenever your shark-week hits man. I've never met someone who wants to dead-lift while bleeding a river."

Beach Bear's head slaps against the frame three times. "Yeah! It did! Popped like a tick all over my favorite boxers. I'm so bummmmmmed, man. She took my clothes, I just hope to god Dook's mom doesn't notice the blood. God knows what she'll think about it."

"Well like,, didn't Dook's uncle get all up in your biz-natch a couple years ago? If he's trans too then like, I honestly don't think she'll give a shit, brah, I mean seriously, she's got other things to worry about besides a bit of blood." "A LOT of blood." "Yeah, yeah, man, I know, ya bleed fuckin' oceans of that shit." "You're telling me!"

Beach Bear flings his hand out, then rather blatantly pulls at the waistband of his shorts. They snap back with a vengeance.  "God--! I'm gonna have to go soon. Whatta you saying, man?"

"I said-ddddddddddddddddddddDAH!" He pops the last bit off of his short tongue. "She's not going to care. Like you said, funky bro is dead, she's got a lot more to worry about and if she asks Dook's uncle, her brother? The trans guy, what it's about, he's either gonna tell her or he'll try ta cover you, dawg, I haven't met her but she seems chill." The other seems to shrug. "For real I think you're good. The alphabet soup folks tend to try to keep on eachother's good sides 'lest the cops shoot y'all extra hole havers in the dick-clit."

Beach Bear rests his eyes, fingers pressed across them.

"That's one of the stupider names AND sentences you've come up with to describe my genitals, Ter." a sigh penetrates the icy air. "I should probably go." "Yeah probably, you sound cold." Terry agrees. Beach Bear shrugs. "Yeah lil' bit, I'll head out. Good talkin' to you, man." "Yeah! I don't got a lot of time to talk to you much. Always seemed like you had somewhere to be."

Beach Bear's shoulders lift. "Yeah. I did. Not anymore. So like, I dunno. Call me if you want. I can give you the LaRue's home phone number. I'm probably gonna be down here with the band until they all dip out on me. God, I don't know what's gonna happen now that he's... legit, dead in space. You'd think something would come down by now, right? I mean, unless he actually made it far enough to break from Earth's gravity. It happened so fast that I don't even know what happened in full."

"Yeah?" Terry prompts. "Yeah." Beach Bear cocks his head. "I was waiting for him at the diner. Billy Bob came racing down the road in Dook's van all busted up and leakin' 'n stuff. Didn't have any windows, but like. NOTHING has windows right now. Look's like it got slammed off of the long side of a cliff." The polar bear sighs heavily. "Looney said he hit something wrong and it went off like that!" Dark-skinned fingers snap, claws clicking together. "Blew that thing right into the sky. And I got a front row seat."

"Fuck."

"Mmhm." Beach Bear hums. "whuh-abaghbaghba." Terry babbles a tiny bit, leaning back from the force of that, then responds to that news with a, "Well shit. I'm sorry you had to watch your boyfriend get launched to his death."

"He's not." A thunk rings over the phone. "He was never mine and I was a fool to keep trying. I fucked myself over in the long run obsessing over it. I'm so stupid, man."

Terry's brows pinch. "Dude. You can't pick and choose love."

A tear squeezes from the thick furred man's pinched eyes. "That's what he always told me, Ter. He always tried to apologize for the fact that I fell in love with him when he never did anything to do that to me besides, god--" He whines gently. "Exist? Treat me like I actually fuckin' matter. Make me feel like I never, ever stepped foot in that house--" The other's voice pinches. "I'm so sick of crying, man. It's only the first week. I've gone months without seeing him before but man-- this hurts like hell."

Terry hums a bit. "Well. Yeah. I mean mentally you already know he's not coming back, sorry to tell you what you already know, brah. Loss hurts. It's awful. I still never got over losing Gran Gran. Franklin. But I can't imagine how that feels, man. I was there from the start of the whole crush. I never thought it'd end up like this when you told me that one day-- Like when you first got into the band for real: You came up to me when I was surfing with the biggest, stupidest grin I've ever seen on you, man." Terry rubs near the edge of his eye. "Told me ya met the goofiest mutha'fucker on this planet who stuck up for you and sweeter than-- and I quote as best I can, brahseph-- "Honey on pink pineapple, but not THAT pink, and also not like, regular honey. Hot honey." Because you noticed dude licking his hands clean and you decided it was cool to pick one up and copy Hot Dog Drum Dog action for action and burnt your tastebuds OFF, holmes. Tell me though. WHY. Just why? Why lick a man hands? Why would you do that?" Terry clicks his tongue through the phone. A laugh breaks through like a scoff. "Dude wears gloves like all day every day. You can't tell me he doesn't have some kinda fetish for that stuff. He didn't care, in fact he laughed at me. I'm pretty sure my intuition was completely dead-on seeing his face and knowing now what it looks like when he's flustered. And trying to hide a hard-on. I mean, like he told me why he wears them, but come on. It's like, exclusively leather, all the time. You should've seen those gloves he got for his vampie costume man. I wanted those damn vampire claws on my dick like no tomorrow, best BELIEVE I'm suffering every Halloween."

Terry's attenules waggle as he drops his head back, looking to the stars for answers. And to Dook! Since he's up there and all. The lobster brings the phone back to his mouth, basically devoid of lips. "I think YOU have a glove kink man. That's some stupidly specific stuff to notice. How many times did you stare at his hands." Terry asks not even in a question, more of a despondant murmur to himself. Beach Bear pulls back to glare at the phone like it bit him. "Homie. Why."

"You brought it up." The other surfer shrugs. Beach Bear rolls his eyes. "Man I can't tell you how many times! Is it so weird that he has REALLY nice hands?! He's got like, the yellow striped ones, those fingerless ones that popped up out of nowhere, like he's got some claws on him for sure in those, his actual tool gloves for work, those vampire type ones that kinda hug his arms and there's that hypnotic red gem on the back of his hands and it only really hooks onto one of his fingers and it's uneven cuz he only has four of them--- I mean damn! How am I NOT gunna look when he's got his hulking arms out like a whore? I WISH he'd put on a damn vest one of these days, so much muscle, man." Beach Bear groans hard into the phone. "Well he's DEAD so-- Yeah, I'm screwed there. I'm never gonna see him in a vest. Never gonna kiss him, those-- GOD I can't STAND Lady! That stupid perfect bitch got everything I could've had and threw it away! Got to kiss him, hold him, fucked him so hard he couldn't fuckin' talk the rest of the night like-- He TOLD me about the goddamn handcuffs knowing I couldn't do the same fuckin' thing SHE did." Beach Bear runs his hand across his scalp, unable to grab his own hair. "And I KNOW he was tryna turn me on but GOD does he have a funny way of doing it! Trying to bait me into seein' him with his hand on his dick every damn time we had a hotel room but couldn't try to give me any time of day. He SERIOUSLY told me stuff like he wanted me to jump him every damn day but he'd flake out because "I don' wanna break yer heart!""He mocks the man accent and all. "Give me a damn break! I can decide if my heart's broken or not! I'm so damn sick of the run-around shit he did! He never even TRIED! I don't even know if he really WANTED to try to work things out! For all I know he was gonna tell me to fuck off into oblivion or SOMETHING!" Beach Bear slaps his hand against the top of the pay-phone. "I'm just so done. With everything. He played my damn heart like a fiddle and I let him do it. I can't even blame him anymore. It's my own fault, Ter. But I don't know what happened that's got him so messed up about being gay. About doing it with me specifically. But I can't just force him to love me, even as much as I stupidly pushed." His forehead rests on the cold metal. "I know it's because of me. He never loved me, and I know it. He said it himself he was only physically attracted to me, not romantically. But god, I'd take anything right now just to see his pretty face, regardless on whether or not we got together. I could take never being able to kiss him or have him love me like I do. I just... I don't wanna live without him."

"Please don't off yourself man." Terry begs first and foremost. Beach Bear growls harshly. "I'm NOT! GOD! Why do you all think I'm gonna kill myself?! I'm not that low! COME ON--!"

"Hold on hold on, Beach." The lobster waves his claw, voice docile and low. "I'm just throwing it out. Like, damn I'm sorry, man. That's rough shit. I'm sorry. I don't really know what to say. Like. Fuck. That's heavy."

"Yeah, I know." Beach Bear pinches the bridge of his nose. "I gotta go man, thanks for talking."

"Yeah! You're welcome, I don't mind to, brah." Terry's brows furrow. "Just... be careful, please. You already know how Franklin went out. I can't take another Franklin situation."

Beach Bear rolls his eyes to the side, a bit sick of all this controlling stuff about him driving, but he can't blame the other for being worried. Franklin was a great guy. It really took a toll on Terry and Beach whenever he “got caught up in that guardrail and flung over his bike.” “Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm sorry to remind you. Everybody's banned me from driving for a while. I don't know what I'm gonna do until then. Smoke the pain away I guess."

"♪Fuck the pain away, fuck the pain away♪" Terry sings in a random episode. "But like, don't actually. Don't get knocked up."

Beach Bear reaches down and thumps his knuckles on the wood of the payphone's stand. "Dude!!! I'm not!! Not to be like that but I don't let NOBODY stick nothing where I can get pregnant, I'm NOT doing all that. This pussy is reserved, and I guess like, the reservation's void now, but fuck. Guess the book's closed now. That spot is for my fingers and whatever the hell else I find around the house. I can't even say fingers man, my nails are too long constantly, so unless I wanna sit and cut em all off, I'm screwed like all the time in that department. And then they grow back in like two days and it's never convenient cuz I need them to play-- Fuck." The polar bear cinches his legs together. "I really have to go and I mean it this time. I can feel a gush tryna come through."

"Oh, yeah shit I'll let you go. Bye man! Too much information, I've seen your everything already so I don't need more visuals."

"Wow, thanks man. You act like two seconds of seeing me come out of the shower traumatized you for life."

"I thought you had a dick until then." The lobster points out. "You said you have to leave and then keep talking."

"Alright!" Beach Bear huffs. "Blame a guy for being lonely why don'tcha? I'll see ya on the flip-side, I'm gonna make my way down there if I have to beg Rolfe for a ride or not. My car's got a boot on it down at the impound and honestly, yeah. I DON'T need to drive right now. I'm right back in the adrenaline junkie mindset all over again. The only time I've throbbed in a week and it's because I nearly fell off of a damn building."

"...What."

"I stood up too fast and nearly fell. But I didn't! I gotta go, bye bye!"

The phone is hung up rather abruptly.

Terry stares at the hand-set.

He sets it with a ring onto the hook.

"God-d-d-d-daaaaaaaaamn he's fucked up."

...
Dwarf Planet. A few dozen cycles after The Blast.

...

Bright lights greet a man's eyes, tainted an orangey-hue and stabbing into weak and uncover-able corneas.

Cloog'narp works under the piercing diamond-white lights illuminating the med-bay, his poly-dactyl digits sweeping delicately across the reconstruction he's done, checking for faults. The human's skin bears a peachy color, unblushed, but it IS cold out here, at least compared to Earth's last recorded temperature billions of cycles beyond now, eliminating any reason for a heated flush. The body lays across the table, bones now fully intact. But the wounds across the other's skin? They'll take more work from here. Not only do they have very limited resources on the ship, they don't even have any ᓭ╎ꖎꖌ to even attempt to suture the wounds into a clean, thin line across skin. Nope. He'll have to work with the muscles and skin that remains, and that alone. Well, besides the gloop reserved for most cuts around here. But that was never used on something this severe.

No matter.

The alien's right-side head shifts to the side, peering the length of the jar that sits right in place where it's always been. The warm-hued liquid holds the brain and organs in stasis, slowly regenerating the lost cells. Hopefully, it'll bring the human back to this world with it's sluggishly paced flow. He tried hard with the first, to no avail. A tragic waste of resources.

The eyeball turns hard, shifting in the liquid. A lone, dark marine eye then pierces into his own, staring. Watching. The tools fall from Cloog's busy hands, clattering across tile.

Immediately does he slam to his knees, both heads occupied and hands primed, twisting the jar this way and that. The eyeball swivels around dangerously fast, unable to achieve precise movement without the aid of a socket. The other eye reacts, but slowly. The burnt sienna optical organ is lazy in how it turns, unable to follow the other with the same speed. Flark. But at least it seems to move of it's own free will, however little it may be.

"YOU LIVE!" The alien shouts, holding the jar between his faces, nuzzling the clear stone. The receptacle is set atop the table once more, wobbling dangerously. Cloog rights the container, then smirks at the liquid filled stone walls, elated, filled with joy. "I cannot believe you live!! I'm so... ⍑ᔑ!¡!¡||-∷ᒷꖎ╎ᒷ⍊ᒷ↸." He burbles to the brain with all four hands clenched with shakes of ecstaticness, the organ still in the jar. The heart inside pounds fast, lungs cinching. Clog'narp jumps to his three feet, leaving the jar on the tray. "Yes, yes, I shall leave you be. I'm sure it's a shocking sight! I cannot fathom how you even got past Earth's force-field. You must've been a fighter, weren't you? Thirty Earthican years of no contact with the cosmos, and yet, you broke free all on your own." He carresses the top of the jar, turning to the body once again. The body? Pah. The living, functioning shell that the human will reside in once this is all said and done.

Whoever doubted Cloog'narp's genius is about to get the evidence of their misjudgement slapped in their one-eyed faces.

Chapter Text

...

New Orleans, Louisiana. LaRue Household.
...

The door opens inside the house with nary a gust of cold air, welcoming in the bite of chill. White fur brushes past the oak, Beach Bear leaves.

And with that, he also leaves the band behind.

Fatz and Emerelda stand in the silence as it brews, eyes to the door.

Emerelda slaps her hands together suddenly. Fatz startles like it's a volcanic boom. "Dang, woman! Give me heart palpatations, won't ya please?" He rests a hand over his heart. The woman referenced sighs, the bulk of her arms crossing and sticking together sternly. "Baby ya already got em when I'm around! NOW! As I was ABOUT ta say..." Fatz shakes his head, motioning her on to speak. "Yeah." Esmerelda slips her hands back and forth at the palms, her long nails clicking. "Mah feets are hurtin' and if Stormy Bear out there wants to leave, I can't do much about it. Why are we waitin' around thinkin' about all the bad all the time? We had BETTER times wit' that dog than we did bad! Don'tcha remember that Christmas? That one when y'all first got togetha'?" She prompts, wandering across the old creaking floors. She thunks down onto the couch, drawing a crack from the old wood beneath. She sighs and pays no heed to the sound the furniture creates, sliding off her pristine white vinyl stillettos. "Yeah." Fatz draws closer as she sets them down on the floor with a click, rubbing across her blistered heel. "I reckon I do, baby-sweets. Didn' somebody fall in the lake when we went skatin'? Ya foot hurtin' ya, girl?"

"No..." Esmerelda peeks up the stairs, and around the main floor. There's nobody but them now. A huge sigh sinks her shoulders, the gray streak in her hair shining brilliantly in the light when she ilts her head down. "Yeah, like nothin' on this planet. Whoops." She pops her nose up, eyes to the ceiling. "Bad choice a' words. Sorry, Dookum. But, yeah... My heel is killin' me somethin' awful. Would'ja..?" She lifts and swishes her foot towards her fiancé without hearing a proper answer. Fatz lifts her aching sole out of the air and begins to rub across it gently, to try to soothe her pinched muscles. Esmerelda lets another sigh slip, more vocalized now. "Ooh, that's betta. Nah, yer head's missin', that was the year afta' that. I'm talkin' when ya all got together fo' the first time. The true first Christmas for y'all."

"Oh. Right, right." Fatz nods, then shakes his head. "Woof. Rough year. Took a lot of gettin' used to. Still can't believe the OG Beach Bear ain't around half the time." He scoffs, reminiscing. His face pinches, dark eyes downturnt. "That's the last time we saw 'im before he split. Yer talkin' about the year where I got stuck wit' that banana phone, right?" He offers a smirk, pushing his thumbs into stiff muscle. His fiancé nods, breathing a breath of relief. "Yeah... Shure was, baby. It's been sittin' in mah kitchen fo' the betta half of a decade. You rememba' what everyone else got?"

Fatz cocks his head. "Nahhhh. Where ya goin' wit' this? Ya just spitballin' so I'll keep rubbin' ya feet?" He accuses. Esmerelda lifts her hand. "Nah, nah. Yer already doin' it, now ain'tcha?" She smirks. Fatz drops her foot. She merely lifts the other aching limb. Fatz sighs and continues to offer the same treatment for the other one, unbothered with a small smile, even if his sigh says otherwise. Essie smiles to him, brushing a kiss onto his shoulder. Fatz moves his head, sliding closer to her lips for a fuller kiss. She opens her mouth. Fatz jolts back, recoiling from the bite she gives him. "What's the--?!" "Oh hush." The woman giggles. "You know that's the year you gave that dog a frisbee to go fetch with."

"Ohhhh... that's where yer goin' wit it." Fatz huffs gently, without malice. He shakes his head with a great fondness. "I thought he'd whack me in the head with it. Gave me a right surprise to know he loved it. You were there, right?" He asks. Essie smiles. "Sure was, how can ya forget?" "Ya came in afta' we started handin' around gifts." "Yeah." She waves it off. "I came in and he had the thing in the air chasin' it around by himself. Begged and begged the first BB to throw it and couldn't convince him for the life of him. Shoved eachother around until they got sick of it. Big boy was a bit too fat to grab that disc outta the air though." She shakes her head. Fatz laughs haughtily. "Ya know he'd call ya a hog for that one. Who are ya gonna trade insults with now?"

Esmerelda's eyebrows pinch. Fatz regrets his choice of words. "Ya know, I reckon I DON'T know."

The silence takes over again. The lamp behind the two of them glows, a nice, warm yellow bulb inside. The wind outside howls, the sunset twisting quickly, now it's dark and dreary. Faintly, the floorboards creak, the house shifting on it's foundation.

The silver-back of the group leans back, letting the gravity take her and she lounges across the couch. "I don't wanna think that he's gone. Dead. I just can't believe it. I don't wanna."

Fatz slowly tries to meet her level, but he groans as he lowers himself down with his elbow. "Ooh, yeah. I'm getting too old." The complaints flow. Essie smacks his arm. He cringes back. "Ya didn't even listen." She pushes his forearm. Fatz scoffs, settling it back where it was. "I did too, now." "Then what'd I say?" She shoots back.

...

"Yeah alright, what was it? Sorry, baby." The elder of them, by only a year, sighs. Esmerelda rolls her eyes. "It don't matter now, I'm just belly achin'." She waves it off. Fatz scoots closer. "Nah, nah. What was it?"

"It's nothin'." She shrugs, ignoring his visage by turning away. Fatz leans in closer, his breath puffing by her cheek. "Ohh, I know yer lyin' to me. C'mon, Banana Bunch, spill it."

"Ohhhh, it's nothin'..." She hums. "*Smmmmmmmmmmmmm-*" Fatz sticks his lips to her neck, pressing a big ol kiss to the length. "*mmmmmmmmMOOCH!*" He releases her in time. "What's the talk?"

Essie sighs, her resolve broken to pieces like icicles under a truck's tires. "I just miss 'im. I can't say I was quite as close as y'all was, but. Yeah. I miss 'im. It do hurt. All the laughin', and the pickin' at eachother. It's just sad how it happened. He had some good years left in him. Only thirty-four and dead as a cooked ham." She shakes her head gently, looking to the blanket spread across the couch. "I DON'T wanna believe it. Poor little fella neva' even got what he was always singin' about. Makes me feel bad for 'im. All he eva' wanted was those stars and havin' someone ta hold 'im. It makes me real sad he never got either of those things. I'm just happy I've got ya now. Don't you tell nobody I said." She whacks him without any force. But she swings her arm over his shoulder, a breath untensing her muscles as she leans into him, clinging to his shoulders like a little gorilla infant.

Fatz's chocolate eyes drift to the same blanket. Esmerelda's hand is brought into the warmth of his, he pats over the back of her hand, rubbing across the bones beneath. "Yeah..."

...

The banister above them creaks hard. The two primate's lift their heads to the source of the noise. Mitzi's golden pigtails swish away from their eyes.

Esmerelda calls up, leaning to see past the wooden rods. "Baby Girl? You up there? I know ya ain't Beach cuz he left with all that hair cut off. Whatcha doin'' up there?"

Nobody responds.

"I'm sahrry for what ya heard before." Essie tries, genuine in her tone.

Still, nothing.

The floor above creaks, going away from them. The two look to eachother, matching expressions written over them. Fatz draws in a big breath. Emerelda beats him to the words. "I'm worryin' hard over that poor girl." "Yeah." Fatz taps his cheek idly, eyes turned to the ground. His socked feet slip over the old, old boards of the floor. "Those two acted like siblings all right. I know she thought the same thing too. Her, Beach and Dook always acted like they came outta the same house as soon as they joined the band, acting like brothers and sister." Out the window, he spies a glittering snowflake. He focuses on that, watching as it falls. "I'm not really too sure about that now, though. I thought they all thought of eachother like that, heck I saw BB and Dookey as the type of friends that are close enough to treat eachother brotherly, for a while. Not so sure now." His eyes shut, rubbed by his thick and calloused fingertips

"Why's that?" Esmerelda twiddles her long nails on the cup of the socket of her eye, feeling along it. Fatz shrugs, weak. "I dunno if I should say. That's nun' a my business." His fingers wiggle. Esmerelda's head dips back with a very sure hum. "Ah... I get you. Boy had feelin's that weren't so much following the stream of normal, huh? I could tell just by seein' 'im, i knew this really messed 'im up. Ya forgot I was in the house wit'cha guys didn't you?" She accuses, digging her finger into his side. He squirms, waving his hand in a alazy attempt to get her to stop. "It might'a slipped my mind, yeah. Speakin' of that, where's that puppet? Or erm. That,, lil' guy? I'm tryin'." He hums.

"I dunno." She tilts her head. "It's not the worst thing I imagined. Makes me wonder how he came about though. And why Rolfe made it out that he was a puppet." She squints. "But I don't really care too much. I'll say, yeah. It was more of a shock to find out about those two's little relationship to me. Beach Bear and his lovesick puppy. I guess he did find someone, then." She lifts her shoulders. "I dunno why they neva' said. We wouldn't of,, well, I wouldn't have minded. You know I'm real friendly with that kinda stuff." Her breath puffs out in a sigh.

"Yeah." Fatz nods slowly. "I had no idea. They kept it hidden for a while. I didn't know."

"They never were together."

Fatz and Esmerelda both jump, Essie clutches her fiancé's hand tight. Mitzi stands at the bottom of the stairs, so miraculously quiet that the creaks didn't sound as she went down. She rests her hand on the banister, her nails clicking as she clenches and releases the tightness in her muscles, over and over again. Fatz squints, pulling his hand free and testing his mobility. "What'cha mean? Didn't BB say somethin' 'bout Dook bein' the only man he loved?" Their leader quizzes, unsure of his own words. Mitzi shrugs to that, weak with her movement. "I dunno. But they never dated. I know it." She continues, eyes shining. Her hands draw to the front of her and she steps off of the stairs, facing them now. Fatz draws his head back "Whatta you talkin' about? You know somethin'." Fatz prods, knowing. Mitzi nods, then cocks her head. "A little. I don't want to spill everything."

Esmerelda lifts a shoulder from where she's still lounging on the couch. "Talking helps. And girl? You look like you want to talk."

The rodent pauses.

She nods gently. "I do." Her words come a little raspy. She wipes a finger under her sparkling eye. "I don't know what to say. I can't stop thinking about him. I don't... I don't know what to say."

Esmerelda offers her a cock of her head. "Whatever ya want, dear. It seems like ya already knew about those two before any of us. How'd ya find out about that?"

Mitzi remains quiet, looking to the floor.

She lifts her head, taking a breath. "Well... it was a little while ago. 'bout when I was twenty two, Dook was thirty two. I think. I'm not really sure. It doesn't matter none now."

...
One year ago. Showbiz Pizza Place.
...
The lights on the stage are blinding and bright, sharp and beaming like the rays of the sun. The atmosphere is warm and the air is filled with the sounds of children screaming and laughing, playing between the rows upon rows of tables and shooting space-ships on arcade screens. Mitzi stands atop the main stage in her usual spot, head tilted up, mouth open and spouting a held tune and bright green eyes closed, but she's still able to see the lights through her eyelids. The red and green twinkles, sparkling and happy.

But not as happy as Beach Bear is now.

Both Beach Bear and Dook are behind her in their spots, poking fun across the stage, talking and bickering quietly outside of their scripted acts and underneath her shockingly-good voice. They're right at the end of another day at Showbiz Pizza Place, the curtains closing as she belts out the last note. She drops her head and takes a deep breath in, attempting to reset her breathing. "Whoo ooh ooh ooh ooh! Nice one, Mitzi! Get it, girl!" Dook whoops across the stage. His leathered hands slap together like a muted clap. "Get it!" "Yeahhhh!!!" Beach Bear follows right after. "Keep that up and the circus will come knocking."

"Agh!" Mitzi whirls around, afronted. The curtains slide to a full close, swinging back and forth, touching gently. Fatz cracks his back, turning around without even picking up his keyboard. "Y'all got that, I'm layin' down." "How could you, Beach Bear? I'm not joining the circus!" Her hands set atop her hips. "I WOULD. But I'm not!" Fatz passes by her with a pat on her shoulder. "Sure yer not."

Mitzi scoffs.

"You'd fit right in." Beach Bear chuckles in good nature, but he leaves it there. "Anywa--"

"YER goin' to the circus, Beach Bear! Ya look like a damn giraffe bein' that tall! They'll get some hokey ta ride ya around tuggin' ya by a rope!" Dook speaks up, rife with imaginative stories. Beach Bear tries to retaliate, his paw lifted and expression lax, cooler than ever and ready to strike back, but Mitzi jumps to attention immediately, narrowing down a finger at Dook's fat nose. "Swear jar, swear jar!"

"*Doink!*"  "Ouch!" and then a ringing clatter follows. A quarter rolls along the ground. Mitzi bends and snatches it up, tucking it into the pocket hidden in her skirt. "Rude dog." She bites. Dook huffs in her direction, a smile across his face, lazy . "I coulda used that on Galaga." His arms cross. Mitzi giggles. "Now I'll use it on Pac-Man!"  "Hey hey hey now!" Beach Bear raises up on his surfboard, arm tuck up in the air to wave, then to point at Dook. "I take offense to that! Not only are you wrong, because it's ME who's tall and not my neck, I personally know a giraffe." He crosses his arms. Dook stumbles to spit out his words. "Whuuhbuh--! So do I, Beach Bear!" "ANH!" Beach Bear shushes him. "My turn, Baby Girl, hush that pretty mouth. I know one and she would strangle you if you compared her to me."

"PRETTY?!" Mitzi jolts, mouth agape. "Baby Girl?! You're calling that grease trap pretty?!" She shrieks. Dook gasps at that. "HOW DARE YOU?!" Beach Bear covers his mouth with a claw, then belts out. "It's not like that! I meant his tongue!"

"What in Christ are you talkin' about, Beach Bear?!" Dook slaps his hands atop his head. "Pretty?! This tongue? Beach Bear you don't even KNOW what I've done with this tongue! Actin' like you wanna find out! Mleeee--!" His tongue is stuck out, and quite far too, framed by two thick fingers in a rather rude display. Beach Bear jumps off of his surfboard, guitar in hand like an axe. Dook bolts to his feet, fists drawn to his chest like he's ready to fight. "AHAHAHAHA!" Beach Bear cackles without stop, bending in half. Mitzi crosses her arms in front of her chest, hooking a finger under a strap beneath her sweater and adjusting it. The wires in her undergarments will never not dig into her ribs. But neither will the two of these guys fighting. "You two are more childish that ANYONE I've ever met!" She harrumps, turning her head away from the sight. Beach Bear gasps.

"*THUMP*"

The stage rattles and Mitzi wobbles. Beach Bear drops to his knees in front of her. "No! NO! Queen Mitzi I BEG!!! I'm not a child! I'm grown! I tend to all of the castle gardens and I ride my pony with the utmost royalty I exude! Don't banish me under that name!" He pleads. Mitzi rubs her chin. "But yout act most like it! It's more befitting than Princess, my dear Beach Bear." "I prefer Prince, my Queen." "Then, my dear Prince. You've come to me to beg on you knees, but I see no effort to correct your childishness. You and Sir Dook, are banished." She turns away fromm the two. Dook looks around. Then he points a finger to his chest. "Me?"

"Yes." Mitzi nods.

"*WHUMP*"

Dook falls to the floor clutching his chest. "My heart!!! My honor! The humaneetee!!!!"

Mitzi giggles behind her back, pressing her fingers to her lips.

The stage goes quiet all of a sudden, besides some hard footsteps. Mitzi turns, thinking one of them ran off of the stage and ready to give chase momentarily. But the sight that greets her is far more concerning. "WHAT are you two doing?!" She squeaks. Beach Bear struggles as he's trying to lift Dook off of the ground, one thigh hoisted up while his arm is cupped around the other's waist. Dook wheezes as he's cinched to the other's chest, struggling. "Ain't workin, Baby---! AAAAGH!!!!" Beach Bear jumps with him and Dook slides right into his arms. Beach Bear groans as he hefts Dook up, panting, looking to Mitzi devilishly. "I'mma throw him at cha--!"

"Beach Bear, no!" Mitzi cries, backing up. Dook writhes and his arms clutch around the bear's neck. "Yer gon' drop me!"

"One!" Beach Bear swings him forward. Dook yelps. "Stahp it!" "Two!" He's swung again. "BABY NO! I told ya NO Beach Bear!" "Ttttthreeeeee!" "BEACH BEAR!"

...

"*Smooch!*"

Beach Bear stands stock still, mouth agape. Dook giggles suddenly, his cheeks flushing harder than a cherry tomato. His laughs grow nervous as the polar bear looks to him, dumbfounded. "Whoops, my bad. But put me down! I'm done playin' wit' you."

"Your choice." Beach Bear shrugs. "WaGH!" Dook drops just an inch or two and shrieks out like he's been stabbed. Again. Their guitarist laughs brightly, swinging the dog back and forth. "I'm not putting you down for anything. I'm never gonna get another chance like this again. Don't you like being treated like a baby?" Beach Bear rocks the grown man back and forth, his strong arms cradling underneath his knees and his sholderblades. "NO!" Dook clutches him tighter. "No, I don't!" They continue to sway. Dook relaxes into his arms now that he knows he's not going to be dropped. "This's stu-pid." He kicks a foot out, just into the air. It drops after a second. Beach Bear looks to Mitzi, and she merely quirks a brow at him. Beach Bear does the same, then lifts a single finger where Dook can't see it.

Time passes. Dook adjusts in his arms. Closes his eyes.

"Yeh okay. I get it now." Dook folds his hands together, resting them at his stomach. His long, fluffy tail twitches where it's hanging in the air, swinging, then hanging without movement. Mitzi cups her hands together, holding them at her mouth where it's stretched into a huge smile. Her eyes center on Dook as he simply lounges in the other's arms, but her eyes flick to Beach Bear. A warm, goopy-- the goopiest smile she's ever seen is slid over his face like hot butter, stuck there all on it's own and directed... right on Dook's face. Mitzi's heart flares.

She knows that look.

That's the look she gets when...

Beach Bear's blues flicker to hers, and then right back. His face drops with dread, and he looks to the floor. Mitzi smiles regardless. She pats the tall man's arm. "I'm gonna go. Y'all can grab the microphones, right?"

"Mmnyeah..." Dook's glove-clad paw wavers in the air, then flops back down on his belly, wavering it slightly. Beach Bear nods, his smile back, crow's feet excentuated by it. "Yeah I got it, Mitzi. Be careful, okay? It's wet out there. You've only had your license for so long, I don't wanna see it flushed down the drain." He shakes his head.

Mitzi nods. "Yeah, I will be. I don't go fast."

"Unless it's for coffee." He points, smiling bright.

"Unless it's for coffee." She agrees, her buck-teeth shining in her smile. She turns her foot to the side, venturing closer to the curtains of the stage, out of sight of the two animals. "Y'all be careful too. Is Dook drivin' you back?"

"Yuh." Dook swings his hand out. "Mbhbbhlbh."

Beach Bear furrows his brows. "I think I'm gonna be driving HIM back to the motel. He's actually sleeping right now. Baby style." "Mm not." The dog says with ease, eyes unopening. Beach Bear snickers, ears moving, catching the sound of the curtain swishing. He untenses, relaxing now that it's only them. "You look like you are." "Noooooooo..." A whine breaks past Dook's lips. Beach Bear presses his nose to Dook's round one, unable to move his hands. "Hush. I'll carry you back. Go to bed." "Yer not my Momma." "Yup. And you're the opposite of ugly." "..."

Dook lifts his head up, tired eyes blinking open. He works that over in his brain, the muscle chugging along like a train with a singular coal.

"Awwww... You think I'm cute?" His long tail wags belatedly. Beach Bear rests his cheek atop the other's forehead. "Maybe." They sway, one with the motions. Dook doesn't hesitate to lay a kiss atop the other's nose, curling close as he can with what mobility he can gather. "Yer cuter." He smiles, his tail thwacking against the polar bear's thighs. Beach Bear hefts him closer, bowing his head into the other's chest. "Not a competition. But if it was you'd be winning in a drop-dead-gorgeous competition." He smiles deeply, the lines of his smile like gouged centers of his emotion. Dook coos brightly, arms like pillows that cradle Beach Bear like the only thing in the world. "Yer too sweet. I don' deserve yer love." The dogs brows pinch past his smile, turning it melancholy. Beach Bear lifts gently, his thumb brushing across those taught, naked eyebrows, carressing them softly until they untense. Dook's breath hitches, loud enough to hear across the stage. Beach Bear churrs in his throat, a pretty chuff, like a breathy, deep purr. The two of them hold tight to eachother, rocking in the middle of the stage, encased in their own little world. "I love ya too much." The spaniel croons, a watery spark in his tone. Beach Bear huffs gently, a smile creeping across his features. "Then don't ever stop."

"I can't."

Their foreheads touch, they lean into eachother, quiet aside from the sounds of breathy chuffs and the hesitant start of light growls.

Dook draws in a harsh breath, like he's preparing himself. "Eres mi corazón, mi alma, la estrellas y la galaxia."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Beach Bear chuckles, his chest jumping with the motions. Dook reaches, rubbing across the scars under his pecs. "Eh. I'll buy ya a dictionary." He hums, red in the face, just a little bit. Beach Bear shakes his head. "Sure you will. You'll forget just so you can keep telling me stuff you don't want me to hear." He calls the other out, docile for now. "I like it anyway. Tell me that more. Puppy"

"I won' forget." The dog's tail slaps hard. "Cubby.

"I like that one too."

Mitzi steps off of the stage, lowering herself to the carpet beneath. She brushes her skirt down, bringing both feet to the floor. Beach Bear jumps, his ears swivled. He watches her go with an anxiety in his eyes, forgetting she was there at all, sure that she had left. Mitzi smiles up at him, bringing her pinched fingers to, and sliding them across her lips. Beach Bear's dread deepens further. She waves it off with a giggle, disappearing past the sway of off-white curtains. Dook cocks his head. "Whazz the deal?" He attempts to peer past the bear's shoulder. Beach Bear shrugs. "Nothing. Nothing." He lowers. Dook whines. "I thought you said ya'd carry me back?"

"Yeah, lemme carry you around in front of these kids and their families, I'm sure it won't make headliners that we're two queers hangin' around in a kids' restaurant." The polar bear cracks back, setting Dook on his feet rather abruptly. Dook stumbles, clutching his arm. "Whuh--?? Queers? Is that really whatchu think of me, Beach Bear?" The spaniel speaks, heartbroken clearly and more than confused about this sudden change. Beach wiggles free, turning on his heel. "We sure look like it to Mitzi." He snags the top of his guitar, and he ducks around the backdrop, storming past the scenery towards the back of the restaurant, towards the band room.

Dook remains. He wrings his hands, flicking them outward with harsh motions. What? The hell just happened? Mitzi? What? Was she not gone? A heated blush creeps up his neck, prickling his fur up, rife with embarrassment. He squeezes his paws, flicking one glove off and to the ground, eyes caught dead on where the polar bear left. His claws sink into his own neck. Did he fuck up all over again? Like with-? Like with----?

His heart beats faster than his drums.

But it doesn't end there.

Later that night, Mitzi wanders around the outside of the motel, her silky nightgown sweeping by her ankles, a thin, but fluff accented robe wrapped around her and dragging across the ground. Both articles shimmer a pale green. It's a little extravagant to be wearing, as she's toeing the sidewalk in front of people's doors at a motel, all of the lights inside off while many sleep. Some other noises arise from certain doors, but it's easy to ignore, as they don't sound like noises of trouble.

But she can't sleep. Not now.

It's not that she's restless, or that's she's refusing to. Sleep simply won't come to her, and that's fine by Mitzi. She's up on her own accord, her delicate forest nails splayed over the sides of her robe as she tucks it close, feeling across the uber-soft fuzz of the rarely-tarnished robe. It was a gift recently, if you count recently as four weeks ago. Out of the blue. It was from one of her friends on the cheer squad, one of the only ones who followed her in her choice of colleges. It was very sudden and not expected whatsoever to be handed the wrapped present, but not unwelcome. Of course she thanked the other girl up and down, very excited and grateful for the random present, explained to be a late, or early, birthday gift. And it's a present that's been worn almost every single night since she got it a month ago. The two of them have a matching set now. But while Mitzi's robe and gown is in a pale mint, hers is in a deep, royal plum.

Her mind wanders, as do her bare feet. Dangerous, yes. But the slight cold of the sidewalk soothes her over-heated paws, warmed thouroughly from laying in bed for hours on end without sleep. She passes by Rolfe's door, peering into the light that holds the room in a stasis. Rolfe writes across a typed out paper, sets it to the side, and then picks up another with Earl right at his side. The puppet lays curled in his lap, eyes covered with a fuzzy sleeping mask. Rolfe leans back in the chair with a tense sigh, rubbing his palm along the puppet's head. Earl shuffles from the movement, almost seeming to lean into it. As much as felt and fabric can.

Mitzi continues.

The next door she comes across that contains one of their members is Billy Bob and Looney Bird's. It's dark inside, but the moonlight beams in, ghosting a vision to her eyes. Billy Bob lays in one bed, curled like the grizzly he is and berift of any blankets, slung across the floor instead. There's another bed, empty, with the covers thrown over like Looney Bird got out. She creeps forward, looking further. Looney Bird holds a pen-light in his mouth on the floor, scribbling furiously across blue paper. How curious.

She walks again. Fatz and Esmerelda's light is on, then flicks off, and as such, she continues on. The next door is where Beach Bear and Dook are.

She peeks in, since the light is off.

Dook lays right across Beach Bear, faces very close to eachother. Mitzi jolts back, unsure of what she's seeing in the dark. After a moment, she slides a hesitant eye past the curtain inside. Dook shuffles, and it becomes clear that he's dead asleep. Beach Bear lays a hand just above his backside, just by his fluffed up tail. Another is laid across his back. Although they're in the dark, even still. Mitzi can see Beach's eyes gleaming in the moonlight that slides across the crack of the curtain into the room. She raises her hand.

"*Tink tink tink*"

The window clacks quietly, her nail contacting the glass. Beach Bear jolts, drawing the spaniel closer to himself in a protective hold. Dook's arm lifts and his hand slaps down onto the polar bear's face, not so gentle in his state of sleep. But once that's happened he rubs across the spot with his thumb, lips smacking in what looks to be an apologetic mumble. Beach Bear shuffles in the bed, raising his back off of the matteress. Dook rises with him, lifting up into a sit with his eyes pinched closed. Beach Bear carresses his face, drawing him back into his chest. Dook's cheek squishes into the bountiful plumes of silky white fur, the hollow strands brushing over the bridge of his nose. His dark eyes are tired, slipping shut in mere moments. Dook curls his arms around the polar bear's waist, clutching the bit of pudge leftover from the winter, giving him love handles to hold. Beach Bear turns his eyes to the window. Mitzi waves a tad, but she knows that the streetlight behind her is probably turning her figure into a terrifying siloutte. She lifts her fingers, three, and then flips her hand downward between her ears, an M. Beach Bear leans back, one hand leaving Dook to reach towards the side of the bed. Slowly, the wooden handle of a bat becomes clear. Mitzi's ears swivel back, since she's clearly scared him. Beach Bear scoots to the side of the bed, gently depositing Dook on the empty matteress. His tail flips back and forth with agitation. Beach Bear merely shoves the pillow from the opposite bed into the drummer's arms. The swinging of his tail bates, but doesn't stop entirely, flipping around uncomfortable. Beach Bear instead takes the pillow as the dog whines and then Beach grabs his arm, turning him over face down. Dook turns his head to be able to breathe, and then his tail stops. Beach Bear lifts, clutching the wooden weapon in his hands. Slow, he creeps to the door.

The door swings inward fast as all get out and Beach Bear suddenly appears on the sidewalk in front of her, grappling her by the hair in just seconds and holding it tight. She grips his hand. Beach Bear lets her free just a second after. "Holy shit, Mitzi you scared the FUCK out of me!" He whispers. "What the hell are you doing peeking in windows?? I could've been naked! Dook could've been naked! Either of us could've been naked!"

"The light was off! I tried ta tell you it was me!" She shoots back in the same tone. "I'm sorry! I just--- I was walkin' around and I saw you were still up. Is that so bad?"

"It would've been bad if I cracked your skull open, yeah! I could've seriously annihilated you with Dook's bat in just one swing if I didn't see how thin you were when I came out!" He points the end of the bat at the window. "Brains over the glass. Seriously." He holds his arms out. Mitzi lifts hers. "I know! But you didn't!" "I could've!" "But it didn't happen."

Beach Bear sighs exponentially hard. He turns around, leaning into the doorframe and setting the bat by the side of the door. He pulls the door cracked after, not closed, cracked. "Jesus." He rubs over his face, turning back to the rodent of the group. "God, Mitz'. You're gonna give me a heart condition. What's got you up this late anyway?" He questions. Mitzi holds her robe shut, even though the ties are already in place and it's quite warm outside, holding it just to be an extra support. "It's only one."

"One in the morning. You should be in bed." He shakes his head. Mitzi does as well. "I'm twenty two, Beach Bear. I don't have to be in bed." She retaliates. Beach Bear sighs. "You're right! But still, being twenty two doesn't give you the right to go peeking around in private rooms. Or avoid questions. So?" Beach Bear rolls his paws in a circle. "What's the deal with this?"

Mitzi rubs her thumb over her lips.

She actually doesn't have a reason to be outside right now. Not a good one anyway. But something's been niggling at her mind.

"Can I talk to you? Just, just to talk. I don't know. I can't sleep." She shrugs lamely, tucking her robe close to herself like it's the comfort of the person who gave it to her. Her tail curls to her leg, lonely in the soft warmth of a summer night. Beach Bear's brows pinch. He's quiet for just a second. "I mean. Yeah, why not? I was up anyway. Just give me a second." He turns around, knocking open the cracked door. She waits.

Beach Bear returns with the duffel bag he holds his things in slung over his shoulder. It's a beach bag, printed across with zagging lines. "What's that?" Mitzi cocks her head at him. Beach Bear waves his hand, which jingles metallically. "Let's go to Dook's van. I don't really want to be out in the open." The guitarist shrugs gently. Mitzi's finger slowly slides over. "Why don't we just...? go inside?" She offers. Beach Bear hums. "Uh. no. I don't wanna wake Dook up. He sleeps like a rock but he woke up just a bit ago, he'll probably wake back up if I go in there again. And." Beach Bear rolls his shoulders. "I don't wanna smoke in the motel and get extra charges for it." He cocks his head briefly. Mitzi jolts back. "You smoke?"

"Yeah?" Beach Bear hums, twiddling his claws on the strap of the bag. "Sometimes. Not cigarettes. I thought I told you years ago?" He squints. Mitzi shakes her head, following along as Beach Bear steps off of the sidewalk. "No?" She pads across the parking lot gently on her bare feet. Beach Bear goes along without any caution, going around the back of Dook's shoddily painted van, the paint half stripped on the front. It's going to be redone again soon, since the first mural wasn't to Dook's liking. He tried doing it at an actual shop where you can get it done, but they didn't exactly let him work on it himself. It resulted in his van being painted down in black gloss without any primer and it bubbled up awfully. Of course Dook nearly got the police called on himself as a result of him going nearly batshit and threatening the worker responsible for the disrepair of his already hard worked on van with the bat in his trunk. Yeah he shelled out the small cost for the labour put into it, but he wasn't happy about it whatsoever. Called up every single one of the members of the band to tell them about it. What an eventful day.

"Mitzi." Beach Bear calls. Mitzi steps away from staring down the silver metal streaked with melted black, peering into the back of the van. Beach Bear is inside, hands in the duffel bag. A vase like object sits next to the cloth, empty and rife with what looks to be mold at the base of it. Mitzi cocks her head. That looks like... she gasps in a whisper. "You smoke POT?!" She belts out. Beach Bear shushes her. "Shhh, no. No I don't." He winks, his voice quieting into a whisper. "Kinda? Yes? Sometimes?" He shakes his hand back and forth. "Yeah. Yeah I do." He admits lamely. "Is that...? Like I can just put it up. I don't have to." He reaches for the glass to hide it once more. Mitzi raises her paws, shaking them. "No! No it's okay! I um... I know someone else who did it. Does it. Sometimes. I just. I didn't expect it. It makes sense though. I think it's fine, it's just how you use it." She quotes from memory, again, from her friend. Mitzi shrugs. "I'm okay with it. I like the smell. I um." She smiles a little bit, but it's sheepish. "I kinda wanted to try it when she did."

Beach Bear clicks his tongue. "Fatz would whoop my ass black and blue if he knew I let you smoke pot." He lets the bong remain on the garish orange carpet inside the van. Courtesy of Uncle Fido. The bong itself is of frosted blue, with clear stars revealing the inside without color. Beach Bear dips inside and continues to take out the items he's wanting. Mitzi huffs gently, but it was worth a shot. "Yeah... But he doesn't have to know."

"It's pretty hard not to know." Beach Bear shrugs. "Unless you want to smell like my cologne when you leave and I don't want any of the other members of the band freaking out because you smell like me that much. Don't wanna come off like a creep." He cocks his head to her. Mitzi hums. "Um. No offense." She squints. "I don't like you like that..." She waves between the two of them. "And the rest of them wouldn't think you're like that, Beach. It'll be okay. We've all known eachother so long." She shrugs. Beach Bear grimaces. "I don't want to get on that train of thought, it's not gonna happen anyway so neither of us have to worry about them thinking that."

"So..? I can?" Mitzi clutches her paws together. Beach Bear scoffs gently. "You're really different right now, I thought you'd hate it. But the answer is most likely no." He sets the items on the carpet, zipping up the duffel bag. He flops into a sit, then grabs and flicks open a jar, getting to work with packing the greens. "Did you want to talk or did you just want to beg me for a hit?"

"To talk." She says. Mitzi jumps and pushes herself into the van, brushing her tail down. She sits down in the van, legs folded to one side as she puls her nightgown down and over her feet. She reaches out, pulling one of the doors shut. She lifts out for the other one, then brings it all the way closed. Beach Bear grumbles. "Mmh, sure you are, I don't wanna smoke you out. Maybe keep that open." He waves his hand to motion that. Mitzi waves the hand away. "I'll be okay."

Beach Bear stares her down. She stares back, harder. Beach lifts up his hand. "Yo, you're really pushin' it now." He bites. Mitzi harrumps. "I've BEEN in a van when someone's smoking, I don't want you to get arrested." She tries. Beach Bear huffs. "Man, whatever. It's your own fault. If they ask I'm telling them you tried to break into our room." He takes in a deep breath and brings the rim of the glass to his mouth, flicking up a lighter to the bowl. He draws the potent off-white smoke into the glass, the bowl flaming a cherry red. He lifts that and the smoke goes into his lungs, releasing into the van like a giant cloud. Beach Bear drools with his eyes wide, his arm just over his mouth. "Water--"

"Oh. It didn't sound like there was water in that, Beach Bear." Mitzi shakes her head. "No shit--!" Beach Bear coughs hard, releasing it into his elbow rife with thick fur. "God-- ooh--" He stabs his nail down, at the duffel bag. "Water. Bag."

Mitzi jolts forward and she unzips it, digging through all the things in there. Beach Bear jumps and grabs her hand, bringing it out of the bag. "Wait! I got stuff in there ya don't need ta see-- KEH KEH-- fucK--! ugh--"

The water is grabbed and his throat is wet, soothed with liquid. A good portion of the water bottle is then poured into the smoking receptacle. Beach Bear sets it down. Mitzi eyes it hard. But she's taken away from it by the words that come from Beach Bear. "So? You wanted to talk?"

"Oh. Yeah." Mitzi rubs her hands together, bare. "Um. I..." She looks to the carpet beneath them. This dirty, old, nasty rug thats been in here proabably as long as Uncle Fido owned Dook's van, and seeing it's from the 70's, it's pretty old now. "uhhh..." She clicks her nails together, eyes drifting to the polar bear's chest. His scars sheen oddly under the dim of the streetlights. Beach Bear takes in a deep breath. The air is released. "You're gonna ask me something about being trans, right? You're staring."

"No! No!" Mitzi wavers her hands, taking her gaze off of her older bandmate. "I'm sorry. No, really. Not at all. I mean I'm always going to be curious, but it's not really anything I NEED to know. No, I'm not asking about that. But it might be kind of like, in the same area?" She pushes her hands around kind of like in a circle. "Like. Being like that, kind of. Like, what's all the letters again? The BLT thing?" She smiles gently. Beach Bear snorts. "That's a sandwich. Lgbtq, Mitzi. Do you know what it stands for?" He questions with a cock of his head. Mitzi shrugs. "No. One means gay right?" She asks. Beach Bear nods. "Mmhm, yup. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer." He lists off with his fingers. "I think there's more. Definitely more. Like intersex people who were born with both just naturally. Are you asking specifically like--- like are you asking for anything specifically?" Beach Bear grasps the bong again, preparing to light it up. Mitzi hums. "Umm. No. But. My friend told me she's a lesbian and I don't know what that means. She was already really embarrassed so I didn't pry."

"Oh. Well that's cool." Beach Bear shrugs. "That means she likes girls. Like. Loves girls. Y'know what I mean. Wants to date them." He flicks the lighter and the process starts again. The bong bubbles this time and he lets the smoke in and then out, blowing it into the haze of the van. He holds it out without thinking and Mitzi takes it. Beach Bear starts talking with his hands. "Like, I'm sure you don't need an explanation." He shrugs, eyes on the roof. "Yeah, but I don't mind to hear." Mitzi nods, rubbing over the glass in her hands. Beach Bear cocks his head. But he continues. "Yeah. Like. It's just like being straight, which that just means that you like women if you're a man, and it means you're straight if you like men while being a woman. Like you." He holds his hand out to her. She cocks her head back. "I think." Beach Bear corrects. She shrugs. The polar bear hums. "I'm just spitballing." He offers. Mitzi rubs her fingertips across her silky nightgown. "I dunno! I like lots of people." She tilts her head. "I dated that one boy in Freshman year, and I've had a lot of boyfriends from when I was a little kid. I'm friends with this one girl, and then I still hang out with Carly from last year." She offers. Beach Bear's head tilts to the side, golden hair swishing with it and into his eyes. He doesn't move it away. "Uhhh... Yeah. So I guess for the record, you're straight. Maybe. It doesn't have to stay the same, and of course, I'm not you." He holds his paw out towards her. She tilts the bong like a motion to that. "I guess so. I've never really thought of dating a girl. Helen talks about it. But I don't know if she's ever actually been with one."

"Wait. Wait wait wait. Henny? Like Helen Henny?" Beach Bear raises his paw. Mitzi looks to the window of the van, debating jumping out and running away with the bong in her hands just for that question. "Uhm. Maybe?" She tries. "I..."

Beach Bear shakes his head out. "That's downright insane, girl. You're hanging out with our competitor?" He prods. "She's Helen's granddaughter!" Mitzi tries. Beach Bear shakes his head again, his hair sweeping over his nose. "She's still the relative of someone working in the same restaurant against us. I don't judge, but-- Gimmie that, I need to think. Why are you even holding it, Mitz??" He reaches out, snagging the bong from her hands. Mitzi gapes. "YOU handed it to ME, Mr. Bear! That's NO fair to accuse me." She huffs, arms crossed and head turned away. Beach Bear rolls his eyes. "Oh ha ha, like I missed that." He lights up, drawing another hit off of it. The smoke in the van is added to, Mitzi lets the smell stick in her lungs with a deep breath. Beach Bear rolls his eyes once again. "Oh my god, Mitzi just hit it." He holds it out. "You're sitting over there like a drug rat, no offense. Like shit, you're hounding for it more than Dook does for my fur." He huffs. Mitzi takes it with a skip in her heart beat. "Okay!"

Beach Bear slaps his hand across his face. "I already know I'm gonna regret this." He groans. "Just please don't over-do it. Don't do what I do and make the entire thing white. Just draw in a little bit of it." The polar bear pleads. Mitzi shrugs. "I'll be fine! How do you do it?" She requests his help like an enthusiastic child. Beach Bear holds his hand out, anxiety clear. "If you don't know then just give it to me, Mitz."

"I got it, I got it! I just wanted to make sure." She sets the apparatus on the floor. She hunches over it just a little bit, pressing her lips there, but frankly it's a pretty big bong. She giggles stupidly. "Helena's is smaller."

"She trans too?" Beach Bear chuckles madly. "Don't answer that I'm joking, I'm joking. I don't wanna know, I'm far too old and I really don't care to know what that girl's genital situation is." He waves his hand. Mitzi lifts a shoulder. "Actually? I don't know. She hasn't said anything about it. But i didn't know YOU were for a long long time. So, who knows?" She sticks her mouth back onto the top. Beach Bear tosses over a Zippo with a Star Trek sticker slapped on the side of it. Mitzi picks it up and eyes it down, confused. "Does Dook smoke too?" She questions. Beach Bear wiggles his hand back and forth. "Yeah? Don't tell him I said so. He smokes with me when he wants but he only smokes cigarettes when he's playing poker. You really don't pay attention." He shrugs. Mitzi lifts her shoulder. "Huh, I guess not. I like watching the cards. Helen doesn't smoke cigarettes." She hums.

Beach Bear's brows furrow. "Wow, I still can't believe it. So not only are you hanging out with our competitor, she's also smoking pot? That's crazy, man. I didn't take her to be like that. Maybe when she was like. Like you remember she had brown hair didn't you? But she would've been too young. She looked like a hippy. Actually she looked a lot like Helen Reddy. You think her last name's fake?" He questions. Mitzi's brows furrow hard. "Now you listen now and you listen good. She's not like that. That was her grandmother. Helena's great. Just because we're competing in sales it doesn't mean we can't be friends. I'm ashamed of you, Beach Bear, I expected different from you. She's a wonderful person! She's her granddaughter, Beach, I think that's fair." Her arms cross. Beach Bear's paws raise. "Okay. Alright. Granddaughter. I won't push anymore. You're right. But i'm just thinking, like. You bring up all this stuff about this one girl for weeks on end, and now I find out that it's Helen. Helen's granddaughter. Helena. Whatever. Which is fine!" Beach Bear wavers his hands at the hard look he gets. "But like. You talk so much about her now, and you're hanging out with her, and she's smoking pot? Is that why you're so chill with me doing it?" He pries. "Does she not let you hit hers or something?"

"She doesn't want me to rely on it." She shrugs. "Or be the reason I get addicted. I don't wanna throw all this out but she kind of had a problem a bit ago. She doesn't want me to do the same thing. She um. She." Mitzi flicks her finger between her and Beach Bear, near her lips. Beach Bear's eyes blow straight out of his skull, to the moon. He leans forward with the force of it. "WHAT. You're getting shotguns from Helen Henny?! Mitzi..." He shakes his head. "I don't know you at ALL, girl. What's up with that? She's not using you, right? Is she the same girl who got you that set you're wearing?" He points Mitzi up and down.

...

Mitzi takes and fold her robe over her nightgown. "SO?! What's the problem with that? She has one too! It's purple! I bet you do shotguns with Dook!" She points him down. Beach Bear scoffs hard. "When I do it it's because he ASKED." "So you KISSED him then!" She accuses without evidence, since her own experience was being blown smoke from an inch away. Beach Bear points at the smoking apparatus on the ground. "You haven't hit that at all, drug mouse! You begged for it!" "You're avoiding my questions!" "Those weren't questions those were accusations, Ms. I Wanna Smoke Pot Because My Friend Does. What's up with that?! You shouldn't even hit that you--!" Beach Bear lunges suddenly. Mitzi grasps and scuffles back with the bong, holding it to her chest. Thinking quick she sticks it straight down the front of her shirt, right in the breadbox area. "You can't get it my boobs are in the way! If you touch me I'll scream!"

"Mitzi shut the f--!! I'm not touching you why would you say that?!!" Beach Bear snaps suddenly. "Damn girl! That's fucked up! Do you want people coming out here thinking I'm trying to hurt you?! Chill out! Hit that! You clearly need it!" He huffs with a deep emotion, sweeping his hair back behind his head, panting suddenly. "Like not really, but. It's fuckin' hot in here, pass it or hit it. Christ." He scratches at his chest. "Like shit. I came out here to smoke. It's like two in the morning and I'm more stressed out than I was."

Mitzi shrugs. "Sorry." She drags the bong out of the band of her nightgown. "Aww, dang it! Also you owe me like six quarters for that entire thing you said." She mourns the loss of the cleanliness of her silky nightgown, now that there's an ash and small resin smear on the inside now. She sets the bong down and Beach Bear sits up, grabbing the lighter. "Whatever, just worry about breathing it in, I'll get the bowl for you." He offers. Mitzi shakes her head, but Beach Bear stops that notion. "Nope. My weed my rules. I never thought I'd have to say that to you. See, right now you should be Dook." He starts to recount older events. "You should be Dook and Dook would be crushing my leg hitting this and passing it, granted he microphones that thing HARD talking about Star Trek or Star Wars or some shit, but now I gotta talk about what's it's like being a lesbian and helping you figure out that this girl wants in your pants. I don't mind to! But I do when this could be happening differently, I'm MORE stressed than I was thinking you were a murderer or Dook's mugger back for seconds."

"She's not! My garments are mine and mine only!" Mitzi cries. Beach Bear rolls his eyes. "Ya got big ol' ears and no ear drums. In one ear and out the other. Hit it or quit it."

"Alright!" She sticks her lips to the top of it. Beach Bear slicks her hair back over her scalp and he flicks the lighter to flame, bringing it to the toasted green in the bowl. Mitzi starts drawing it in. The bowl is lifted far sooner than she'd like, but even just that amount that she breathes in is overwhelming. She begins to cough out the miniscule amount of smoke and Beach Bear presses the water bottle into her hands, snatching the bong away. "Thank everything, thank the stars." He flicks the lighter and takes absolutely no caution for his well-being, sucking on that thing like-- well he can't say what he wants to say, but it's not hard to read between the lines. Happiness without the H. The bong goes white and he sucks it all down, holding it in for a second. Then it all goes out, smooth like butter. He sinks to the floor of the van, hands on his belly, relaxed like he's on the beach in a bed of white sand. Mitzi drops to the floor like a stone, curling as she coughs. Beach Bear clicks his tongue. "First time for everything. Hey, I'm glad you did it with me and not her. Well, it's not that she's bad, she's just a kid. That came out really bad. Like I don't hate her. I'm just saying like. I'm glad I know you're safe instead of doing this at a party or something or being pressured. Sometimes people don't know when they're pushing you too hard to do something you don't want to."

Mitzi nods to his words. She makes these funny half-gag half-choking noises, but she breathes heavily regardless. Beach Bear brushes her hair out of her face, fingers sliding across her sweat-wet forehead. "Ew."

A loud burp rattles in the van's interior. Mitzi covers her mouth, smoke following that noise. Beach Bear snorts a laugh, falling into harder chuckles. "I think you burped ALL of it up." He laughs. Miti shakes her head. "No--" She coughs hard, taking in a deep breath. "I'm fine. I got something."

"Oh. Good." Beach Bear takes and pokes around in the bowl with the sharp tip of his nail. "It's cashed anyway." He takes the bowl and slaps the top over his palm, the ash falling into his hand. He shakes his hand off, leaving the ash to fall to the carpet. Mitzi eyes him. "In Dook's van? You're gross." She judges him fully. Beach Bear's head shakes backwards. "Mannnnnnnn... He DON'T care. Do you know what he's done in this van, on this carpet? You'd be calling HIM gross, that dirty dog." He snorts. Mitzi jolts up into a sitting position, off of the dirty carpet with a horrified look. "No."

"Indeed." Beach Bear brings up some fingers as he counts it down, slapping them on his palm in rapid succession. "Front seat, back seat, passenger side, back here. Everything you can think of he's done with random women and probably Lady, maybe others. I don't think he ever brought her in here like that, though, thank my lucky stars. Those are just the things I can list without traumatizing you."

"Ewwwww..." Mitzi scoots as far as she can from the center of the carpet, the worse of the dirt being right there. Beach Bear laughs. "He did it there too."

"UGH!" Mitzi shrieks, lifting onto her feet and hunching in the van. "WHY DO YOU KNOW THIS?!" She cries, dragging her nightgown up to her knees. Beach Bear covers what he doesn't want to see with his hand since he's so low, laying on the dirty carpet like it doesn't bother him. "Too high, Mitzi. Dook tells me everything, INCLUDING all the details. It's like Christmas in July." He slaps his other hand around, procuring a jar. The bowl is packed again. Mitzi covers her ears. "Ewwwww.... Why, Beach Bear?"

"Because you badgered me for my Mary Jane." The polar bear snorts. "Now seriously, drop your skirt."

Mitzi lets it fall and Beach Bear drops his hand. "Thank you, my hand was getting tired of being a censor bar."

"I'm wearing shorts under this, Beach Bear." She yanks it straight up before he can cover his eyes again. Truth be told she's wearing a pair of baggy pink athletic shorts under the night gown. "I'm not going to wander around at night in my underwear, Beach." She drops the skirt with a glint of silver shining off of the street lamp. Beach Bear hums. "Yeah. That's good, glad you do. When did you get your belly button pierced?"

"Um." She starts. "Well..."

Beach Bear groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Helen did it."

"She has really steady hands!" Mitzi stomps, rocking the van. She flops down and it rocks more. "You're so judgement--!" "Okay! Sorry! I'm sorry. Stop moving. Please." Beach Bear hangs tight, hoping to GOD that Gloria's brakes don't give out like they have before.

Something underneath or inside of the van slips with a metallic shriek and the entire van jerks as it starts to roll backwards. "FUCK, SHIT!" "IT'S MOVING IT'S MOVING BEACH BEAR!"

"I KNOW THAT!" The polar bear jumps up and backwards, jamming himself over the back seats as it continues backwards. He scrambles and finally gets into the back seats, slamming his chest on top of the console between the two front seats. He sticks his arm out, too far to reach as the van rolls further. Beach Bear kicks himself closer and he punches the break, pressing it down hard with his fingertips. He strains to keep it held. "Mitzi get out."

"It's gonna roll!" "GET OUT OF THE CAR AND PUT IT IN PARK! PLEASE! THANK YOU! GESUNDHEIT!" Beach Bear shouts back, ringing in the van. Mitzi rushes to exit the van, swinging open the back door. She squeaks at the sight, there's a car right behind them and there's not enough room to get out correctly. Mitzi toes out of the van and on top of the person's parked car, crouching down and sliding off of the side. Her feet slam across the pavement and she wrenches open the passenger side door, reaching inside and grappling the clutch in her hand. She slides it into drive and then park again, hoping that will work. Beach Bear very slowly lets off of the brake pedal.

The van stays stock still. "Oh my heart." Beach Bear drops his head, still splayed across nearly the entirety of the van just to get to the brake. Mitzi clutches her own heart. "You're telling me! That was WORSE than getting my navel pierced!" She holds tight to the robe wrapped around her. "What are we gonna do?"

"Park it again." Beach Bear slowly begins to lift himself up. "His transmission is FUCKED if it can roll back like this, holy christ I'm glad we were here at least."

"I wish I WASN'T!" Mitzi shouts out. "That was horrifying, I'm not getting back in there." She crosses her arms. "Enh," Beach Bear shrugs, jimmying into the driver's seat, hunching over the wheel awkwardly. He finangles around and slides the whole seat all the way back just to fit insde. "Better that then it rolling into somebody's car. I was in it when it broke down in the middle of the highway. We had to roll it to the guardrail and wait for Uncle Fido to come down cuz he didn't want the cops snooping around it? For some reason?" He points to the vehicle. "It's just a van."

"I'm good, Beach Bear. Please just park it first." She pleads. Beach Bear lifts a hand. "Okay, okay. I thought you wanted to keep talking."

"Maybe when you get it parked."

"Sounds good, can you grab the keys please?"

She does as much, going around back, while standing on the other person's car again, to grab the keys. She throws them through the car, and then she's out once again, coming around the side to slap the passenger door shut. Beach Bear remains inside.

After a moment the van enters stage one of starting the engine. The entire thing stalls hard, then stops. It stalls again. Stops. Stalls.

Stops.

Finally on the last try and with vigourous gas pedal pumping, the whole thing rattles to life, the headlights beaming hard with a flicker. Beach Bear switches them off. The van moves forward, slow. Mitzi walks along side it, waiting behind the car adjacent to the empty spot. Beach Bear slides it right back into the spot they were in, perfect enough.

One of the doors to the motel swings open hard, and Dook stumbles out of the room with his pants not even on, standing in his underwear clutching the same bat beside his head that Beach Bear had just an hour ago, wavering it menacingly. "WHAT'S THE PROBLEM, HUH?! WHO'S IN THERE?!"

"Dook!" Mitzi rushes to squeeze between the cars. Dook rushes to her, basically dragging her into a head lock at his side. "Who was it?! Did they hurt you?! Did you maul 'em?! Please don't tell me you mauled them, Mitzi those court bills were AWFUL!" He whines. Mitzi chokes and gags, but not from the force, it's from the intense smell of body odor Dook's got going on. The driver side door opens and slams shut, and Beach Bear comes out with his hands up and straight in the air. "It was me, Officer LaRue! I drove the van!" His arms drop. "Your transmission's fucked by the way."

"Oh. Damn. It gave out again? Y'all okay?" Dook lets Mitzi go free. She gags violently, dropping to her knees. "Yeah I know it's busted. I ain't gotten time ta get a new one off'a Uncle Fido." His tired eyes center on Mitzi. "Whazz up with her?" "DEODORENT, Dook! Have you HEARD it's name in your LIFE?!" She wretches, having been caught so close. "Oh. Mah bad." He lifts his arm up, sniffing for the same smell. He recoils, coughing harshly. "Woof." He rubs his nose, and spits onto the ground without conscience, just wanting to rid his mouth from the faint bit of taste. "Egh."

"Nah, nah." Beach Bear stalks forward with a vengeance. "It can't be that bad that she's gagging, give that pit here." He beckons the dog even as he's walking. "Yeah okay, yer loss." Dook shrugs, lifting up his arm. Beach comes to him, but of course he's wildly taller than the five foot eight spaniel. Beach Bear hunches, not even getting as close as Mitzi did to check for himself. The polar bear jerks back with his eyes crossed in a daze, blues wide and his nose covered. "Sweet baby Jesus that is RANK!"

"I told ya it'd kill your nose-trils." Dook throws out as Beach Bear spins around. "Now what were you two doin' in my van?? It's two in the mornin'! Betta' not be puttin' stuff in my vents again." He threatens them with a wiggle of the bat in his hand. Beach Bear shakes his head, treking to the van. "I wish I thought of that! Nah, we smokin' it up in here, man."

Dook points to Mitzi with the bat, brows knitted. Mitzi shoves the wooden stick away from her. "Can't you put that down?!" She requests loudly. Dook cradles the bat to his chest. "No."

"It's fine, Mitzi knows!" Beach Bear waves his hand outward as he goes around to the back, opening up the doors. Mitzi and Dook begin to walk, following him. Dook eyes her suspiciously, an eyebrow up in a silent question. She shrugs, flipping her hair back and whacking him in the face. Dook recoils. Mitzi smiles. "I'm not the only one getting shotguns." She taps his nose. Dook's face draws darker than hell, entire expression flipping so hard it draws a horrible fear in her stomach to see her brotherly bandmate stare like that. She freezes. "Oh unh-unh. Get outta my way." He pushes her straight to the side and right past her, bat at the ready.

"*WHACK!*"

"God FUCKING-- YOW! WHAT THE FUCK, DOOK?!" Beach Bear yowls. "CHILD!" Mitzi hurries right back there with a haste. "DOOK! NO! WHY?!"  She rushes to him, grabbing his arm. Dook wrenches free. "Shotguns ain't for kids!" He lifts the bat once again. Beach Bear throws himself backwards, kicking at the carpet. "I DIDN'T MAN! FUCK! OW! I DIDN'T!" He jimmies out of the way right as Dook's bat slams down, denting a small circle into the van. "She told me different, Beach!"

"Dook!" Mitzi grabs him again. "Stop! WHY?!"

"It ain't right!" He brings it up into the air one final time. Beach Bear presses himself to the back of the seat, curling inward. "I didn't! I didn't! Dook stop I didn't kiss her that's only for you! I swear to God above that's only for you! I LOVE YOU! I TOLD YOU THAT! I DO! I've known her since she was eleven! I wouldn't do that kinda stuff! God just PLEASE don't hit me again, oh my GOD that hurt!" He cradles his leg. "God-DAMN, OW!" Mitzi jolts, mortfied. "Oh my gosh! Dook stop I got the meaning wrong!!! I thought it meant sharing!!! Like the passenger seat?! STOP PLEASE!!!" The mouse reaches out and clutches his arm, jerking it away. "Please. I'm sorry. I didn't know!"

Dook looks between the two of them. The two terrified animals at his sides. He sets the bat down, pushing it to where the carpet and the wall meet. He sets his face into his hands, his tired, tired eyes rubbed by his bare palms. Then he lays himself on the carpet of the van, just his upper body. Even while being the "assailant", he shakes hard, his entire back fraught with rattles. Mitzi and Beach Bear look to eachother, both cringing hard.

After a tense moment Dook lifts up, sweeping his ears back and behind his head. "I'm so goddamn glad you're not a pedophile, Beach Bear, oh mah god!" His fingers splay across his face. "My heart jus' skyrocket'd, I think I hit the moon."

"Why would you not just ASK me if she was saying it right?! Did you really think I'd do that?!" Beach Bear continues to hold his whacked leg. "I really hope it's not broken." He sucks air through his teeth. "Fuck."

"My swear jar will be plentiful." Mitzi shrugs, trying to find one good thing to add. Dook throws his hands out. "No!!! I don't!!! God, I'm sahrry! I am! But god, y'all, I've got nieces! I have nightmares where they tell me about that stuff happenin' constantly! You really don' know until it happens, Beach. Y'all really scared me." The spaniel deflates, rubbing across his sore neck. "You really don' know until that kinda stuff happens. I never thought it'd be you really." His tone whines. "God, I'm sahrry. I don't think yer like that I just-- i jus' snapped. Christ." He rubs over his face once again. "I feel like I'm dreamin', I'm real sahrry. I JUS' woke up from a really rough dream 'n that was a lot. I came at ya cuz, I mean even if I was wrong ya'd know damn well not to. I didn' really want to. I jus' got so angry. I think I'm dreamin' still." He releases a deep breath.

"Yeah, okay!" Beach Bear nods hastily. "But holy cripes that hurt, man! You got a damn good swing!" He tries. "I'm real sahrry." Dook lifts a finger. "I'm really tired. I'm really sahrry Beach Bear, honest." He holds up his hand, scout's honor, even though he hasn't been in boyscouts since he was seven. Got kicked out cuz he ate all the popcorn they were supposed to sell.

"Maybe go back to bed??? Or something???" Beach Bear huddles into the van. "Or like?? Get a hug??? Fuck, man. My god that hurt. I'm sorry for your dream but-- damn!" He whines, rubbing over the hit spot. Dook's ear slide back, his tail dropped down already. "Yeah, god, Beach, I'm sorry. Fuck. I really messed up. I'm gon' remember you screamin' like that for a while. Christ." Dook cups his head. "Goddammit!"

Beach Bear scootches forward, just a little bit. Yeah of course he's still scared he's gonna get whacked with the bat a little bit, but that's more of a below the surface fear. "Dude, are you okay? What were you dreaming about?"

Dook shakes his head, taking in a shuddering breath. "No."

"No, what? Like, no you're not okay, or no you don't wanna talk?" Beach pries. Dook repeats his action, voice weaker than normal. "I don' wanna talk about it."

"Yeah alright." Beach Bear beckons the dog in. Dook stays where he's at. "I hurt ya." He whimpers, a choked noise following suit. Mitzi cringes, stuck between wandering off and getting back in the van to steal a hit. She decides pretty quickly what she wants, and as such she crawls into the van. Dook finally just hops up onto the carpet, crawling to where Beach Bear is. The polar bear wraps his arms around him despite being battered just a moment ago, more worried for the other's well-being. Dook sniffles, masking a sob with an odd cough after. "I'm sahrry you guys." He drops his hands, sitting there in his underwear ashamed of his actions and mortified that he hurt the one he loves. "I've been so STRESSED, Beach Bear, all the damn time. It's eatin' me up. I been workin' so hard. I been bustin' my ass tryna get the farm at Billy Bob's started and I've been going back and forth from Tennesse to Louisiana for THREE years now! I'm so tired of it all. I'm so worried my girls are gonna grow up without their Uncle Dookey around and I been so scared somethin's gonna happen to 'em when I'm not lookin'." He drops his head into his hands. "They're gettin' so big and I haven't had any time to see them, I just gotta keep work work workin' and I'm jus'... SO tired, Beach Bear." Dook rests his palms on his cheeks. "I been workin' so hard and it barely feels like anything's happened. The rocket--" He circles his paw. "The silo's not done and I don't know if it'll ever be at this point. I'm so scared I been sinkin' all this work into it for nothing, I'm never gonna--" Dook whimpers. "I don't know what to do. I'm so stressed out every time the night hits. It's so bad." He sighs incredibly hard. "I can't stop thinkin' someone's gonna hurt 'em, hurt you guys. Hurt me. I jus' wanna go to bed for a couple days and wake up in a week. I want time ta give me a break for once."

"Wow. Damn." A breath comes through Beach Bear's lungs. "Dang, I'm sorry, man." The polar bear sets a hand on the dog's back. "You really need to give yourself a break." Beach rubs his... "friend's" neck. Mitzi holds the apparatus in her hands. Slowly, she holds the bong out. "Do you want this?" She offers to Dook. "Not to forget. For stress. It's okay sometimes."

Dook looks up to Beach Bear, sadness stuck into his puppy dog eyes. Beach Bear frowns hard, just so upset to see the display. "Man, I don't care, hit that if you want it. I'm sorry."

"I don' deserve it, I hit chu." Dook leans into the other man, snuggling his fuzzy chest. But then he lifts up, cuz he doesn't deserve that either. Beach Bear shrugs, pushing him back where he was, and Dook doesn't move after that. "It's fine Dook, I got my apology and an explanation. It wasn't exactly like, right. But it happened and I accept your apology, so." Another shrug. "If you want to hit it then go ahead."

"Nuh-uh." Dook shakes his head. Beach Bear hums. "Alright." He hands it back to Mitzi, pointing at her. "Take that thing like it's a demon, don't hit it hard unless you wanna experience hell itself." He calls. Mitzi nods. "I know. I've seen Helen do it."

"Henry?" Dook perks up, cringing to himself. Beach Bear shushes him, an eyebrow quirked. "Hushush, Henny. Where are you getting Henry from? But yes, Helen Henny. Kind of. I'll tell you later, it's complicated." He says. Dook shrugs, brows pinched. "Uhh, nowhere. Nothin' important. Forget it. What were we talkin about?" If reality were a cartoon, a sweat bead would drip down his forehead. "Oh yeah. Uh, anyway. Cool? Please do." Dook nods to himself. Beach Bear scoffs. "Okay. Weirdo." "I take offense to that." "I'm sure you do."

Mitzi hits it gently, but stronger than she was allowed before. She buries her snout into her nightgown, muffling her coughs. "Woah--" Beach Bear takes it off of the ground, bringing it to his own lips. He lights and draws the smoke to his mouth, the stars on the glass gleaming a soft white. Dook reaches up, tapping the bear's chin. Mitzi looks on, confused as she coughs up smoke. Beach Bear flickers his eyes between Mitzi and the dog, but Dook's already drawing closer, eyes closed and a hand on his face. The polar bear shrugs in her direction, mouthing what looks to be an apology past the smoke that tumbles past. Her brows pinch harder. Beach Bear lets his own blues hood and their lips touch, Mitzi looks to the outside world beyond the open doors of the van, ears aflame. Beach Bear passes the smoke along to Dook through the kiss, pleasantly surprised at the touch.

The smoke blows into the van and Dook's coughing allows her to look at them again, wrought with a confusing emotion. Beach Bear sits there with Dook in his lap, wiping across his mouth, then he licks his lips. "Your mouth's wet and your breath tastes like pizza. You did not brush your teeth, man. The pizza at Showbiz isn't even that good."

Dook gapes with an affronted look slapped across his face. "What?! I did too brush 'em! I know YOU didn'! You got all that daytime breath rottin' in ya mouth, honey-pot." He waves his fingers over his lips. Beach Bear pushes him out of his lap. "Man, go to bed, you're mean when you're tired."

Dook falls out of the frame of his legs, but he merely giggles. "Fine, fine. I will. Goodnight, y'all, I'm goin' ta bed. Love ya."

"I love you too, man." Beach calls back. Mitzi shrugs, a little bit more than confused. "Uh, yeah. I love you too."

"Mmh, yeah, love ya too Mitzi." Dook waves at her as he slips out of the van. "Don't go to bed at five am again, Beach Bear, it gets cold at night when--" Dook's eyes go wider than hell. "Just go to bed. I'm gonna be in my own bed. Yeah. Sleeping alone. I'm leavin'. Night."

"Goodnight." "Goodnight!" They both call back. Dook dissappears into the night. The sounds of the door closing tell them he's went back inside.

MItzi jumps to speak immediately. "You're dating DOOK of all people?!" She squeals, busting out with it. Beach Bear presses his hands to his face. "No... I wish... He's not that bad, Mitzi, he's a lover."

Mitzi jitters back, shocked. "Oh. Well yeah. But,, really? You're not with him? It sure looks like it." She quirks a brow. Beach Bear shakes his head. "Believe it or not that's the first time he's fully kissed me, he usually curls his lips in." Beach Bear circles his own. "They're so soft, I just wanna kiss him all day. He's got that peppermint chapstick on and it burns so good." He whines, curling into himself like a little queer ball of longing. Mitzi's eyebrows can't get any closer. But they're not actually drawn on today, so. She taps her own lips, recounting what her own experience could be like. With different people of course. But also, she wonders. What's up with these two's relationship? She always thought of them as her brothers.

"So. You're not dating? Why were you two sleeping together? And. You just kissed. I wouldn't be kissing anyone I'm not dating. Ew. Especially not Dook!" Mitzi throws his way, arms crossed.

Beach Bear hums high in his throat. "I know you woudn't. But he's different. I mean I'm different too, I've kissed plenty of people without dating them. But honestly, I don't know if he knows what he wants with me." The polar bear shakes his head. "I just wish he could figure it out. I'm going crazy with all this back and forth. He wants to say he's not gay and then act gay with me, lay all over me and then flirt like we're together. He just kissed me for god's sake. I don't get it. I just don't. I know he's confused and something clearly happened like, a long time ago for him to think it's so wrong. Man, Mitzi, he said he was dirty for it. I don't know what to do. He thinks his folks are gonna hate him. He hasn't told me but I can see it everytime we're around them. I can't keep waiting around praying he'll come to me. I can... but it's so hard." Beach Bear rests his forehead on his knees. "I don't hate him for it, I can't. I would so much rather that he do this with me than some random guy who could hurt him. It's just..." He trails off.

"But it's hurting you." Mitzi reaches out. Her paw sets atop Beach Bear's thigh. "That's not love."

"But I love him, Mitzi. It could finally be true love." Beach Bear rubs over his eyes. "Regardless I just wanna be there for him. It's so hard to do this but I'd be breaking my own heart to leave him hanging like that. I don't think I'll ever stop loving him. It scares me, Mitzi." Beach Bear's eyelids wet with an unfalling shine of tears. He rests his cheek in his palm, letting out a sigh. "It's been so long and I've never fallen out of love. I almost want to, but at the same time, I really don't." He shrugs, his hands lowering into his lap. "I still love him, I love seeing his gorgeous face, and his dopey smile, and his perfect body, I love talking to him every day that I can. I can't live without him. Well. I just don't want to." A bitter laugh comes through. "I wish it could be easier. I just wish he knew what he wanted. It's like he does, but something's stopping him." Beach Bear clutches his fists. "I'm so... so tired of it. But I won't ever stop loving him. Every day, I just keep getting closer, holding out hope for him. It hasn't bitten me in the ass yet to keep trying. Hell, he tells me to keep trying. He says he doesn't want to use me but." The polar bear squeezes his eyes shut, brushing his paws across his head, tugging at his blonde curls. "I almost want him to. I just feel so empty sometimes, especially without being able to love him, and hold him, and keep him safe, and he could tell me it's all okay. It goes away when I'm with you guys, but he's the only thing keeping me sane at night. I CAN'T sleep without him. Every night I try to sleep alone I can't stop thinking of-- everything! How he almost died, how he nearly bled out, how terrified he looked standing over that guy he mauled; absolutely drenched in his blood, how I had Dook's blood all over me; staining my fur for weeks, how I saw him in the hospital all drugged up after he got carved into like a turkey. I couldn't lose him, he was like,, the one person besides you and Billy Bob to actually like me at the start. Actually tried to be my friend, include me in stuff. It was my only saviour. It feels so nice to know he's safe at night with me. But when he's not..." Beach Bear sniffles. "I just keep thinking about that house. My parent's house, it was..." The bear looks to the ceiling. "So cold. So quiet. It was like living in a cage, with a bunch of rubber bands around your chest, crushing your ribs and you-- you can't breathe or move. I never had any friends, my parents all hated them, told their parents to tell their kids to leave me the hell alone. Told me-- told me how worthless I was. Made it KNOWN how worthless I was. I always did all these stupid after school activities and I'd come home drained and still have to clean the entire house by myself. "Oh they work, oh they buy groceries and they raised me." They can't even say they raised me when my-- when my mom lost me in the cold, dark Arctic after she took me away, after she left my dad a while back. I wandered so cold, and so alone in the ice barely considered a functioning child and I thought I was gonna die." He shakes, quivering in place. "At seven I really thought I would die. I almost did. I got so cold I got hot. I was so hot it burned. I can't believe she let me outside in just shorts." He looks to Mitzi, the first time since he started this. She stares back at his piercing blue eyes, his pupils small, likewise with hers, but so, so much sadder, deeply cut like like a bleeding wound. "Yeah. That's awful."

Beach Bear covers his face, rubbing his tired eyes. "I'm sorry. You don't need to know all of this."

"No." Mitzi rubs his leg. "No, I can listen. If it helps I'll stay." She scoots closer, their legs and the curls of their golden hair brushing together. "it's the least I can do."

"You don't need to justify you smoking my stuff, Mitzi. it's fine. I let you." Beach Bear smiles sadly. Mitzi frowns, saddened by that look. "It's okay. I still want to listen. How did you get out?"

Beach Bear takes in a deep breath, shaking. "Yeah. Uh. It was a polar bear. Like, a full, feral polar bear. She had her cub with her. I don't know why they were awake, I might've woken them up with my crying, if it could've even been considered that. More like gasping, I think. It was so cold. I don't know. But I think she thought I was a baby. Brought me to her cove and we all huddled for a while. I was there for a week until we found the igloo. She didn't try to kill me." Beach Bear snorts. "Not like my mom tried to. She-- one time she--' The polar bear's demeanor switches around very suddenly. "She actually tried to kill me and I was so young I didn't know."

Mitzi waits, breath bated, dread shooting through her chest like she can't breathe. Beach Bear sobs out, clutching into his blonde hairs. Mitzi holds his leg. Beach Bear turns and he clutches her tight, wrapping her in his arms that shake like the leaves in the dead of winter, brittle and ready to fall. He snivels, gasping repeatedly, staving away the pathetic sobs that want to burst out of his chest. Mitzi pets across his back, digging her fingers into the strands of hollow fur. It really is super soft.

Beach Bear lifts up, rubbing his face, drenched. "I'm sorry, thats too much to tell you."

Mitzi flinches back. "What? You're gonna tell me your own mom tried to kill you and then not tell me the rest?? That's crueler than whatever you're thinking doing this is." She shakes her head. "Please. I want to know. If it helps, I can handle it. I'm grown now."

"Mitzi, it's not something you need to hear." Beach Bear wipes at his cheek. Mitzi rolls her eyes. "Beach. I'm okay." "I really don't need to--" "Beach Bear." Mitzi holds his arm, gentle. "Please. I don't want it to hurt you like this. It can't be healthy to keep it in." She continues to pry. Beach Bear bites at his lip. "No. That's it. Final answer. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay." Mitzi deflates. Beach Bear hums. "I'm sorry." "It's alright." The rodent shrugs, defeated, but understanding. "I'm sorry to push."

"No, it's alright." Beach Bear waves his hand. "It's just,, a lot. To think about. I was barely ten."

"Yeah?" Mitzi's ears perk. Beach Bear tilts his head. "Yeah, I mean..." He holds up a palm. "I don't know. I was so young."

"Yeah." She nods. "What happened?"

Beach Bear takes in a breath. "She gave me this seal meat, cuz there's absolutely nothing in the Arctic, you know?" He sniffs, voice weak. "You get far enough in the boonies and you have to do your own hunting. She'd come back home drenched in blood, smiling all the while. But, she gave me this seal meat, and y'know, I was like, eight? Maybe ten at the oldest? I thought it was just food. Why would I think it wasn't anything but food? I don't know why I smelt it but y'know, it didn't smell like anything." Beach sniffles hard, panting a couple breaths. It doesn't even out, but enough so he can talk. "I started eating it and I spit it out because it was sweet. I thought it went bad or something but she kept telling me she just killed it and "The carcass is just outside if you want to see it."" He mocks. "She kept trying to feed it to me and I kept dodging her and she shoved it in my mouth I--" He whines bright and loud. "She absolutely covered it in Anti-Freeze, Mitzi. I only found out a couple years ago, cuz there was that case, right? Some woman got poisoned with anti-freeze in her coffee and she had no idea because anti-freeze tastes sweet." Beach Bear pulls at his own hair. "I spit that shit to the ground and I ran off terrified she was trying to feed me spoiled meat. I could've died. There's a universe where I DID die. I would've never gotten in the band, gotten to meet you guys. I never would've fallen in love with Dook, with anyone else before him as little of a time it was."

Mitzi continues to look on, sort of blanking everything out until the time arises for her to work it all out in her head. "Wow." Beach Bear rakes his claws down his neck, relishing in the sting. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do now. So I just keep trying. I'm just hoping that one day, no matter what our relationship is, that I can just. Be around him, be able to love him like I want. I wouldn't even care if he went out and slept with other people I just... want to be in his arms, I want to be able to hold him and call him mine, Puppy, Dook, Dookums, call him whatever he wants. I just want to be the one who makes him happy. It kills me to see him try and fail all the time to find love. I know I could be the one. He LOVES being near me, hell, he was just as distraught as I was whenever we all went no contact with him for like, six months." He shakes his head. "I just want him to be happy. He's never done anything wrong. Even mauling that guy, that was self defense. I don't know why it tears him up so much that he did that. I mean I..." Beach Bear sighs. "I broke my mom's entire face because I got so mad the day I left that I just..." He draws in a breath, looking to the ceiling for answers. "We were having dinner, and it was all fine. I thought it was one of the better days. My dad cooked, for once it didn't taste like cardboard or rot." Beach rubs at the scratches he made. "I went upstairs after I did the dishes. Thought about sneaking out. Went to bed instead. I woke up to them fighting for the millionth time in my goddamn life." The shaking begins again, lighter now. "I can't even remember why they were this time, I think it was about work. I just got so mad. I went down there and I made it known. Yelled like I never have and told the both of them to stop acting like children and my mom just snapped. I got so scared, because she slapped and scratched the shit out of me and she does this-- this--" Beach Bear runs his hand over the spot between his forehead and his hair. "This thing where she drops her scalp back and she looks like she's going to kill something. I thought that was gonna be me. I ran upstairs to my room but there wasn't a lock on the door she took my door--" Beach Bear slaps his head into his hands. "Because she thought I was dirty and I was sneaking boys or girls in the house, either way I was a "dirty whore slut". I didn't even have blankets. No pillows. If you can call single blanket on the floor as a bed, yeah. I slept on the floor a lot. I couldn't even call it a room really, I was sleeping in the attic. The unfinished attic. She came upstairs and she just kept going and going, just kept hitting me and hitting me, and this was at the point where I was making it known that I am and will always be a man, and she blew up even more about it. She kept going and going and she was dragging me back and forth, I had bruises all over my face when I was finally gone. I was clawing at the floor while she was-- literally punching me-- so I could get the fuck out of there. I finally got away because she got tired, obviously you would if you were slamming your fist into your son's face. Got up, rushed to get my stuff. She grabbed my guitar, I didn't even have a case for her yet, she was holding it by the top and I was screaming trying not to freak out at her, and my mom snagged me by the hair and I fell. She lifted my guitar up and I went fucking crazy, like, feral fucking crazy." Beach Bear pauses for a good breath. "I sunk my teeth into her leg as hard as I could and she shrieked so damn loud. It's fucked up, but I still get kinda, like, giddy when I remember it." He giggles deeply. "She fell and I got one good look at her face right as I stood up, snatched my guitar out of her hands, swung it above my head and I--" He slaps his hands together hard, ONE. TWO. THREE. and even more times than that, a multitude of slaps that just keep coming and don't end, getting harder and harder the longer he does it. Mitzi jumps with each one. "Beat her stupid skull in. I'm shocked it didn't kill her. I wish it did. Obviously she was crying-- "crying"."" Beach Bear quotes gruesomely. "Gargling, and I told her to shut her damn mouth, cuz she'd always yell at me to stop whenever I cried, slap me straight. I spit on her mess of a face and I left while my dad ran upstairs. He tried to stop me but I'm pretty sure he saw the blood splatters on my legs and my guitar. My girl's silver after all." Beach Bear continues. "He ran to her first and he got the cops called yelling how I was a dumb tranny all the while. I ran off before they got there. I put her in the hospital for years, in and out. Orbital sockets smashed, nose flat, her windpipe had to be reconstructed. Her ribs were bruised to hell and I managed to break two, but It wasn't enough to kill her. I fucking wish I did sometimes." Beach Bear throws his hand outward. "Sick as it is! That bitch gets to live her life exactly how she did before I left, just without me. I wish she'd just die already. Her and my dad will probably end up murdering eachother and I can't say I wouldn't be happy." He shrugs. "They made my life an utter hell for nineteen years of my life and they'll burn in hell or whatever they want to believe in. I hope they get every hell from every religion. I can't stand either of those two motherfuckers." His arms cross.

...

Beach Bear shrugs again. "That's basically it. Sorry to tell you all of that at, what?" He looks around, then to the sky, lifting his hand up to measure. "Three in the morning now? Witching hour. Creepy. I need to get to bed before Dook comes out here again. I can guaruntee he's still awake right now." He turns his eyes to the rodent. "Are you gonna be okay after all of that? I know I told Terry and he was pissed off for a month unending. He almost went down to their house but I begged him not to. I didn't want him catching charges because fuck, they made me pay some stupid sum of her bills because I had no proof they were abusing me, y'know, except for the multitudes of bruises. Cuz apparently I'm big enough that I could've stopped her. And me doing that was overkill." He flicks his paw. "Sure. Sorry, sorry, I'm still rambling. How do you feel? Was it too much?" The polar bear cringes.

Mitzi shrugs. "You know? I dunno. I'm probably also going to go to bed soon." She raises her arms up to stretch. Beach Bear tilts his head. "That's a good idea."

"..."

"Did I...?" MItzi starts. Beach Bear hums. The mouse rubs her palms across her knees. "I told you about my parents, right?"

Beach Bear lifts his shoulders non-commitally. "Uhh... I just know you don't see your dad a lot. They'reeeeeeeee... Divorced I take it? I'm assuming your dad's a mouse too cuz I dunno how you came out of Queenie unless there was a mouse in the equation." He looks out of the window, at the stars. Mitzi shakes her head. "You're kind of right? But no. Queenie's... my mom, but not my mom. I know I use the word a lot, but. No she's not the one that birthed me. I have two moms. I just don't get to talk about my actual mom too much." She shrugs, weak at the joints. "Oh." Beach quirks up a brow. "Oh yeah. I forget that sometimes. Yeah. You told us she works a lot. I get it confused cuz you say mom for both of them."

Mitzi nods. "Yeah. They're both my moms. Queenie's been raising me since. Well, since my dad left." She tilts her head a little bit. "It's not really... I don't think it amounts, quite to the tragedy you told me." She holds her hand out to her bandmate, brother. Beach Bear lets himself sink further into the carpet of the van, taking comfort in the smell of his friend. "I'll still listen. You had to hear me go off about my shitty folks, so. I say the more the merrier."

"I wanted to." Mitzi's naked brows furrow. "I know, I know." Beach Bear licks across his lips, itching for another hit, but that can wait. Actually? Mitzi rubs her palms together. "So. My dad kind of. Had an.. affair? I think that's the word? That's what my mom says. My first mom, the one who gave birth to me." "Biological. Bio-mom. Biological just means you're related by blood." Beach Bear spiels. Mitzi nods, her bangs ghosting across her forehead. "Right. So my bio-mother, Missy." "Missy???" "Yes, Beach Bear." She crosses her arms. "I already know. It's a little too similar. But..." "Right, yeah. Sorry I keep cutting you off. Real quick?" Beach Bear points besides himself. Mitzi sighs. "Yes, you may. If I can too." She lifts a brow. Beach Bear shrugs. "Hey it's your party. I don't mind. I'm already knee deep so it doesn't matter now."

"Yeah." Mitzi cocks her head. "Anyway." Beach Bear takes the water pipe in his paws, the large thing that it is. As he's lighting it Mitzi crawls across her brain for words. Beach Bear motions her on as he's collecting smoke, but she shakes her head. "No, hold on. I gotta remember it."

Beach nods as he can. The bowl is lifted and the smoke goes out. Beach Bear taps his nails across the glass, leaning back with the smoke held in his lungs. Mitzi holds up her finger right as Beach Bear blows it out, thick white pouring from his nose like a dragon. He bounces a brow twice. Mitzi giggles. "That's cool! You just blow it through your nose?"

Beach Bear coughs a bit. "Yeah. I wouldn't try it though. It burns."

"Oh." Mitzi's shoulder bounces. "That's okay. Um. So my dad, when I was a kid sometimes when my mom would go to work and my dad was off he'd invite his friends over. Y'know, they'd watch football, or they'd drink and watch television. He'd give me and Mini a little bit of money and we'd go to the mall. Sometimes one of his friends would bring his girlfriend. I liked her. She was really nice. I thought." Mitzi scratches at the carpet, then flicks her hand. "Ew. Um. Her and my dad started hanging out too, just those two." She shrugs. "One day my mom, Missy my mom, she picked us up from the mall and we went home and we packed up all of our stuff. She said we were going to go over to her friend's house, and that's when we met Queenie for the first time." She smiles fondly.

"She was really sweet, and she said we'd stay over there for a while, because my mom needed to be closer to work. She has a nice voice." Mitzi plays with her nails, clicking them against eachother. But her expression sours. "My dad and that girl were doing things whenever we'd go to the mall. They're still together. I don't like going over there. Sure, he got me a car." Mitzi rubs the back of her neck, scratching lightly. "I know he loves me. It's just. Kind of hard. He says he loves me. But he never comes down anymore. I only go over there for a week in the summer now." She carresses her hands, folding them over themselves. "And him and that girl just fall all over eachother. He barely tries to do anything with us. He sends us money here and there, yeah, and when we go down there, me and Mini, she can't stand to see him. I can't blame her. She's my sister after all. I think she knew from the start what was happening." Mitzi folds her fingers together. "I never knew. My mom told me only a couple years ago. Both of them. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know why my dad and my mom split up out of nowhere, or why we started living with Queenie in the first place, not until then. I never questioned it." Her ears wiggle back and forth atop her head. "I didn't know for so long. Now I can't stand to see him. I thought they were so happy together." The rodent shivers quickly, then stops. "Shiver, sorry. Um. Yeah. I... don't really... know how I feel about my dad."

"Yeah..." Beach Bear nods. "Personally..." He starts. "I'm not in your shoes. It's hard to fit in them, I mean you wear an eight and I don't wear shoes at all." He snorts. Mitzi giggles. "I sure do. And you sure don't." "Exactly." The polar bear circles his hand in the air. "I'm not you, and I've never been in that situation. If you don't like him, I'd say, just don't go over there."

Mitzi furrows her brows. "I can't just not go over there, Beach Bear." She says. Beach flips and holds up his palm. "Why not? Like actually? Is there a reason besides not wanting to upset him? No offense, it already doesn't seem like he wants to hang out with you guys. Like. I don't want kids." The bear shrugs. "Like, I'm good. I have no idea how to raise a kid. Hello?" He points to himself, back and forth. "Raised by maniacs. I'm alright on raising a child. I don't know how that'll go down in the future, but. That's where I'm at right now." "Yeah." Mitzi lifts her shoulders. "But I love kids. I could see myself having a few. Maybe. Maybe with the right guy. Or... person? I'm still not sure." She shakes her head. Beach hums. "It's like that, yeah. You'll figure it out eventually. Experimenting, and I mean experimenting by finding an actual nice girl to go on a date with, not making out with the first girl you see or bedding her. You might be able to work it out, find who's right for you." He lifts a finger. "But. Sorry to go back on the topic... Why can't you just not go? Like is it a you thing or...?" Beach Bear holds his hands out by his sides, wiggling them. "What's the deal?"

Mitzi cocks her head, eyes centered on the ground. "I don't really know. I don't want to break his heart. And I don't want to make my moms scared because we don't want to go anymore. We've been doing it for so long. What if he comes down looking for us?"

"Then that's your cue that he really cares." Beach Bear points to her. "I can't say your dad does or doesn't love you. I haven't met him. But from my standpoint, if I was visiting my dad in a divorce type situation, firstly I'd be pissed." He chuckles. "But secondly. My dad wouldn't give a shit. He'd force me to keep studying that textbook he got me on my birthday, great gift by the way. Not." He huffs. "But if I stopped going he'd come down and get me JUST to teach me a lesson. But it honestly seems to me like he doesn't care that much. Did you guys hang out at all?"

Mitzi looks up at the ceiling.

"He took me to camp!" She shrugs. "And one time we all went to the zoo."

"Was it fun at least?" Beach Bear pries. Mitzi reaches out, grabbing hold of the bong on the ground. "Uhmmmm... Yeah! Me and Mini went through the butterfly house. My dad stayed out of it. They did fight a little bit though." She cringes. "My dad got mad about the price of something and she got mad that he got mad, and he said something about Queenie, and... we just kept going. We saw the polar bears." She smiles, showing off her big, sparkling front teeth. "We went home after a while and he gave us some more money to go to the mall. My mom dropped us off, but she came back after a little bit. She asked us if he gave us money everytime his friends came over and I didn't think it was weird. I just thought he was giving us something to do. So of course I told her the truth. I had no reason to lie." She hums to herself. "Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I said no."

"She probably would've found out anyway." Beach Bear rubs at the underneath of his eye, lightly bruised from lack of sleep. "Altogether, it already happened. There's nothing you can do to change the past." "I know." Mitzi raises the apparatus to her lips. But she takes it away. "I know I can't. But I still wonder. I'm not really sure. I could stop going, or talk to my mom about him. Probably Queenie. She's a little bit more open to hearing about him than my bio-mom is." Her tail curls to her leg. "I don't know. I'll have to see what they say. I'm not sure that I want to stop seeing him. But it feels like he doesn't mind to stop seeing us." She lifts her shoulders weakly. Beach Bear wraps his arm around her, drawing her closer without much pulling. "I like seeing you. I'd be really crazy if we all stopped seeing eachother. But I think I'd miss you the most." He wiggles her slightly. She smiles. "Even more than Dook?"

"Don't push it." He chuckles. "But truthfully? Yeah. You two are at an even point to me, but god. I think I'd just keel over and die if you all stopped hanging out with me. If we ever stopped being a band."

"Don't even think about it." Mitzi shakes her head. "We're the Rock-Afire Explosion. Forever and ever." She leans to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Even if we do, I'd never let you guys leave me. I'd call you every hour if you didn't pick up." She snuggles into his soft fur. Beach Bear's smile wobbles. "I'm happy."

...

Time passes. The two of them seperate. "Are you okay?" Beach Bear asks. Mitzi tilts her head. "Enough."

"Me too."

Mitzi lights up the bowl and the process repeats. She blows out the smoke, and she passes the glassware back without a word, besides her coughing. Beach bear takes it and he does the same, blowing the smoke out and into the van. The clouds swirl lazily, like spirals of slow, thick snow.

Beach Bear begins to shuffle to the doors. Mitzi follows, scuffling across the nasty carpet. She sighs, already knowing this gown will be going into the washer whenever she gets back home. The both of them jump out to varying degrees of mobility and Beach Bear dumps the water in the bong onto the ground. His bag is snagged and he puts the glass into the duffel, which is slung over his shoulder. Once done, he swings the doors shut, locking the trunk. He ventures to the driver side with a limp in his gait, slow, also locking that door. Then he goes to lock the passenger door. Done now, he stands on the sidewalk, one leg lifted higher than the other. Mitzi shuffles between the van and another car, ducking past the mirror.

"My leg really hurts." Beach Bear folds his hands together with a pitiful smile. Mitzi cant help but smile back. "I'm sure. Sorry about that. Good night, Beach Bear. I hope talking made you feel better." She offers genuinely. "And thank you."

"I'm sorry again." Beach spills. Mitzi waves it off. "I'll remember it all in the morning, I'm gonna go inside and fall right asleep. Thank you for listening. I don't feel it that much right now, I don't feel high. Just tired. And really hungry." She squints. Beach Bear chuckles weakly. "That's what it does to you the first time. You'll feel it more if you keep doing it. Just please don't let Helen pressure you into it. You're welcome too, should've started with that."

"She won't, Beach Bear." Mitzi stares firmly. Beach Bear doesnt try to do anything back besides raise his hands up. "I know. That goes for anyone else you know who does it. Just don't get pressured. It's something to have fun with, some people medicate with it. I do a mix of both. It's just how you feel. Don't use it to forget like I did."

"That's what Helen said." Mitzi's brows furrow. Beach Bear nods softly. "Then maybe we're more similar than I thought. I love you Mitzi."

"I love you too." She nods. "It's odd to hear you say it."

"I always have though, you've been my sister as long as I've known you. We all need to tell eachother that more." He ruffles their matching hair. "Goodnight. Don't be up too late." Beach Bear bends. Then his arms wrap around her shoulders. She returns the gesture around the other's waist, giving him a small squeeze. "I always thought of you as my big brother. In both ways. You ARE big."

They part. Beach Bear smiles. "I'm happy you do see me like that. I'll see you in the morning." He turns his foot, a sign that he'll leave soon. Mitzi does the same. "Me too. Goodnight."

"You too."

They walk away from eachother.

Mitzi clutches her robs close to herself, gentle as she rubs the fur on its trim.

Helena's number is easy to remember.

On the other side of the motel, Beach Bear pauses at his door, watching Mitzi go. She turns a corner, and he pushes the door open. It swings open easily. There's no lights on, and the bat is thrown to the floor in the middle of the room without care. The bed they were in is now empty. Beach's eyes drag up, and Dook is laying in the other, less used bed, the colder and emptier one. Beach Bear sighs. "You don't have to sleep over there, Dook."

"I hurt you." The spaniel's voice quivers with tears, raw like he hasn't stopped since he left them in the van. Beach Bear toes across the scratchy carpet, putting pressure only lightly on his right leg. Gently, he lowers onto the side of the bed, sitting in front of Dook's stomach. "I hit you and I kissed you like it didn' matter." The man hides in the warmth of his hands with a choke, wetting his palms. Beach Bear settles a hand on his arm. Dook shuffles, but doesn't go away from it.

"It's alright." Beach Bear tries. "I thought the kiss was nice." Dook's head shakes, his ear sliding over his hands. "It's not. I shouldn' have. I don' wanna use you and I shuldn'ta hit ya. I neva' wanted ta hit ya. I don' know why I did."

The polar bear shrugs, for he knows this would only continue if he kept on insisting it was fine. "Okay." He pets over the fur on Dook's arm, the length of it being shaved, all cut besides the fur on his tail, long and dangling since its harder to reach than any other part of himself, besides his back. But Beach would always help him if asked. He just hasn't been yet. Dook curls in tighter. Beach Bear hums. "You know what?"

"Mmh." Dook hums back, slightly curious. Beach Bear shrugs. "I told Mitzi about my mom trying to kill me, and how I almost killed her." He taps across the dog's arm with his nails. Dook shrugs back. "Okay." He nods.

"Ooooohh, Dook..." Beach Bear whines. "You're too pretty to have to be crying like that. I forgive you. I'm honestly glad you took Mitzi's side immediately, if I had been someone different in that situation then I'd also do the same thing you did. I don't ever want to see her hurt."

Dook shrugs once again, wiping at his eyes. "She told me she was also getting shotguns and I flew off the handle. I'd already woken up to my van startin' and even before that my dream-- it was AWFUL." Dook nuzzles further into his hands. Beach Bear rubs his back, ready to ask, but Dook already is talking. "I came over ta my parent's house, y'know for Christmas or somethin'. I think Thanksgivin'. It switched halfway through. I was just hangin' out, talkin'. I started playing with my nieces and-- You know Ivory, right? Little Ms. Ivory White? The name's a bit odd cuz she took on her mom's name." Dook clears his throat. "So she's the oldest of her and her sista', Snow."

"What?" Beach Bear's brows draw hard. "Your nieces names are Ivory and Snow White?"

"Yeah." Dook smiles. "That's Gen's favorite movie. Don' tell him I told. But that's kinda where the dream got bad, yeah?"

******************

"I was playing with them and it was fine, you know how I saw that documentary pop up on the tube a while back?" He asks. Beach Bear nods. "Oh yeah. Gave you nightmares for months." He agrees. Dook does the same. "Yeah. Ivory had the same exact marks on her and she got real quiet and I've never been so hurt in a dream. Maybe besides the Fredbear's dream. Ugh." Dook shivers harshly. "I kept trying to get it out of her and she was freaking out and she told me who it was and I flew off the handle. It was my own family, Beach Bear."

******************

Dook grasps at his ears. "I beat the hell out of him without even thinking, I--" He shrugs. "I'm not that violent. I hope I'm not. I know I-- I did some things I'm not proud of, even before that... incident with the mugging and the mauling and..." Dook sighs. "I'm not usually like that. It takes me something big to fly off the handle. But w-with something like that I'm not gonna sit and believe them over my girls, Beach. I can't act rationally when they're hurtin'. When I'M hurtin'. I jus' get so violent. I can't let that slide." He looks to the other man. "I won't."

The polar bear nods, slow. "Damn. I mean. yeah. I would do the same thing. I'm just happy to know you have a swing on you hard enough to get someone like me limping." Beach Bear chuckles. "I just wish it was from taking it up the ass too hard." He shakes his head, curls tumbling about. "Did I tell you about that time?"

Dook remains quiet for a moment, a little bit blindsided by the switch-up. "...No."

Beach Bear slaps his hands, rubbing them together. "Alright. Scene. The front of a dingy alleyway next to a bar. This was around,, nineteen-eighty-four-ish? Picture me, then Terry. We're hanging out getting the party on out there, I'm scoping it out for potential love-makers." The polar bear waggles his eyebrows. "It's getting harder and harder to find people that look like you these days, man." Beach Bear snickers. Dook shrugs lightly, a small smile creeping up. "Maybe one of these days it'll be me. No promises. I can't." He tells. Beach Bear rolls his eyes playfully. "It always the no promises with you. I know. Anyway. I was out there looking for people, Terry was just trying to make sure I didn't die out there. Some woman comes by with your exact physique so obviously I hit her up. I never realized how much I was essentially prostituting myself out there but hey, I got swept off the streets to film a porno two or three times, I've got one on the shelves at a store in the Keys, it's not bad making random money off of the sales, small as it is." He shrugs.

Dook perks up hard, rising off of the bed. "You starred in an actual on-the-shelf sex tape??? You never told me that much about it!"

"Because I knew you'd try to find it and if you're seeing me like that then you're going to have to work for it, Buster." Beach Bear flicks him on the nose. Dook recoils, rubbing it. The polar bear waves his hand. "If you wanna see this dick it's going to be when you're on your knees begging for it, puppy boy." Dook flames, a generous smile creeping up. "Yeah okay." The polar bear smirks back. "You know it. Anyway, this girl had the skills of a god. Got bent over in one of those bathrooms and nearly stuck my knee in the toilet with how hard she had that thing goin', just "boom boom boom!"" Beach Bear giggles. "One of the best fucks I've gotten. Would've been better if it was you." Beach Bear goes for a,, rather choice grab. Dook jumps and slaps his thick thighs shut with a muted clap of skin, even redder that it goes down his shoulders now, the potent blush only visible on the white splotch of fur Dook has going down his chest. Beach Bear scoffs a laugh. "Good Lord you're already hard. New record."

"Beach Bear, you're a right menace. You don' even know that fo' certain." Dook points up at him, cherry in the face. "I'm tryna go to bed before we gotta get up at eight am and yer over here gettin' me worked up. That's not fair."

"Alright, I'm sorry." The bear raises his hands up. "That's fair. Do you want to sleep alone?"

Dook shrugs. "Not p'ticularly, nah. As long as ya want me."

"I want something alright." Beach Bear points downward, an eyebrow quirked hopefully. Dook rolls his eyes with a pinched smile. "Nah, Beach Bear, I'm not lettin' ya touch me." The polar bear snaps his fingers with dismay. Dook's grin turns sheepish. "I'm sahrry. But I don'--"

"Don't wanna use me, I know." Beach Bear turns his eyes to the side with a small sigh. "Yeah, I get it. And I get why. Can't say I'm not a little dissapointed though." The bear lifts his shoulders. "But that's just me. I'd rather you figure yourself out first rather than regret something."

Dook wraps his arms around the other for a short squeeze, pulling back. "Thank ya. I'm sorry I keep doin' this ta ya. I really shouldn't even lead ya on like this."

"It's okay. I want you to." Beach Bear leaves out the part about how he got his first kiss from the man this very day, and that'd be more than enough fuel to last him for a couple weeks. "In every sense that's healthy, I'll follow you to the ends of the Earth." The polar bear's hand brushes across the other's arm, tender and warm. "Really, I'll be fine."

"Okay." Dook nods. He lays back down, slow. Beach Bear pulls at the covers. Dook lets them open, but he slinks out instead, sliding into the other bed. Beach Bear squints, confused.

"The pillows 'a over here." Dook excuses, a hand beckons him over. He gets in the bed. Dook turns over, his back to Beach Bear's chest. He yawns hard, jaw snapping shut. "Night."

"Goodnight, man." Beach Bear pulls him in close, like a big ol teddy bear. Dook cuddles to his arms, resting his palm over the hand cupping the perk of his chest. Beach's nose presses to his neck, slotting perfectly in a comfortable place. "I love you."

"I..." Dook's eyes center on the window. The vastness of the stars gleam back, like a cold, lonely ocean. "I love ya too..."

Sleep comes easily to these two.

But Mitzi finds herself awake, padding to the phone inside the motel. She pops in a quarter, one she retrieved from her room. The numbers are punched in, and she holds the phone to her ear as it rings.

The line picks up.

"Henny Household. If you're looking for Chuck E. senior or junior you'll have to call a seperate phone-line by asking a Pizza Time Theatre employee. The store at your location will have varying hours. Helen's asleep right now. It's real early in the morning, you know." The woman's voice says through the phone, tired and marked with a yawn. It draws a smile across Mitzi's face. "Hi Helena."

Helen gasps. "Mitzi!!! Hey!!!"

...

Chapter Text

...
LaRue Household, Present Time. Eleventh of January, 1994.
...

Mitzi shrugs at the end of her story, hands folded at her thighs. Of course, she left a few things out, and she herself didn't see the interactions between the two love-torn animals. But depite those, she leaves Helen out of the story, at least by name. It's a bit of a toss up for validity for everything, because it was a while ago now. But she listed everything she could think of that would come to her, even the marijuana. Minus the details of the story Beach Bear told. She explained it away as a story he told her that she didn't want to spill for Beach's sake. Even now, the rememberance of that night hurts, but it hurts even more now to remember how the two of them were so close, how vividly she could remember Dook's voice through her own ears. He didn't talk to her much that night, if at all other than the goodbyes. But it was the first, and only time she ever saw the two act like lovers.

Being so happy.

And now that's been taken from them.

It hurts her just to think of how it hurt Beach Bear so much to keep trying, to think of Dook being taken from this world in a fiery inferno, like hell itself swallowed him up whole for no good reason.

Mitzi holds herself, shakes gentle in her shoes. "Why did he have to go?" Her wet eyes center to Fatz's own, his full of sadness. "Why couldn't they just be happy how they wanted?" The salt drips down her cheek. "It's not fair. For Beach Bear or Dook." She snivels hard at the simple sound of his name from her mouth. "Dook." Mitzi gasps, rubbing at her sodden cheek. "I didn't know that was gonna be the last time I saw him. I should've hugged him, I wanted to. I didn't know. Please don't tell Beach I told you guys. I told him I wouldn't." She rubs at her eyes, her breath of air sharp. "I don't even know if it matters now."

"Mitzi, Babygirl." Esmerelda takes herself from the comfort of the old, weathered couch tucked under the stairs, her footsteps shockingly light when she pads across the wooden floors, berift of heels and with no thick soles to help protect her sore feet. "It's alright, hun, we won' tell him none. He's not here righ' now anyway." Delicately she approaches, her arms out, hesitant. Mitzi leans to her, her head on Emerelda's shoulder, just a bit too tall to hug her proper. "Ya didn' know it'd be the last time, sweetheart. None of us did." The woman brushes her soft, slightly thick hand down her bed of messy curls, the twines of gold dulled and unbrushed.  "I'm sure the last thing I told him was to ditch the space-suit or he'd never find a proper woman in his life." She shrugs, unsure, but with a memory attatched to those words. "We all do things we don't realize. We didn' realize it'd be the last time we saw him. Last I saw him was when he was packin' up that night, ya know?"

...
January 1st, 1993. Chattanooga, Tennessee.
...
The doors to the trunk on Gloria swing shut with a bang that rattles her on her worn wheels, her half-painted metal shivering with the shocks. Dook rubs his fingers across the cold, cold glass on the back of the van, stars shining and glistening in the reflection. His drums are packed up and in the back. This is the last time this week that they'll be playing at this location. There's another one a couple miles over, still in Tennessee, that they'll be going to within a couple of days.

But not before the fourth of January. Not before...

The date.

To Dook, it feels wrong, to call it a date. Every other date he's been on, if he's called it a date, well. Something is bound to happen on that date. The date with Lady, they ended up hooking up at the end of the night. That lead to a relationship, and that lead to Dook being only moderately heartbroken on the curb. Before that, there was another, Catherine. A fling that lasted one night only and gave him mild concerns for his health when it was over with. Yes, protection is a must. But that night he just happened to bust out of one and didn't notice on account of how drunk he was. Yes, you can guess it, it was right in the middle of his "drinking away the bad memories" phase. Two more from that phase were Jackie and Gracie, two best friends that approached him when he was walking out of a bar offering him a ride to their place and he jumped on that oppourtunity like flies on shit. That metaphor near perfectly captures the roles they took that night, but that's only if you count Dook as the fly. The two girls both lazed on the pillows, and while that's normally something Dook can get behind, even if it's really boring, this time it got so boring that he fell asleep on one of them and woke up with his wallet gone. At the very least though, they left his I.D. on the pillow and the manager of the motel didn't bother to get him arrested, just told him to get the hell out and pay them back or they'll get the cops called. But! Too bad so sad, those girls got what was left of his paycheck after a brutal tough-love type of high-stakes poker that left him with nearly nothing to go home with. He didn't even bring his credit card in for fear of running his entire account dry. He has some sort of semblance of ownership for his earnings.

Then there was Goldie, a retriever type girl, and she was actually a black one! Not golden! Her name, while misleading, didn't mean that she was misleading anything about her looks, because hot damn. Dook didn't wanna date her, but he can appreciate beauty like gold when it's bouncing in his lap like Tigger. The sex was fun, but did it last? Hell no. That was one night. A good night, but only one nonetheless. It just wasn't something she wanted to continue, and likewise with Dook, a simple fling.

But a simple fling never meant that nothing would arise. A simple fling became one of his biggest relationships he's had, ever.

And it became his biggest, hardest heartbreak of his life. Two people he loved more than anything, more than the air in his lungs and the stars that twinkle in the night sky. People he once loved more than himself. Chiffon and Henry, two names that feel so disconnected from reality when he thinks about it. Those names cause his brain to disconnect far more times than anything else has, forcing him into a stasis of time where he felt like he was the only person in the world to be loved so so much, to be held atop a pedastol higher than the Pope or God himself. Moments they spent in bed, a near constant whenever he'd be near to the two of them. Curled hair and black fur twined with his own in a way he'll never, ever have again, nor does he ever want ever again.

Because the day he felt secured and warm, protected in the strong and soft arms of a woman and a man he'd once considered to be the very life he breathed into his lungs each day. The day that happened...

Was the day they both left. They left him with nothing, not even an apology. He bore his heart on a silver platter and they smashed it to pieces. "Eat your heart out." is a phrase that holds so much more meaning to Dook than it ever did before Chiffon and Henry. The two of them brought him into their fantasy of a life, chewed him up, and spit him out like a piece of gum that lost it's flavor. It hurt. Of course, who could say heartbreak didn't hurt? It left him bitter and longing, hurting. Violent. The breakup tore his heart in two, and as it did, it tore apart his brain. The alcohol poured freely and Dook only got angrier and angrier. The two left his life completely, but the grief stayed. It only changed. Each and every time he remembers them, even if it's been thirteen years now, it still hurts in his heart, right in the middle of the stitches keeping it together. His heart was ripped apart by thin metal strings and silky black curls framing heart-shaped lips, hidden beneath those being razor sharp fangs. Now, it's stitched back together, beating in the semblance of an operating, functioning heart.

Even still, it beats out of sync when those names come to his head. The memories of days spent in bed, hours of pleasures beyond the realm of possibilities. But over those hurting memories is a message, one he sent on his own. A VHS tape, one of confession. Not one of those tapes, those souless, vapid tapes that'd never show just how much Dook loved them beyond the world they all had rolled up in Chiffon's bed, lounging on her pretty pink comforter, something playing on the tube that would go unnoticed under the sounds of pleasure. Sitting in the lap of either of the two animals while they had their lips locked in a seal tighter than magic, always with kisses to spare, but only ever for eachother. Dook would be mindlessly giving up everything he had for them, even doing something he'd never, ever do again, especially not after they broke it off from him so creully. He spent so much of his own energy trying to make them happy, to give them everything of himself that he could.

But they just... didn't want it. They wanted everything from him,,, and then nothing at all. From the beginning until the moment Dook opened his big mouth, everything was fine, it would escalate each and every time they got together, every single time Dook was free from the rest of the band to be with them, he was, even if it hurt him, got him into trouble when they'd beg him to stay and he'd show up late to band practice. Giving up his body just to spend any time he could with the people he loved, every single inch of it, even when he wasn't quite so comfortable with what Henry was trying to get him to do. What both him and Chiffon were trying to get him to do. And even though he caved and gave in to what they wanted, and he LOVED it, it wasn't enough. Whether it was because he came too fast or because they just weren't feeling it listening to Dook writhe, they were never satisfied. They'd want more, and more, and more and more and more. The days that they would exclude him became more common, and Dook? He stayed, each and every time, just to see the two of them happy. Till' the ends of the Earth, like he's always wanted. And then he told them.

His message on tape was returned without an apologetic word, and that was the last time he saw either of them altogether.

Thick heeled boots clack along asphalt, harsh and firm, it causes a spike to lodge in Dook's chest. His paw scrubs across his cheek, wiping away a thick stream of wetness. Dook gasps and shudders, resting his hand over his pounding heart. He pinches and holds the bridge of his nose, blowing hard and expelling the snot blocking his ariways onto the ground. He flicks his hand and his nose is wiped on the back of his glove, the trace amounts of mucus then wiped on his pants. With his other hand he wipes along his eyelash, ridding the drops of salt from his vision.

Black hair swings into his vision, and for a split second, Dook's heart squeezes so hard he can't find any air to fill his lungs, gasping hard and with a choked wheeze crawling into his throat, so sure that the person who's coming around the van is the same person he was thinking about a moment ago. What a surprise that'd be? And unwelcome at that. Esmerelda sighs hard as she steps past the side of the van, her hand on her hip as she limps and another clutching the van's exterior for dear life. "Whooh! Boy, I gots ta know how yer boots feel, Dookey! With hips like that you gotta be hurtin' with all that pressure on ya heels, fat boy." She whines, leaning against the cold metal next to her. Dook scoffs, sniffling, a rather obvious tell for what was just happening. "Yeah, no. Mah hips was made for walkin' and that's just what they'll do. Maybe ya'd stop gettin' blisters if ya stopped wearin' shoes three times too small, butt breath." The spaniel slaps the back of his van a couple times. "Yer gonna dent mah van leanin' on it, Es-mah-fell-down-and-break-a-hip-a."

The gorilla flings her hand downward. "Oh, yer ass couldn't handle all this woman if ya even wanted it. Ya tell me I'll break a hip and I'll break yours, thunda-cheeks. Yours'd probably throw out if ya swung ya tail a bit too hard." Dark-skinned fingers grip and pinch the spaniels tail. Dook yelps and pulls it from her grasp, growling light. He narrows her down with a point. "I could get ya for sexual assault."

"Ya won't though, pillsbury dough boy." Esmerelda stands up straight. "Ooohh!" Her back cracks nicely. "Oof. That's good."

"Old hag." Dook snickers, using his glove to brush the frost off of his back windows. Essie rolls her eyes. "Ya old sunuvabitch. You wanna call me old when ya knit like a granny."

"It's a hobby!" Dook bites back. "Whatta you ova' here for? You want me ta lick ya wit' my belt or did you wanna somethin' else? Somethin' a bit more valuable?" He flicks his hand. A card appears between his fingers like magic. "You!!" Esmerelda's fist jerks out, primed to grip the worn card. Dook snaps his fingers and it vanishes into the night air. He turns, holding his hands out above his head. "Anh. No. Wouldn't be fair now if ya saw it."

The woman sighs, arms crossing. "Yer the one wit' the deck, I should be raisin' that accusation ta you. Now, deal 'em up before I freeze, I'm not sittin' around all night ta turn into a popsicle." She thumps a hand on the van. "Too damn cold."

"Wit' pleasure."

...

"Queens and three's. Two pair. Eat on that one!" Dook slaps his cards down, rattling the stack of coins and dollar bills piled up on the carpet of his van. Esmerelda gently settles hers on the dingy old rug. She points at her leftmost card, and then one in the pool. "Two pair. King's higher than a Queen." She taps the cards that Dook sets down. While he has two pairs, one pair of three's and the other pair being two queens, Esmerelda has a pair of kings and a pair of sixes. "Goddamit!" Dook slams his fist onto the floor of his vehicle, a muted thump rising from the whacked metal beneath. "Yer poker face is all ova' the place!"

"It's called not havin' one, screw-loose." Esmerelda leans forward, raking in the pile of her winnings in front of the both of them, amounting to about ten dollars, mostly in nickels. Dook sighs, his breath visible inside of the van from the chill. With another, more violent sigh, he digs into his pocket, flicking through the bills laid inside the pocket. "I swear this's tha last time I'm bettin' wit you and I'm done. I got enough sense ta know when ta quit and it's not now." He pinches and dishes out a few bills, waving them in the air. "This is all the money I'm offerin'. I'm done afta' this."

Esmerelda rubs her chin, her fuzzed knuckles brushing over her soft skin. "Mmmmhhhh..."

Dook eyes her skeptically. The money he's holding is set atop his wallet while he debates. "Hmmm... so yer not lookin' fo' cash now, gold-digga'?"

"I am. But I don't really wanna run ya dry right at the start, thick-lips." Essie runs her thumb across her mouth. "Mmmh... Whatchu wanna offer? It's gotta be somethin' solid, or I'm outta the game."

"Well, bust my chops why don'tcha. Hmmmmm..." Dook sighs, his eyes turning to the window. The stars provide him one answer, one that he blurts out instantly. "I'll bring ya that dress I've had hangin' up in my closet for tha past thirteen, maybe fifteen years. No guaruntees on if it'll fit but I spent a pretty damn good chunk of change on it only ta don it once. For a-- for a party dare. Yeah. Ya can sell it or wear it, I don' care, I don' want it, that's fo sure. I spent sixty bucks on it at least. It's real nice, tad bit fetishy, but. Take it or leave it. What's yer offer, liver lips? It's gotta be the same price."

"I'll take it." Esmerelda reaches behind her side, confidence in her eyes. "Fat back."

"*THUNK!*"

The pile of change she's accquired rattles with the force of her all-black boots hitting the middle of the betting circle. Dook's eyebrows raise, turning his head with clear interest. "Mah good winta' boots." Emerelda flaunts, sliding her hand by it's side. "All natural leather that shines like a new car, only a little bit worn on account of my tumblin' around on the ice last week. They got these little tassels that are just to die fo' right now." The woman flicks at the fuzzy pom pom hanging from the string. It jingles like there's a jingle bell inside. "Thigh high, furred at the top wit' a zipper up the side that drives them men wild. Or women. Ya look like they'll fit ya betta' than any kinda women I ever saw. Ya got a real womanly figure, chunk a' chocolate. Whatta you say ta them apples?"

"That sounds more like a compliment than an insult, bubble wrists." Dook eyes her. Esmerelda shrugs. "If ya call being called womanly a compliment, shure hon. Shure. Ya want 'em? Or are ya outta the game, ol' stink eye?"

Dook looks to the window for answers.

"Mmh..." He tilts his head. The cards stacked in a deck on the floor are grabbed, and Dook begins to shuffle them between his fingers, then sets them in two stack on the ground, flickering them and depositing the cards between each side of the deck. He does that a couple times, then lifts them, flicking the one deck into the air to then be caught by his other paw. Dook takes the deck between his hands and he dishes out three, then two, leaving five cards on the floor besides both of them in a line, setting two more in front of Esmerelda and taking two for his own. "I'll bite."

Esmerelda's smile threatens to take over her entire face. "I knew dogs were good at followin' orders, but this is far too much, Puppy."

"Call me that and I'll rip yer ears off and shove em down yer throat." Dook retracts and sticks his arm inside his jumpsuit, his paw popping back out with a pack of weeks old cigarettes in his hand. He sticks one in his mouth and throws the pack without aim, using the mysterious lighter that appears in his hands to light it up. Esmerelda reaches for the discarded pack right as he tucks the lighter away, fishing one out for herself. She takes it between her lips and Dook leans forward. Esmerelda sticks the ends together and she tokes at it until it lights fully, blowing the acrid smoke into the van. "Fair 'nough. Tell Fatz I'm smokin' and tha same goes for you."

"Fine by me." Dook pulls off the cigatte, sticks it between his fingers and he takes a hold of his cards, flipping them up to his eye, and then setting them face down back on the floor. He taps his fingers on the floor. "I'm already bettin' the dress. Yer move."

"Tha boots." Esmerelda taps the toe of them, pristine. "I was kinda hopin' you'd figure out I was yankin' yer chain. I was waitin' fo' you ta tell me ta offer somethin' different, fruit-boot."

"Too much." Dook shrugs, flipping over three of the cards on the floor. A three, a queen, and a nine. Esmerelda offers a lift of her shoulders. "I meant that like... Yeah I guess yer right. Too much. Ya dirt-booter."

"Better. Less gay-phobic." Dook hums in thought. He reaches behind himself, throwing a couple loose nickels into the pot. "Fifteen cents."

"Eh." Esmerelda grasps a handful from the pile of coins besides her, looking it over. Dook squints as she counts them out. "Tha's about two dollars." He points. Essie rolls her eyes. "Shure. Lemme count it."

A second passes.

She sets the coins down into the pot. "I'll raise ya two dollars and fifteen cents." Her fingernails click together as she twiddles her fingers. Dook lets his eyes drift over her expression while she's not looking at him, the teeniest two seconds he gets. He pauses, debating.

A dollar crunches and then another. Dook tosses two dollars into the pot. "I'll match ya."

Esmerelda reaches, flipping over another one of the cards. A two. Dook's teeth cinch on the inside of his lip. It's a match, but not a good one. One that can easily be overwritten. By the way Esmerelda's eyes glint, Dook doesn't hold out hope for his luck. But he can't fold yet. Not when there's also money on the line again. Dook tosses a dollar into the pot. Emerelda sets her dark eyes on him with a flare he hasn't seen in years. It makes him falter and his heart stutter dreadfully, but only for a minute. He sticks firm to his cards, smacking around and tossing a random amount of money into the pot. The ink of a twenty glints back at him. Well shit. He won't take it back now. He can kiss his rent goodbye. Esmerelda's eyebrows jump. "Oh, we're confident, are we, now?" She pushes the entire pile of coins she has into the pot, then she sticks her hand up her dress with a level of comfort even Dook cringes back at, turning his eyes to avoid an eyeful, and failing to not see the daring orange silk beneath her all-shiny-black ensemble. "Is yer tactic flashin' the otha' players?" He leans back.

"Nah. Keep yer wanderin' eyes ta yaself, I'm soon ta be a married woman." She fixes her dress after she's gripped her wallet. She dips her fingers in and fishes out a crumpled twenty, letting it drift into the pot. Dook tosses in the amount he needs to match her bet, and he flips over the last card.

It's a jack. Dook holds his breath, quick, but not too quick, to grasp and throw in a meager eighty cents. Esmerelda rests her hand against her citrus-swatched lips. Catching that, Dook offers up a five dollar bill, just really throwing away his money now. It's all he's got or nothing, he's added so much that it'd be a bitch to fold now. Esmerelda plucks up another bill, and she matches Dook with a five, three quarters and a nickel. Dook gives her a raise of his eyebrow. She raises one back.

Dook slaps his cards onto the carpet just a second before she does. He has a jack and a two. She has a single queen to match the flop. Dook slaps his hand down on the floor, eyes wide. Esmerelda throws her hands up, fisting her hands in her hair and ripping her bust-down straight off, throwing it in Dook's face. "Ya fuckin' junkyard scrawny ass dinky little toy poodle PET of a man! Ya swindled me out of everything! My good boots!!! YOU WHORE!!!"

"AH HAHA HAHA HAHA HA!" Dook snatches the lace-front off of his face and throws it over his head, adjusting it, though it hangs crooked off of his head. The long black hair flows down his shoulders. With nimble gloved claws he snatches the boots off of the carpet, drawing them into his lap. "I NEVA' THOUGHT THAT'D WORK OUT!" He cries, lifting his head to the ceiling. Esmerelda snatches away her hair, rubbing her scalp. "Yeah yeah, laugh it up! Whoever put my lace-front on is gun' get some talkin' to! It's been fallin' off all day!"

"I KNOW!" Dook cackles into the air, clutching the boots to his chest. "Thank you, God! Thank tha stars! I didn' even want 'em!"

"Then give 'em back!" Essie claws in the air, her finger just inches from the dark leather. "They fit me betta' than you!"

"These are MY shoe size, Esmerelda!" Dook flips them around just to check. "Yeah! Whatta you talkin' about?! How'd ya even fit in them, thick--" Dook stops, ears flipping up and laying stabily in the air. Emserelda narrows a finger at him. "Ya betta' not say what I'm thinkin'."

"Thick chest. That's what I said." He crosses his arms over his chest. Esmerelda grabs the deck of cards. "Mmhm. Sure. Nuthin about my ankles. I'll bet you back fo' 'em."

"Nope. Loser." Dook sticks his tongue out at her. "Nobody likes a sore loser, punt rocks." The spaniel turns around as he's sitting, hooking his fingers on the latch and kicking open the back doors. He hangs his feet outside of the van and he pulls his boots off, tossing them into the van. Esmerelda doesn't even smell them before she's cringing back. "Boy!! You smell like you work on a farm! Whoo! Put those bad boys in the washer!"

"I AM workin' on a farm, and a junkyard! And the shine'll come offa the tape, they don' smell that bad." The other boot is tossed over his shoulder. It lands in her lap, and she sets the boot next to the other one. "Yer already stinkin' up mah good boots."

"MY good boots." Dook sticks his foot into one and he hikes it up his legs. His spacesuit is far too thick. Without much thought given he takes off the boot, sets it to the side, and he starts peeling the whole thing off, shucking off the top of the jumpsuit and shoving it down his hips, removing the suit in it's entirety, including the added-on legwarmers. It leaves him in the black "undershirt." and his underwear. But, the shirt is really more like a skin-tight leather vest with the ridged sleeves and the shoulder pads added on post-production, only going down far enough to cover his ribs. Esmerelda whistles. "Dang, boy! I didn' know ya had all that under that space-suit! Why don'tcha ditch the thing and get you some good money at the strip club??? I know plenty who'd chuck some change off'a ya like it's a game. You'd finally get some chicks on ya dick."

Dook turns back, his eyebrows pinched. "Why would I work at a strip club when I'm goin' ta space soon?"

"Soon?" Esmerelda scoffs. "Boy, ya got years worth a'college ahead a' you. I dunno what you think soon means." She shakes her head. Dook's eyes roll. "Don' worry about it, you wuddn't get it." He grasps one of the boots, shiny and slick, and he sticks his foot inside, sliding it down until it fits in the toe. A little spacious, and he makes that fact known. "Ya know, I got three inches a'space right in this boot."

"*DOINK!*"

A quarter knocks him in the head. "Man!" He picks it up while he's wincing and throws it right back, hard. "*CLINK!*" "YOW!" She cries.

"Serves ya right." Dook yanks the material up his thighs, struggling just a bit closer to the top. "Damn, girl, did you fit in these?"

Esmerelda sucks on her teeth. "Oh yeah, insult me afta' ya hit me in the tooth. Great tactics. You'll get no dames to yer name actin' like that."

"Oh like you'd know anythin' about pickin' up chicks." Dook smirks something heavy, messing with the other boot. "I got a date in two days. Bet yer bottom dolla' I'm wearin' these to it."

"That girl's sufferin' if she's givin' you the time of day." She huffs. "And yes I fit in em, rude boy. I told ya they're the best fittin' pair I own."

""Best fittin'."" Dook shakes his head, yanking on the other heel. "Doesn't mean they fit."

"*Woosh!*" The air goes right over Dook's head as he ducks and avoids the hundred pound purse swinging above his head, sticking his finger out behind himself. "Try agai--!!"

"*WHUMP!!*"

"Owww..." The welt forming on Dook's head is rubbed by his gentle fingers.

"Oh shut yer mouth."

...

After a moment to recover, Dook hoists himself off of the back of the van, throwing himself to stand immediately. "Agh!" A force on his back pushes him, his knees buckle and he falls on the ground, scraping up his uncovered palms. "Owwwwwww..."

"Haha, that's what you get." Essie taunts from the inside of the van. Dook rolls onto his back on the violently frozen ground, shivering, but sticking his hands up in the air like jazz hands. "Go ta hell, Esmerelda. Where's yer huns-band? He needta reel ya in."

"I'm tha' only one reelin' him in. He's at the motel. Sleepin' already I bet, hoggin' that bed." She rubs across her stubble covered head, the wig gone now, splayed delicately on the backseats. "Get up off the ground, it's dirty."

"I'm dirty." He crosses his arms. "I already dun know it, get up." Her fingers snap.

"Fine. Not b'cuz ya told me to. It's cold." Dook grips the edge of the van, using it to hoist himself up. He stands up on the thick heels, testing his balance by leaning back and forth. "Huh."

"What's it now?" Esmerelda shakes her head. Dook takes a step backward. In just a few seconds of wearing them he turns around, ushering with small bounces across the lot. Esmerelda scoffs, her mouth agape. "Are ya kiddin' me?! Ya got the ass Catherine's gettin' work done for! Don' let her see ya like that. Damn! Ya work those good! Ya really got the body for it."

Dook hunches over, splaying his fingers over the toe of the boot and dragging them up up and up, up his leg, up his round pudgy belly, and across his shoulders. "When ya look fly ya ain't gotta get no surgery ta rock tha world apart. Space ain't ready fo' me and my damn good damn looks." He slaps side of his ass three times with each of those last words, letting that jiggle take over his whole posterior. Feeling a little confident, he wiggles around, working those shakes into something that's got his whole backside jumping around. He kicks his leg out, stumbling and readjusting his balance with his arms stuck out. "I'm golden." He wobbles. Esmerelda crosses her arms. "Now, if my Fatz-y-poo had a booty like that I'd be the one beggin' fo it every night, not him."

"Oh, I bet you got him on a leash." Dook snickers, just having a bit of fun wiggling around, shakin' what his momma gave him. Yes, they're in the Showbiz parking lot. No, he does not care. It's an hour past closing. Esmerelda laughs like you wouldn't believe. "Oh, I got that boy on a leash tighter than yours! I see that collar yer wearin'."

Dook slaps his hand against his neck, clutching the riveted "choker" that's stationed there. He twists it, feeling for the metallic loop on the back. The gorilla cackles hard. "I DIDN' THINK I WAS RIGHT!!!" She drops back with her guffaws, letting her laugh ring into the dead of the air. Dook stamps his foot. And then again, because he likes the loud clack it makes. "Girl yer pushin' it! I'll tell him what ya said about my ass!"

"I'll tell 'im about the dog collar! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!" She writhes, rolling around on the nasty carpet. She throws her hand up. "Help me! Help me, Jesus! Reign me in!"

"I'll--! I'll tell! I'll tell, Fatz's Momma! She'll neva' let ya wed him!" Dook points at her with ferver. Esmerelda bolts up, matching his vigor. "I'll tell His sister! Don't mess wit' Fatz family cuz Chiffon's got her arms on him tight, she'll fight ya for it!"

"Don't mention her name ta my ears or I'll knock yer ass out cold on this ground, woman or not. I don't wanna hear it." Dook's head tilts down, darkening his navy stare. Esmerelda lifts up her hands. "Ooh. Oooh. Them's fightin' words. Yer lookin' for somethin'."

"Don't say her name and ya won't get anythin' comin'. Leave her name outta ya mouth. We're done here." He points harder, then slips his paw through the air. Essie shakes her head, shocked. "Dook, ya ain't ever gotten like this and I dunno why yer pickin' to now. That girl ain't done nuthin' and ya know it. That's mah baby's lil' sista. What's yer problem wit' Chiffon?"

Dook growls, physically muting her voice by covering his ears. "I told ya. LEAVE it." Dook bursts out, snapping his hand through the air with a bark. "It's not yer GODDAMN BUISINESS NOW LEAVE THAT SHIT!"

"Okay. Woah. Goddamn. Reel it in a little, Sir-Snaps-A-Lot." Her hands raise at him like she's pushing him away at this distance, her heartrate spiiking just a little bit too. Like, she's never been yelled at by this man, but she's definitely not scared, just shocked and appauled to be spoken to like that. Dook snatches up his jumsuit, pressing it to his chest, already embarrassed from his outburst. He yanks down the zipper of the boots, stealing his foot back from the recesses of its hold. He slips on his boot and does the same with the other one. "I didn' mean ta piss ya off." Esmerelda tries.

"Nah, it's not you, I'm sahrry, I'm already pissed off, obviously ya can see it don't take much when one a' those names comes around." Dook's snout scrunches as he pulls at his remaining boot. He tries to finangle on his jumpsuit after the fact, shucking one of them off to then stab his foot into his jumpsuit and THEN put it in his boot. Esmerlda huffs. "Well! Whatever happened I still wouldn't be callin' her names."

Dook rolls his eyes. "Yeah, why don' you date her and get treated like a sex toy? You'd be callin' her a bitch too." He yanks his jumpsuit up past his boot. "Try fuckin around and fallin' for her second chew-toy she likes better and gettin' used like a p-p-pocket p-pussy in a biker bar and gettin' yer heart stomped on harder than Mike Tyson bit that guy's ear off!" Dook holds up a finger, spinning it. "THEN... you can tell me 'bout throwin' the B word around in reference ta her name." He shucks up his jumpsuit to his nipples.

"I..." Esmerelda cocks her head. "I didn' see nuthin' wrong wit' her. Dang."

"I didn't see nuthin' wrong wit' her, or wrong wit Henry, and the both of 'em chewed me up and spit me out the moment I showed them I had feelin's at all! I can't stand Henry's fake ass anymore than I can Chiffon. Bof' of 'em can rot in hell." He slips on the remainder of the glittering jumpsuit, settling it on over his shoulders.

Esmerelda gasps. "DOOK!! How could'ya be so cruel!? I don' know if I needta hear all this. I didn' know CHIFFON was tha one ya dated. I forgot ya even did anythin' wit any of his sista's."

"Sure did!" Dook flings his hand upward. "We all did SO many things togetha'! Things I didn' even wanna do! But I DID!" He cocks his head visciously. "Got myself a broken heart and a broken--!" He gestures broadly behind himself. "I'm sorry, girl, ya got me in a fit righ' now And I can't be stoppin' unless ya walk away." He holds up his hands in surrender.

"Okay?!" Esmerelda jumps off the back of the van. "Boy, ya got issues more than anyone else I know! I dunno what happened and I don' wanna know. Keep that down there, alrigh'? Tell that ta someone else."

"Man I'm thinkin' about it! I don't wanna blow Beach Bear's entire perception a' me by doin' it though!" He stabs his fingertips into his chest. Esmerelda lifts a hand, turning and taking a few steps. "Okay! I'm outta here. I'll call a cab."

"No! God!" Dook grips his ears. He rushes to the driver side of the van, wrenching the door open. "I forgot ya don't have yer car right now. Get in tha van, I'll take ya back!" He flicks his hand at the van as he crawls in. Esmerelda huffs, slapping the back doors to the vehicle shut. "Fine! But it's cold! Tha's the only reason!"

"Cool! Get in!"

...
January, 1993.
...
"So. Uh. Yeah. Bad blood between those two." Esmerelda shrugs, sheepish and hesitant. "I know it's not my business. But it started comin' outta my mouth and I dunno who Harry is. I know Chiffon, I don't know a Harry."

"I reckon I don't know one neither." Fatz sighs. Mitzi lets her shoulders lift, her hands over her face. "I just miss him so much..."

The front door opens. They all turn their heads.

Beach Bear lifts up a hand, awkward. "Uhhhh.... Hey. I forgot my wallet."

Mitzi turns in Esmerelda's arms, face wet and shivering, her ears tucked sideways and back against her head. Beach Bear's own ears rear back before he can think to stop it. "ohhhh... Bad time? I'm really sorry about before. I souldn't have done that to you guys. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Mitzi wipes at her eyes, her lip wobbling, voice timid. "Do you...? Know someone named Harry?"

"Um. Unless you mean my college buddy, sloth guy? Um. No. Why? It sounds like, vaguely familiar other than that. I might know one. Are you sure it's Harry?" He steps into the house, swinging the door shut. Mitzi's eyes slip across the floor, then to Beach. "Dook was dating both him and Chiffon. At the same time. I think."

"I neva' said those two were, just that Dook dated her and some otha' guy was in the equation. I'm pretty sure it was a guy. Ain't neva' met a girl name' Harry." Esmerelda tries. "But if ya wanna run wit' that, shure."

Beach Bear's brows knit. "Oh. uh. That's weird. When? How long?"

"Wayyyy back, BB, don'tchu worry." Fatz slides a hand through the air. "This was befo' ya got ya spot in the band." He taps his finger on his jaw. "Now, The original BB, that womanizer." He slaps his hand down, and with that the topic. "Well, he dated my lil baby sister, Chiffon." The gorilla begins. Beach Bear nods along. "Okay... Dook never mentioned Chiffon and him being together. I know of her. But I didn't know they dated. Possibly dated. All of them? Really?" He looks between all of them.

"I dunno." Esmerelda shrugs. "Yeah. I'm not too sure." Mitzi hums quietly and Fatz holds up a hand. "It's up in the air right abou' now. I guess if ya didn't know I'd ought ta explain, which I'm doin' now. Listen here." He sweeps his hair back. "My lil baby Chiffon started goin' places with Beach Bear, the original, and they cut it off real quick. Then my sista' Chiffon turns the corner and makes goo-goo eyes for our drummer.  I guess somewhere along that time she picked up a stray that she...?? Liked a bit mo' than Dook...??? It's all confusin'. I don' really care too much about it. It wuddn't my business and it ain't now. My sista's got her business like I got mine. Chiffon an' Dookey broke it off and I guess so did the other guy. I neva' heard of a Harry in my sista's lineup." Fatz draws in a deep breath. "I jus' hope he's happy wherever he's at now."

"Yeah..." Mitzi's head hangs. Esmerelda bows her own. "The poor thing. And right when I gave 'im my good boots." A great big sigh sinks her chest. "Rest in heaven." She rests a hand over her heart. Beach Bear nods. But his hand waves away anything in the air. "Yeah... Yeah, yeah. But he wouldn't want us to be sad." The polar bear shrugs, to rid the weight settling deep on his shoulders. "Whatever happened is in the past. He never mentioned it before and I'll take his word that they broke it off. I gotta find my wallet." He excuses himself, venturing past the group.

So.

Chiffon and Harry, huh? Henry, maybe?

Why does that name sound so, so familiar to him?

Why did Dook never tell him about this?

...

A few moments leave the band in the living room, what's left of it anyway. Mitzi's head swivels suddenly, scoping over the room. She even looks above. Fatz follows her sight, his expression like a scattered puzzle. "What's tha problem?"

Mitzi continues to look. "Where's Billy Bob?"

Fatz's eyes jump open. "Oh. Um. I reckon I don' know too well. I thought..." The gorilla points behind himself. At the front door. Mitzi's ears raise higher, perked to the fullest regard. "Outside?"

The pianist's hands stick in the air by his chest. "I didn' watch 'im too closely. Rolfe'd probly know. I ain't seen him in a minute."

"What are you animals yappin' about down here?" Fabric footsteps patter on the wood. Earl comes from the second floor, holding a mug that's far too big for him. He trips and tumbles right down the steps. Each time he hits a step all he does is let out a small grunt. Landing at the bottom of the stairs, he lays there, then gets right to his feet and picks up the mug. He holds it, empty, pointing at the small crowd of creatures. "Ya mention anythin' about that ta Rolfe and I'm rippin' yer eyes out. What's the talk goin' on down here?"

Fatz shakes his head. "If he's here then Rolfe's here." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "It confuses me ta hell 'n back that yer livin' and breathin. Ya know anythin' about where Billy's at?" He asks. Emerelda jumps in quick. "OR! About a Harry that my Honey's baby sista' Chiffon ran around wit'?"

"Ya mean Henry?" Earl points around. "I know Henry. Y'all all know Henry. Don't tell me ya forgot his damn name? It ain't Harry."

"No. No. It's Harry. Esmerelda here made it real clear. I don' know a Harry." Fatz points to her. Esmerelda holds up her hand. "Yeh. Dook told me Harry."

"What's this in context to then?" Earl walks as he talks, stepping across the old wood flooring in his Build-A-Bear patented shoes. He tries to sip from the mug as he goes, but alas, it's emptier than his hatred for Garbage Pail Kids Cards. Fatz hums. "Uh. Some sorta relationship between Chiff' and Dookey. Some guy got involved and ruined it all, I think." Fatz looks between the two women beside him. "I'm not too sure. I don' really care all that much. This's all their deal." His thumb jerks in the direction of the two snooping animals. Both slap their hands on their hips, looking between eachother with matching looks of dissapointment. Both shake their heads.

Earl mulls over that for a moment as he wanders into the kitchen, hopping up onto the abandoned step stool. He uses it to jump and then climb onto the counter, peering into the cabinets. Mitzi's drawn on eyebrows touch eachother. "Why are you digging in their cabinets, Earl? Aren't you civilized?"

"Nope." He smacks his lips. "I need coffee and y'all needta buckle up fo' this one." He digs inside, pulling out the tin of coffee with both hands and slapping it down on the counter. He pries open the top and takes a big ol' whiff of the grounds inside, absorbing the smell. He stuffs his paw in and grabs a fistful of grounds, pouring the sand-like, deeply scented beans into his mouth. He crunches on it harshly, working the ground beans on... his teeth? His lack of teeth? Either way, Earl turns and finagles with the coffee machine, getting it all set up for a new pot, grounds included.

Once done he flops down, sitting on the counter with his legs over the edge. "Well?"

"Right." Fatz ushers across the creaking floor. Mitzi hurries to follow and Esmerelda takes her sweet time, gingerly pressing her sore toes to the ground with each step. "Now hold on a second."

She taps the counter once she's over there. They all sorta form around Earl in a circle. The puppet waves his hand, and they scoot back a bit. "Wow." Earl gruffs. "Y'all listen betta' than Rolfe does. Told 'im I was goin' downstairs an' he didn' even listen. Jus' told me ta get 'im coffee. I think Dook's folks think I'm a ghost or sumn."  He hums. Fatz tilts his head. "He's up there?"

"Yeah?" Earl scoffs. "Didja shoot yer brain inta space too?"

The quiet tells him more things than the band does. Earl lifts his hand. "Right. Too soon. I cope wit' comedy." The rest of the band around him nods, although they cringe. "I can tell." Mitzi hums. Earl's raised hand swishes in the thick air. "Yeah. Yeah. Anyway. Y'all shouldn't be snoopin', but I live ta let drama run. It ain't much. But. Back when y'all thought I was a puppet, way way back... I caught Dook messin' around wit' Chiffon a couple times, yeah?"

Mitzi nods, an eye squinted. "Right. I don't want details, thank you." She twists her borrowed nightgown in her palms. Earl grimaces. "Egh, yeah, tell me abou' it. I never wanted ta know 'em." The puppet shivers, looking into the living-room momentarily. "Well, I won't say what I was doin'," He drops his voice into a whisper. "Snoopin' around fo' loose change, don' tell Rolfe. I gotta get cash somewhere 'n Dook ain't eva' found out. He throws his money gamblin' more than he does spendin' it." Earl shakes his head, smoothing out his voice into a louder tone before the people in front of him can voice their annoyances, which is every single person in front of him. He cuts them off before Mitzi or Esmerelda can turn on him. "You were stealin--?!" "Our own bandmate--??" "Anyway! I done did nuttin' wrong until then by peddling pennies outta Dook's wallet. That's tha only thing I did and I didn' wanna spy on him. God knows the adventurous activities Dook gets into each morning when he's brushing his teeth an' countin' which medications he's gotta take while he's watchin' junk on the public access network."The puppet swings his hand back and forth. "Yup. I got caught when he came outta the bathroom fallin' all ova' himself cuz he had Chiffon maulin' his lips like a mountain lion in the season." Earl cringes, slapping his palms down on the edge of the countertop. Mitzi does a very similar thing with her eyes. "Uhm. No details. Please."

"Sorry, kid." Earl flicks his gloved paw around. "But them's the truths. I was ready ta kick hide and abandon the pennies I'd stuffed down mah shorts in that short amount a time, when bless my eyes, some other guy steps outta the bathroom an' starts joinin' in on the pile." The puppet sighs hard. "I got stuck there longer than I'd like and I heard more things I neva' wanted ta hear in mah life. I didn' want'ta hear our drummer moanin' anymore than y'all did." He shrugs. "Now I don't know why yer diggin' this all up now. I doubt he woulda wanted y'all ta dig inta his love life. But if yer going to now..." Earl tits his head to the side, his feathery hair cascading in the wind he causes himself. "I didn' hear them talkin' much that night otha' than noises and Dook talkin' some sweet nothin's or whateva', I had my ears closed. Tha only time one of 'em was talkin' besides him was when Dook told Henry ta cut some shit out he didn' like and they got inta it. Chiffon got pissy and Henry got the same way and him an' Dookey scuffled. Afta' Dook gave up, real soon I'll add, I'd fight longer than that, they went right back to it, suffering to my poor ears. One of 'em yelped an' I know it didn' come from Chiffon or Hen' cuz they wasn't dogs. They fought wit' words that time an' Dook got real mad. Henry got madder. I was tryin' not ta focus on what they was sayin' cuz I didn' care ta hear it. Henry started leavin' while he was spoutin' off an' Chiffon went wit him dragging 'im out by his stupid fake hair. I left wheneva' Dookey went to bed. I uh..." Earl rubs his chin. "I ain't eva' heard Dook cry befo' so I wuldn't know fo' certain that he was. Sounded real pathetic eitha' way."

Fatz tilts his head, looking to the rest of the band. Mitzi frowns deeply, a hand pressing over her mouth. Esmerelda and Fatz simply cringe to eachother. Fatz raises his shoulders. "I think I'm good leavin' the mystery at that. Seems like it broke off eventually." He shakes his head. "I'm still certain it was a Harry. Sounds right."

Esmerleda's hands bounce into the air. "I could be mis-rememberin' but my memory's betta' than an elephants."

Mitzi hums. "Um. Esmerelda?"

"What's that baby girl?" Her neck swivels to see her eyes. The mouse rubs her thumb across her lip. "You almost forgot my birthday last year."

"Oh." The gorilla's lips pinch. "That's my fault. Sorry, baby."

"So we're workin' wit' Harry?" Earl shrugs. "Good fo' me. It's y'alls mystery ta figure out." The puppet's hand ventures behind himself. He takes the coffee pot off of the maker's hold. The hot liquid is poured into the mug by his side, a custom one. Earl picks up and sips out of the piping hot mug, taking no heed to how it steams visciously hot. He smacks his lips, the mug clacking as it's set down on the counter. "Y'all want one mo' story ta tide ya off?"

Fatz shrugs. "Nah." Mitzi holds her arms to herself. "I shouldn't..."

"Then stew in the mystery of how they broke it off." Earl leans backwards on the counter. "Ya change ya mind, or not?"

Esmerelda and Mitzi jump to answer. "YES!" "I'll bite!"

Earl chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh boy."

His hands smack together. "Alright. This one comes a bit afta'. I'd say about... Give or take a month or two. Now. Y'all know Chiffon and Dook were goin' steady fo' 'bout a year and'a half? Little mo' than that."

"Yeah?" Esmerelda prompts. Mitzi nods. "I wasn't that old yet. But yeah, I think I know."

"Yeah, well." Earl rolls his hand around in the air. "Hen, Harry. Whateva'. I'm thinkin' he was there even befo' Dook was. I don't think Hen' eva' broke--" Earl pinches the "bridge" of his nose. "I think Harry was messin' around wit Chiffon the whole time she was leading Dook on." The puppet shrugs. "Not my business. Anyway. Me an' Rolfe was packin' up and I caught the three of 'em talkin' it up one day in the band room, the location up in St. Louis. Wuddn't nothin' pretty. They was all standin' around like statues, but Dook had a VHS tape, gave it to Chiffon. She gave it ta Henry and they both looked like it smelled rotter than hell. Good sign that the love's gone stale. Dook told 'em somethin' when Chiffon started walkin' off, grabbed 'em both, probly said somethin' stupid that pissed em off cuz Henry knocked 'im ta the ground harder than I ever seen, and when he was defenseless too." Earl clicks his tongue, the fabric that it is. "Dookey there lost all his fight an' he started cryin' right there on tha floor real pathetic like. Both of 'em two stood there watchin', said somethin' back. Rolfe got me by tha arm and threw me in tha car so I'd stop snoopin' but I saw Hen and Chiff leavin' wit'out him. Put the tape on tha table wit' him. We didn' stick around long enough ta see Dookey get up offa the ground. That's about the same time Dook 'n Chiff broke it off." Earl sips from the mug beside him. He lets his shoulders raise with a limp shrug. "Same time Dook's beer gut came around harder. Egh. Y'all remember Christmas of '86? Yeah. He showed up drunker than hell and I dunno how he kept the drums goin'. Sounded like shit too. I dunno if that was bcuz of all that, seein' as it was years afta', but I can see that fool blubberin'' ova' untamed strange for years on." The puppet's head swishes back and forth. "Enh, I got some otha' musings if ya wanna hear 'em but I'm losin' interest."

Mitzi sucks her lip, gnawing it with her extended front teeth. "I don't think I should."

Esmerelda slaps her hand down on the counter. "Boy, I got ears like a lion, I'll listen ta anythin' ya give me."

"Alright." Earl pats the mug. "But, I gotta bring this up ta Fifi befo' she starts gettin' confused."

"That's okay." Her voice comes from upstairs. Earl rolls his eyes. "Well, ain't that upstairs hall a gossip corner? Y'all got yerselves a real good hiding spot."

Fifi pads across the wood with delicate steps, slow as she trundles down the steps. The band watch her as she does, hyper vigilant of her unstable feet. Fifi turns her head up once she reaches the bottom of the stairs. "Oh, y'all don't needta worry none, I can hold mah own." She approaches, resting her palm on Esmerelda's back. "Sorry hun, I didn' catch yer name."

"Esmerelda Bourdreaux, soon ta be Geronimo. I'm sorry I neva' met ya aquaintance in full." Her hand rests atop her chest. Fifi nods. "Esmerelda, yes. It's a lovely name. I know a few Bourdreaux's here and there. But. I'll tell ya now, snoopin' is only gonna hurt yer heart. I can't stop ya, but I'll tell ya, it's yer best interest ta stay outta it. Henry and Chiffon ain't been around in years. There's no good in diggin' up tha past. If yer tryna tell them he's passed on, well. I reckon they wuldn't care." She shakes her head. "It's a shame, too. I thought wit' how close they all were, strange as it was that they were all together at once,, maybe my Dook'd finally find a girl ta wed. Or man. I never did know what he wanted for sure. It'd be far too soon, but a mother can hope he'd find the one. The ones. He's a lover at heart. I'm not too shocked that he found himself two ta fawn over." She heaves a sigh. "But that was years ago. It's all upta you whatcha choose ta do. Him and Hen were eitha' best friends or Hen hated him like gum on his feet." Fifi tilts her head. "I'd think they had nuthin' in common. I dunno why they all stuck togetha' so close those years ago. I jus' know that I was sittin' on the couch knittin' real late at night when my Dook came in tha door wit' his heart broke in two whinin' like he did when he was a puppy." Her lip wobbles gently, pinched into submission by her teeth. "He came in and sat down on the carpet, put his head in my lap like he used to." She sweeps her hand across the air, like there's a cat they can't see. "Pet his head. I already knew they dun' broke his heart and I neva' tried to push it outta him. I didn' need to. It'd only hurt 'im more." Her shoulder bounces slow. "Besides, I didn' wanna break mah own heart ta hear how they shattered his."

"So. Henry it is?" Essie offers a question. Fifi sighs. "I can tell you've already made up ya mind. I gotta tend ta the wash. Just please. You know he wuldn't want y'all to find out like this, if ever. But it's not like he can stop ya now." She shrugs weakly, turning on her heel. Mitzi offers her a hand. "I can help you if you want any help."

"Yeah." Fatz pops his hand into the air. "I got time."

"If ya want to. I don't need much help though." Fifi hums. Mitzi bounds to her, following the dog to the living room. Earl clicks his tongue. "Y'all ain't noticed Billy's gone yet?"

Fatz falters, his lips rolling inward. "Oh... yeah, I did. Then I fo'got."

The puppet rolls his eyes. "Yer Loonier than that bird is. Billy said he was gonna catch a train back so I guess that's where he's at. Said he'd call back whenever he got up ta Chattanooga in one piece. Looney's keepin' him safe. I snagged his wallet before he left so he ain't got nothin' of value."

Fatz eyes him down with wide all over his expression. "YA DID WHAT?! HE'S WHERE?!"

"Hey, ain't nuthin' missin' outta it, hold yer horses." Earl picks up the mug and he holds it out. "Can ya bring that ta Fifi?"

Esmerelda takes it before Fatz's hands can reach it. "Enh. I'll handle this. I got enough answers fo' today. But I gotta get ta the bottom a' all this. I got a curiousity higher than a cat's."

Earl snickers. "And yer about as insatiable as a technoid who's been given an Apple 2000." "Where's Billy?!" Fatz continues to pry.

"Watch it." The woman points. "Fluff ball."

Earl gasps, slapping a hand to his chest. "Why you--!"

He jumps off of the counter. Esmerelda yelps and she skitters across the old floor, Earl hot on her heels. "Run, Forest, run, girl! Ahahahaha!" His cackles fill the air. Esmerelda kicks her foot back as she can. "Get yer-- Yow--!!!!" "*WHACK!*" Earl's back hit the wall with a muted thump. He rubs his head. "Wow. Real womanly of ya." The gorilla whirls around with a fire in her eyes, the mug slapping down on the kitchen table. "Oh yer askin' for it." She settles the mug and she BOLTS across the floor, faster than ever. Earl scurries as she comes closer. "AGH!!! WILD LADY ON THA LOOSE!"

"Get yer butt ova' here ya big rat!"

"Where in the hell is Billy Bob, y'all?!?!"

Rolfe's voice calls from the upstairs. "For GOD'S SAKE Fatz, he's in Tennesee!"

"WHAT?!"

...
Dwarf Planet.
...

"General."

The cafeteria isn't quite the place to discuss such important matters, splattered with goop as far as the eye can see and with multitudes of soldiers bickering around clear topped surfaces, prodding eachother for fun. Cloog'narp stands straight, the General turns away from the sustenance provider.

"Is it important?" Crozier's one eye stares daggers into him. The medic folds his top set of hands together, one head turning away, checking the surrounding viscinity. Cloog leans closer, even as the General steps back with disgust written all over him. "You're dirty."

The alien glances down at his scrubs. Dark red stains his attire, and a sicklier, yellowy liquid drenches his pant-legs. His multitudes of eyes drift up. "Indeed I am. Yes, it is important. The human. I would think that you would like to see my progress."

"And what makes you think I would?" Crozier shoots back, slapping down the plate he's received right down on the surface it came from. "I have better things to tend to. Like rebuilding that hunk of junk that thing flew in on. I've been needing a new training room since you amoeba took over mine." His thinned hand rubs at his neck. "You're giving me the itches just thinking about it."

"Well, as I was saying to you." Cloog''narp rests his hand over where his chests connect. "I've got the human stuck back together in one piece, as much as I could, anyway. It's in rough shape, and it hasn't woken fully in the time since I've pieced it back together. I... lost a piece of it between bringing it inside up to now."

"Which is?"

"A finger." The medic's left head nods, he speaks through the other. "I believe I put all of the... what do you call them? The eaters? The bone pieces that go inside the oral cavity?"

"I would not know. I put you on this base to know that information, Clog." The general sighs heavily. The shining strips of silver on his uniform shine and waver, the General spins on his heel, arms folded behind his back. The eye between his shoulder blades follows Cloog'narp, watching him as Crozier walks on. "Bring me there. Walk." The alien demands. Cloog'narp jumps to follow, grasping the plate the other left behind in his lower hands. "Yes! Of course. Many thanks. You will not be dissapointedd by what you see."

"I better not be."

...

Halfway down the hallway, their cavities are greeted by a piercing shrieking, pink lights blaring down the halls. Cloog'narp sets into a run without even warning his superior. "Clog'narp! You get back here!"

"The human! The human! The lights!" He cries, tearing past the soldiers in the hall. With one hand he shoves one to the side, with his other's he clutches the doorway before it can close, narrowly avoiding chopping his own fingers off. The general follows, slow. Cloog bends and ducks under the halted door, slamming his free hand into a button to the side. The door remains jammed, the alarms switch off.

General Crozier enters the medical ward by bending down, slipping beneath the halted door. Immediately, he slaps his foot down into a soupy mess on the floor, yellowed and with trace amounts of pink coagulated gel mixed inside. The General slaps his forehead. "CLOG'NARP! You BETTER not be wasting my resources on this thing!" He stomps through the nasty mess, splashing it up his suit. Cloog'narp slaps his hand down atop a tool, hovering over the human's body. The being chokes, the liquid spilling down it's chin past the tube jammed down it's throat. Cloog'narp unties one of the four restraints, there should the being awaken and choose to get up, and he pushes at it's back until it turns over by his forcing, pulling the tube free. The liquid pours out of it's mouth, but the human doesn't do anything to help, devoid of cognitive function in it's state. The medic shoves him back down on the workspace none too lightly, knocking it's head. But of course, the being does nothing. The General releases a series of agitated clicks. "Rather dissapointing I'd say."

"Give to me a short cycle! I'm working on the issue!" One of his four arms grapples and takes a hold of the thin wand, drawing it down the tattered stomach of the creature. The belly splits open with a rotted smell, organs pushing and trying to slip out. The body gasps wetly, gargling past the mess in it's throat. Cloog shoves the vital organs back in and holds them in place while he grabs the stomach. Brought to his many eyes, the organ is split open and fetid, a sickly color taking it over. Cloog'narp grabs it and he pulls, drawing the organs taught, so he can then cut it. The stomach is thrown to the floor without any care, and he sticks his mouth to the end of the tube he's cut, blowing into it. The liquid left pushes out of the being's mouth with a series of chokes, but he blows into it until nothing comes out. The tube he's holding is then pinched off by his fingers, his other hand wiping the remnants of stomach acid and undigested goop off of his mouth. The oxygen hose is replaced, gently slid down the human's tongue into it's throat. "Come, hold this, please." The medic's hand wiggles the fleshy tube.

"Why would I do that?" The general sneers. "It's a lost cause. We'll simply sell the parts remaining to the highest bidder."

Cloog'narp clicks back in response, no words. Instead he snaps a tool off of the table, clamping it onto the tube, sealing it shut for now. "I have the parts neccesary! It will go for more put together! I just need a sack and I will get it back and working. Give to me a miniscule cycle, I beg you!" The alien dashes across the ward, slipping in the liquid still on the ground. He lands hard on his back, groans once, then gets right back up, limping his way to the shelves upon shelves lining one of the walls between two doors. One jar is grabbed instantly, taken into his hands as he ushers to the body currently flatlining as they speak.

He pops off the top and sticks his hand in with a splash, soaking his clothing further. While it's not a human part, it should work similarily enough. The organ is brought to the pinched off tube and set atop the body's cut up belly, the wounds sealed, yes, but almost like they're held in a stasis from when it first happened, skipping the healing process altogether to simply heal the wounds in an instant. Cloog'narp sticks his fingers into a vat, drawing out that same green goop that healed every other wound. He smears that onto the tube, then the organ's tube, sticking the two pieces together.

"This is a waste of our resources, Clog'narp." The General itches at his neck furiously. "If we don't get top disk, I'll personally kill you myself. Then we'll sell your parts."

"I'm certain you would, General Crozier." The medic's head turns to him while the other watches the sealing. "I have no doubt you would do that. I beg of you to please, have a little bit of emotion reserved for me. I'm only doing what I think will bring to us the most profit." The alien trills to himself. His hands release the tube, then tug on the organ, making sure it's secure. Now that that's fixed, he cuts an incision down the middle, taking the jar and pouring the liquid inside. Again, the organ is sealed with the same goop. Finished, he tucks the donor stomach inside the cavity underneath the rest of the organs, the long trail of intestine resting atop it.

Then, he seals the body up. His hands wring, every single one of them in a single twist.

The monitor's pulses slow. The heartrate evens out. His own rising and falling of his chests do as well.

"Oh thank the stars around for that miracle." The alien raises his clutched hands to the sky. "Thank you, thank you all-powerful starlight!"

The general scoffs. "The only thing you should be thanking is your superior, Clog."

"And I thank you as well, General Crozier." The alien blinks to him.

The body breathes on, drawing air in through it's fat nose.

The alien's watch as it breathes.

"I will let you continue. You're lucky you got it back working. Continue to work on it." The General turns swiftly. "If I may?"

His superior does not turn, simply, the eye on his back watches. Cloog folds his hands together. "I have nothing else to work on. I will watch for mishhaps like this, but. Believe me, the human is complete. It's only a matter of time before it awakens and joins the rest of us in space. It woke once before, inside the jar." His hand points to the empty jar resting on the table top, next to the bed. "It looked at me. Only a little bit, but I believe it did. It shows signs of life."

...

Footsteps echo through the bay, and down the corridor. "You better be right."

Cloog ushers to the door, watching as he goes. "You have my word, General!"

The alien sighs. "You've gotten that wrong each and every time it's been said, haven't you? It's Superior Crozier now. You know that."

"Of course, Superior."

"Rolls off the tongue better, doesn't it?"

"Yes, My Superior." The medic blinks in his direction.

"Good."

Chapter Text

"*Veep, veep, veep, veep*"

The monitor in the med-bay beeps steadily. The room is warmed, slight in it's temperature. The medic is missing from it's encompassing aura, the amount of soldiers has dwindled from the day that the Earthican arrived. A peaceful thought, perhaps, and it would be, had the amount of parts on the shelves not grown in tandem with the absences. The floor is stained with a sick rainbow of mess, mopped up, but unable to be rid of the awful color and stench. The entire bay smells like a split open corpse, nasty and stale in the air, but berefit of any cut open bodies to explain that scent. It is the floor, indeed, that carries the smell.

"*Veep, veep-eep, eep*"

The smell is so horrid, in fact, the meager amount of the soldiers who happen to be in the bay stay with their scent-intakers covered by a strip of cloth, blocking the swful stench, while simultaneously allowing airway for them to continue to intake the surrounding lack of oxygen. While normally useless, the lungs that they have, the atmosphere aids in their healing, helping their wounds to stabalize faster.

"*V--*"

The pulsing of the monitor halts.

"*Veebeep, veep, veep, veebeep, veep--"

Again does it pause. Fingertips twitch, bare, claws clicking together.

"Veepeep, veepeep, vee-- vee-ee-eep*"

A whine. Not of machinery, and not of any loud volume. Quiet, easy to miss under the buzz of walking outside the doors, under the sounds of the heart-rate monitor.

"Veep-eep, veep-eep. Veep-eep, veep-eep*"

The pulsing steadies. Rising and falling, the body's chest stutters, a choke pushes past the tube jammed down it's throat.

"*Veep veep veep veep veep veep veep veep*"

The steady beating rises, quickening. It does not fall out of sync, but speeds up, faster.

"Veep veep veep veep veep veep veep--*"

A wrist twists, bound near the body's thigh.

it's quiet. The monitor continues to count the beeps.

Fruitless, the monitor cries, outside of the reach of any able-beings grasp.

The pulsing continues, unbothered after the shriek.

One blue, and one bronze eye flutters, pupils wide, squeezed shut under the glaring lights above. The chest rises and falls hard, heavy, a weight firm on it's ribs. "Hmmhrm."

The tube erases any semblance of words the body could've attempted, run down it's tongue, down to it's lungs, aiding in the false-breathing. Another choke, smaller, but there. The body jolts, hard. A louder whine comes through, weak, but bold, slipping closer to a groan.

Those mix-matched eyes slip, open to the world, uneven in how they stare. One slides, drifting. The one of navy blue flutters as it stares forward, into the bright of the light. Slowly, it turns, to the side. The fingers flitter,, testing. But one will not move. In fact, it feels like it isn't there at all. No matter how hard it tries, weakness through it's entire body, move it does not.

But the rest do, stronger. Those working philangees flex, outward, to the fullest degree, then clench. The toes curl, numbed, but able to feel how they curl against it's soles.

It's mind, somewhat blank. But. There. Working, processing. Able to feel. A wrist twists.

Dook comes back to the land of the living feeling like he got run over by fifteen trucks, fifteen semi-trucks. His chest hurts, his stomach hurts. The only place that doesn't ache is a single fingertip, even places,, down there. It takes all of his energy to even try to lift his arm off of the stretcher, even then, he's unable to bring it to his face, halted by the solid arch above his wrist. The limb drops back onto the bed, a muted thunk. It feels as though there's something draped over his body, thin, but, delicately warm. It's nice. It makes him want to succumb to the small comfort the bed provides, barely cushioned, but the hammock-like build of it rests him on cloth and air.

But.

The restraint of his arm tells him to fight, fight to stay awake. His chest heaves, sucking down the oxygen forced down his throat. It feels strained, the air compressed.

Izzit the oxygen tank? Tha one that they stole? But why would he be breathing with jus' the tube? Where's his helmet?

Where on Earth is he?

A hospital, it seems like, with how damn bright it is.

So.

He didn' make it.

So why does his head hurt so much? His whole body, in fact. It hurts. So, so much.

But, he... saw the stars, didn' he? Before the G's became too much, the faint lights shined over his eyes like magic, all he's ever wanted.

Where's the band?

There's no way they'd not be coming around to see him.

What if...?

What if they hate him now?

What if they left the moment that it happened? Saw the rocket shoot into the sky, and crash right back down, obliterating it and himself.

But he lives, breathing, thinking, even if he's far too weak to move, he can, little by little.

It would be reasonable, that they would be angry with him. Especially.

Beach Bear.

Obviously, it would seem as though he launched himself into space just to avoid the look on the other's face. To avoid facing his fears. To avoid.

Falling in love again.

What if he never actually woke up? What if?

What if he dreampt everything? Meaning that he never agreed to that date, never fell in love with Beach. Never found him at that concert and found that somebody loved him for who he was. Or even that he never left the Showbiz that night, all those years ago? What if? What if he never got out of his van, never gave them that tape, never met Beach Bear? Never even heard his voice come out of the moon that fateful night. What if he never even got together with Chiffon, starting this entire fiasco of his life? But what if that is the only true thing that happened?

What if he's waking up after Henry socked him hard enough to rock his brain?

But.

No. No. That's crazy. There's no way he imagined the past,, thirteen years? No.

So he doesn't. Wrong or not, he chooses to believe, that yes, he is still in the Rock-afire Explosion. He knows Beach Bear, Fatz, Mitzi. Even Rolfe, Billy Bob. And Choo Choo. Looney Bird especially, having built that rocket with him, is real. His family. What other reason does he have to not believe that? Why else would he be in the hospital? Those two never would've taken him here.

It makes more sense that, possibly, Looney Bird called for help, got him out of the wreckage-- if it even was one, he wouldn't know-- and got him to the emergency room. That would explain why he's here. It would ALSO explain why his EVERYTHING hurts. So damn bad.

That doesn't exactly explain this tube down his neck. It's big, and y'know... kinda long. Phallic sounding, well yeah. But how else can he describe this thang? Ain't like he can describe it down to the details, oh it's ye long, ye thick, ridged. Nah. It just hurts.

Again, his fingers shift, stronger now. Enough that he can tap on this bed, trying, not making much of a sound other than a faint thunk on cloth.

What day is it? Is it the same day? The same night? Where is everybody? If his own family chose to leave him in a hospital bed, if they even lnow, well.

It breaks his heart. But he can't do much to check. His eyes drift, one blurred, to the side. He blinks, soft, righting the wandering eye. The ceiling is... rocky. Like stone stacked on top of walls of a house. It smells, dirty in here, not exactly like it's clean. Like the scent of a rotted deer carcass his Pops forgot in the garage until after winter passed. They had to have every single member of the family drag it out together, His pops, Gen and Major to carry it, Dook to hold it's head up to avoid a snapped neck and a worse smell, and Teddy and his mother following close by with buckets as the corpse seeped it's fetid juices. A waste of a life, and a waste of good meat.

The scent in here burns his nose, but, he can't even barely breathe out of his nose, like he's sucking down water through each nostril. He's forced to breathe through his mouth, a tad bit horrified. His heartrate accelerates faintly. Is his nose crushed? It does feel odd.

Gently, his arm slides upward. The base of his hand, closest to his wrist, it contacts the metal-like restraint. Handcuffs maybe? It wouldn't be the first time it's happened. But in a hospital bed, it would mean that he got arrested. Another night in the drunk tank would've been a mess in the state he's in now. He pulls, a little harder. He pushes his fingers together, to thin them out. He finds that he can squish them together  further on his right hand, as if they're filling a gap. Does that mean?

Is he missin' a finger?

His hand slips through the restraint, easier then they would have if they had been a real pair of handcuffs. It pauses, flopped on the bed. He draws in a harsh breath, exhausted from the small movement, the air noticably compressed in his lungs. It's nasty. This tube taste like death, rot. If he can imagine it correctly, that is. Like biting into spoiled meat.

With what might he can gather, his arm lifts, just an inch off of the bed. It's weighted like the force of a thousand suns.

This is what he gets, for mauling that guy. Put him in the hospital for far too long. Bit him to pieces.

Nearly killed him. Cassidy. The same age he was. He never meant to try to kill. Not... never on purpose, but. He did. This is exactly what he deserves. Yes, he did get... cut a little bit. But to go as far as to maim another?

He already knows he's going to hell.

His paw raises, so, so slow, hurting, pain all over his arm, his skin on fire.

Oh.

The hand twists, over, and then back. Because it can't be his. But it is. He was correct, he has,, no finger, right in the middle. His flipping off finger, he muses, even though he technically doesn't have a middle finger. He only has four, and now, distantly he recognizes, he only has three on his right hand. Even past the realization that he's missing one, his fur, it's simply gone, replaced by a horrid, aching burn, encopassing most of his wrist and forearm. The back of his arm is better, but it reveals a deep, angry red slash in his skin, not bleeding, but aching like it just happened. He has to drop the limb, sick from over-exercion. His lungs heave, draining the oxygen quickly. But he can't stop, he can't get a single breath.

The monitor flares, screaming. He whines hard, rattling the tube, ears cowering, tucked to his head. It's so loud. Somehow, he frees his locked hand, only to press his fingers weakly to his pounding ears.

Footsteps pound down the corridor.

He can barely move is eyes, let alone his neck, or head. But he does, very little, enough to reveal a doorway. It slides... upward, with a metallic swish. From the depth of the stone walls beyond a figure comes, two even, following close to eachother. The shadow grows in size, then.

It appears. His heartrate flares, skipping a beat even.

A creature, or two maybe, two heads on it's shoulders and with many eyes, three legs, two different sets of arms. It comes inside adorned in pink, well-stained scrubs, covered in a... nasty yellow, something else that's dark.

Is that his blood?

Is that a goddamn alien?

His eyes roll, sucking fruitlessly at nothing. A warbling sounds, not from the monitor, but from the alien.

He's in space.

Why can't he---

Why can't he breathe?

His vision fills with spots.

The tube pulls from his throat, and he gasps. It only drags a thick nothing into his lungs.

His lungs squeeze, pinching for any kind of oxygen.

Without realizing he claws his throat, gripping, regretting as it burns. But it's keeping him alive, maybe. He scratches, wetness rising and spilling down his fingers, then his face as soon as it bubbles up. It's so cold.

Then.

There's nothing.

He stops moving.

...

Dook gasps, choking down the oxygen that's quite literally forcing his throat open, greedy in how he drains the resource. There's something pinching his nose, forcing him to take it through his mouth. The formerly stale air soothes his heaving chest, his head hurts, a lot. His stomach too. But his head mostly.

The warbling comes again, then... words. Words he knows.

"Breathe it. Come to me. Please. Not like the other. You are stong. Please. Please, my friend."

Dook's fingers crawl across his own face, to the tube. His hand is grabbed, guided. But he grips the thick hand in his own, limply, but enough to hold on. The alien shudders in disgust, handling his wrist instead. It aches, like fire under his skin. A whine draws. The alien pushes his hand to his chest, against a thin cover. "Good, you are strong. Breathe."

Slowly,,

He doesn't realize it but, soon...

He falls asleep.

...

It feels like only a second that he's asleep, and yet. It feels like a million years at the same time.

He feels,, only a little more rested, enough to turn his head, easier now.

The alien sits, near him and atop what looks like a radiator. It watches him, perking up when Dook's eye center on,,, um, just one of the alien's many eyes.

"You awaken, I see?" The alien says to him, perfectly clear. Dook can't help but squint under the hard lights. One of his eyes feels more sensitive than the other. The alien, it stands up, walking on it's three feet. The spaniel shuffles away as he can, merely an inch, wary. The other pauses, holding out a single hand, the one on the bottom right. "You are alright. I've brought you back."

Dook whines. "Myyoob toog--" He pants, exhausted from only mere moments of being awake. "Mmmghh..." Both eyes roll weakly.

"You do not need to speak." The alien ventures closer, hesitantly. Both heads focus in, like stalking a prey. "I will need to grab you something if you wish to. Do you hurt?"

Dook can't move enough to show his opinion. The alien stands next to the bed, then reaches over him, towards the monitor.

Something clicks and a cold floods his arm, travelling the road-map of his veins.

Sleep comes to him without trying.

...

The next time he wakes up, his neck is cradled by a round lip, like a glass collar. When his eyes open, there's a shine of light that wasnt there before.

His throat is left alone, no tube to speak of. Dook smacks his lips, mouth flooding with saliva to wet the dry desert of a cavity, creating a saving oasis. He can finally breathe through his nose now.

Delicately, he slides up a tad, enough to sit up, just a bit. His wrists are tied down, his shoulders with a small, barely noticable weight on them. Everything hurts, continues to ache and burn. But he needs to be awake.

Again, the alien appears, from the doorway again. It approaches. Dook scoots himself back. The alien holds all of it's hands together. Soon, another creature enters, only one eye on it's head.

The two warble to eachother. Dook stares.

Then his mouth opens.

"Did'ja take mah organs?" He slurs, eyes rolling as he wobbles. He straightens, head shaking, pointing them down as stern as he can. "Cuz iffya took 'em... Well... I want 'em back." He whines, falling back against the bed. The glass dome on his head contacts his scalp. It's not exactly comfortable, but tolerable. "Give 'em back......"

Across the room he can only slightly make out the alien from before. "We GAVE you more organs."

"Oh." Dook blinks hard. "Thank ya. Goo'night."

...

Log 10.

The human has woken up on nine different occurences now. It is weak, delerious.

At this moment, many cycles of brightness later, and... exactly... an Earth month after the Earthican crash landed on this planet, it awakens the fullest it has yet.

And begins fighting. At least the pain medication is working.
...

The Earthican is awake, standing, wobbling albiet, but fighting nonetheless. Dook wields the monitor currently hooked into his wrist, handling it like a weapon. Cloog'narp holds out his hands, each on the bottom set, voice neutral. "Please. You are okay. I did not steal anything from you. All I've done is give you better parts."

"So YOU TOOK MY ORGANS?!" The human spits, shaking as it jacks the monitor closer at the alien, unsteady on it's feet. Cloog'narp simply approaches. The spaniel swings and the monitor contacts his shoulder, hard. He hisses, but does not move. Instead he holds the monitor along with the human, it's own arms weak. "No. I have replaced the ones I could not heal. Please, I've only ever had the best intentions. I do not wish to cause you any distress. Please,," The alien's hands gesture. "Set the monitor down."

"Why? So ya can steal more of 'em?? Knock me out again?? It's mine!" He slurs. "I'hm Dook LaRue! Izz mah body 'n my choices!! Momma didn't raise no bitch!" Dook shouts at the medic, the monitor slumping lower. "Didn't raise no,,, bitch. Mmhm." Thick lips smack, as if covered in honey, licked as such. "Uh-huh."

"That's correct. I understand." The medic continues, but he lets go of the object. "You can have the screen. But do not attack me. I've only aided in your healing."

"So that's why I loo' like a corpse, huh...?" The spaniel hunches. He rests against the monitor, the object floating just a foot off the ground. "Nuh-uh. Bullshit."

"I have, and I tried my best. We have limited resources." Cloog'narp comes to the human. Dook merely growls as the alien picks him up, gentle. Cloog hums. "You are weak."

"I'm strong. I work out." He yawns hard. "I want'a mirror."

"Your readings only signalled moderate physical activity."

"Tha's fucked up..."

"I understand." The alien pats his chest, between the criss-crossing scars. "I believe rest will help."

"No!" Dook growls again. "I'm not goin' back ta bed, Papi."

"I insist."

"Fuck off. Fuck you." The spaniel huffs. Cloog'narp tilts his left-most head. "That's quite rude in your world."

"Don' care. Leave me be. Bitch." He slumps, dropping down onto the stretcher. He simply sits, cuddling the monitor, tired. "I'hm fine."

"Alright." The alien lets him go. Dook flops onto the bed. "I'm not goin' ta bed."

"Okay." Cloog gently rolls him onto his back, slipping the monitor away from the Earth-dweller. It floats in the air. "That is your decision. I will be close by."

"Fuck... everythin' here. I thought space wuzz cool."

"That's an unfortunate theory."
...
Log 19.

The Earthican is awake on this cycle, and how do I know this?

I found the creature up and urinating on much of the objects in my medical ward.

Even it's bed.

It slurred it's way through telling me something about marking a territory. Hopefully the next couple of cycles will bear better results.

I will bring it with me while I wash the cloths.
...
Log 24.

The human has awoken multiple times now. It wanders the medical ward, aimless, muttering things it thinks I cannot hear. Something about a rock on fire. Something called a Beach Bear. Another thing called a Henry, but only sometimes is the name referenced. Always with an enraged tone.

It does not fight now. Still, it questions about it organs. But it is of fuller cognition now, regardless.

Today, I approach it with questions.
...

The medic sits in a chair, puffed up like a bubble and clear. He sits next to the bed. It is the first time in millenia that he's remembered the chair tucked away in what used to be his private quarters, turned into storage for jars, parts in some, and nothing in others. The screen that he uses as his log, his data, and his photos is floating above his hand, displaying the question's he's written down so far from the projection of a glowing ring on his finger.

Firstly, the screen displays things he already knew and documented. The Earthican bores a striking accent, different from those of Washington state. It's from a city located in a state only loosely visited in the times that the aliens were allowed to roam and document Earth, before the shield went up. Many had documented the copius amounts of "alcohol" in some buildings on a special day, and the effects it brought. Others described the wonderful, but taste-receptor-burning cuisine, delicious and flavor-filled, but painful. Some drew beautiful depictions of the diverse colored humans and creatures mingling about in front of buildings made far, far before they were alive, green foliage beyond the eye could see, beautiful streets.

Another is the creature's name, Dook LaRue, the last name giving clear indication from whence it came, and a descriptive one at that. Derived from words of the French people, La Roux, meaning red-haired, describes the faint sheen of ginger in the creature's fur. Though the spelling is different, La Roux transforming into LaRue through decades of change, it holds the same meaning. Curious. To come back to the first  of the topic, the creature's calling was made known to him by the amount of times it was yelled to him in anger or paranoia.

Now come the questions he needs answered.

...
Log 25. Audio is boosted for this log.

The sound quality is spotty, compared to the clear tones of every other automatically taken log. But, it functions.
...

"So." The medic twiddles a icicle like utensil. The creature stares longingly. Curious, Cloog'narp hands it over, simply clutching his screen.

Dook takes the "pen," spinning it between his fingers with a dexterity Cloog'narp accquired merely through the use of his many fingers. And yet, the creature does it with four. The medic postpones his question, moving the screen to his side, where it floats in the air. Dook peeks at it, but it's unreadable. Cloog flips it around. "How have you figured out how to do that?"

"Do what?" The spaniel questions. The creature's "breed" is another thing added on the list, like a sub-species underneath another creature known as a dog. Spaniel is easier to remember than "King Charles Spaniel Cavalier, half beagle, some pitbull and a very small amount of labrador. Or chihuahua.", recommended to him by the creature's own advice. Dook's own advice. It doesn't take kindly to being called a creature.

Regardless, the medic gestures at the pen. "The spinning. How did you learn?"

"Oh." Dook sets the instrument in his lap. "Drummin'. Y'know when I got my drumsticks--" He motions how he beats on his drums. "When I'm not drummin',, I figu'ed out howta spin 'em. I already spun mah pencils in school,, drummin' on desks." He shakes his head, tattered ears bouncing. "Annoyed the beezwax outta my Teach', Mizz. Mayberry. Lil' lady-bug lady culdn't take it.." He snaps his fingers. "Yelled at me somethin' fierce an' told me ta write wit' the lead, took mah pencil an' gave me jus' the lead. Cove'ed my hands in it." He flicks the appendages. "So jus' a lot of practice."

"I see." The pen is taken from the Earthican's lap. Scribbles go across the screen, many dots and sharp lines. "And what is this school? What is,, drumming you said?" The alien spins the icicle. "Answer either, but I would like to come back to the topic you do not choose. I'm very curious."

"I'm pre' curious too." The human shrugs. Dook rolls his head, tapping his claws on the glass dome. "I got'a question too."

"Yes?"

"Whazz goin' on wit' this? It don't sound like glass." The dome tinks with the contact.

"Ah, yes." The alien wavers his hand. "It's stone. It's a highly reinforced and processed rock, it's used for many ships and bubble-style helmets in this belt. I felt that the round of it would fit your head best."

"Oh, well thanks." The spaniel rolls his eyes. Cloog's heads tilt in tandem. "Is it not to your liking?'

"Nah, it's fine." Dook flops his hand. "Anyway. Drummin's jus' like--" He makes the motion. "Ya got yer snare, yer tom. Cymbols. Bass drum. Y'know. There's otha' parts, but I don' really need 'em. It's harder to bring around. But it's music." He attempts to swipe at his nose, blocked by the dome. His hand drops instead. "I'm in a rock 'n roll band."

"Interesting." The alien hums. "And I'm sure you mean that as an expression. Unless you roll stones?"

"I mean,," Dook tilts his head, shoulders bouncing. "There's a band called Tha Rollin' Stones if that counts."

"And band I presume means you all band together and create this music. Which, based on the banging you motioned,," Cloog's lower set of hands do the same gesture. "It's like sound."

"Yeah. Yeah! Like, real good sound." Dook wobbles his hands like he's boxing something in. "Like, me an' mah band, The Rock-Afire Explosion. Heard of us?" His ears perk expressively. Cloog scribbles that down.

"Unless your band was televised in the nine-teen-thirties, we do not get reception. If it did I have not seen it. In that case, for you humans, you look fantastic for sixty."

"Oh hell nah." Dook shakes his head. "Nah I wus born in uh--" He wracks his brain. He knows this one. "Nine-teen-fitty-seven. I'm not that old."

"So you'd be labelled to be thirty-four years of age."

"God, don' say it out loud." The spaniel rests his head in his hands. The medic lifts his shoulders. "I don't see that as bad. I'm billions of cycles old. Thirty-four is very young in my terms."

"I guess?" Dook straightens up, his paws resting lightly on the thick of his thighs. "I dunno what that is for you guys. Do ya--?" His stomach growls right on cue. "Yeah, uh." The dog flushes slightly. Cloog'narp stands. "Ah, yes. I'm not sure how you'll be able to handle our sustenance."

"Susta-what?"

"Just come with me."

...

"How did you get through the barrier?"

Dook rolls his shoulders, leaning over the monitor he's been hooked up to for the past-- however long he's been here. At least a week? Maybe? It's hard to tell.

As they go down the hall, many of the aliens inside turn to watch him. Like some kind of animal. Sure he is one, but. It's weird. They continue to walk.

One of the creatures runs right at him out of nowhere and he shoots backward, falling on his rump. Cloog'narp yelps and rushes to his aid, warbling angrily to the soldier. The alien pays him no mind, sticking it's hands up by it's head.

"Library!"

The alien shouts this, then hurries away, running like it's life depends on it. Dook stands with the aid of his saviour, huddling close to him. "Ohhh-kay?? Is anyone else gon' do that?" His voice shivers minutely. Scared? Nah. Shocked? Yeh.

"Unfortunately." The medic sighs. "They do not know the Earthican language aside from the few bits I feed them. I see it's come to bite me once again."

"I hear ya." Dook shakes his head. "Every otha' day Teddy's cursin' me out in Spanish cuz I lost the peanut butter lid 'n wrapped in in ceran-wrap." He spins his hand around a fake jar. "Funny stuff, his pro-nunciatin's awful."

"Interesting." They continue to walk. Dook takes to the aid of the monitor, Cloog helps him switch over to it. They travel the hallowed halls. "And that is one of your band?"

"Nah." Dook tilts his head, ears bouncing. "He's awful on guitar. Howls like he's bein' murdered. He ain't no Beach Bear, that's fo' sure."

Dook looks a little bit too long at the floor. Suddenly, he perks up. "Hey."

"Yes?" The medic gazes, with just one head. The other watches as they walk, one arm grasping and pulling Dook out of the way from a certain giddy soldier. They coast past. Dook shrugs. "I dunno, It's--"

His shoulders do a funny dance. "I mean it's,, do y'all got a phone? Like ta talk ta Earth?"

"Oh." The alien's eyes squint. "Uhm. The Yahl people do not have any forms of communication, no. But the counsel, in a galaxy much farther from here, they may. They were connected to Earth before the barrier was drawn."

"Huh?" Dook leans back a bit. "Barrier? Whatchu talkin' 'bout?"

"The barrier around Earth." They turn into the cafeteria. "It repels anyone coming in, or out of it." Dook ushers to stay at the alien's side, walking without aim. The entire cafeteria shrieks with sounds galore, screaming, bickering, warbling and chairs slapping to the ground. They continue past without a word. The more and more that the aliens turn to him, the quieter it gets. Dook hurries up, nearly hiding behind the medic. It's not like he's scared, but. Currently he's only in a gown and he can feel his nuts shift every time he takes another step. And that's not even the worst part. Yeah they're hanging, but they HURT too. Seems like the burns couldn't spare his poor nards anymore than it could anything else. So excuse him for feelin' exposed.

"There's a barrier aroun' Earff??" Dook questions, speeding up to keep up with the other's three, unwounded legs, relying solely on the monitor to keep him upright. The medic slows as they get closer to the back of the room, noticing his slow gait. "Yes. There has been since the nineteen-sixties, when the Americans "won",," Cloog'narp wavers his fingers, not in quotations, but its understandable if only a little wrong. "The Russian people were the first. Any-who--"

"Whuh??? Nah nah nah, The American's won fair and square!"" Dook's brows stick together. "I watched 'em on tha moon back when I was a pup. That was on T.V!"

"Yes, well." The alien hums. "It was a film, in a studio. The entire thing was doctored." Cloog'narp travels on, to the worker behind the counter.

Dook sits there. To stunned to speak.

"WHAT?!"

...

They arrive back in the med-bay, quiet the whole way back. A plate is handed to Dook, but he doesn't eat. Cloog'narp chokes down his own plate. "Do you wish to talk about--?" "If ya tell me anythin' about the moon landin' I'm sockin' ya." "I appreciate the enthusiam nonetheless."

Dook stares at the goop on the slab he's been given. The medic gestures to it. "It is not aggressive. It has no brain."

"Oh, good." Dook shudders. "I wuzz worried abou' that."

"I was at first too." He takes another gruel-like bite. He gags, but blinks towards the dog reassuringly. "It is not the worst thing in this belt. Do not trust the vendor with the Earth duckling on it."

"Noted." Dook picks up a spoonful with his claws, some of it slipping through the gap of his missing finger. He lifts his helmet above his nose, and sets it in his mouth, cringing before he even tastes it. His eyes brighten a bit, confused, but he swallows it down. "Hey, this ain't so--"

"*BLLEEERGH!*"

Dook sits up, wiping his mouth free. Well now there's vomit on the ground. And the alien. Cloog'narp doesn't pay it any mind. Dook cringes as the other continues to eat, dipping the dome down for a breath, settling it back on. "Yer a mess, Clooney."

"Clooney?" The alien's head tilts. Dook shrugs. "Yeah. I mean, yer like that one guy. Y'know? The guy who made Star Wars?" He looks to the ceiling, poking at the glop. "Or I think it was Lucas. George Clooney, George Lucas. It's one of 'em. Actually..." He rubs his chin, scruff starting to grow in patchily. "I think it wuzz Lucas. But I ain't callin' ya that."

"My calling is Cloog'narp."

"Tha's dorky." Dook flicks his hand, sticking his fingers back into the goop. He shoves his hand to his mouth past the glass ring and licks it up off of his fingers, his nausea curiously absent. "I know I ain't gon' rememba' that, sahrry."

"Like Dook The Red is much better."

"Leave off'a my name!" He points a dripping finger.

"It is only the real meaning of your calling." The alien smirks matter-of-factly.

"Pah!"
...

"Whatta ya mean It's been impounded?!?!"

Billy Bob leans over the countertop, appauled, shocked even. The keeper simply shrugs. "It's been impounded since January 5th. It got left in the street and the boys in blue marked it for police evidence. If you want yer van back, then I'm gonna have to call the cops." The woman begins to reach for the phone. Billy Bob gasps, snagging her hand through the window. She stares him down fiercely. "I got a dog on mah lot and he don't take too kindly ta strangers."

"It's not my van, Miss, I swear!" He begs, arms flying up in surrendor. "Mah name's Billy Bob Brockolai! That there van's my buddy's! There ain't no way he stole it! He dun been drivin' it fo' the past thirteen years! Ya can't let em do that!" He stabs his dark claws at it, palm up.

"It's not upta me." She shakes her head, reaching out of sight to grab a pen, then write down on a post-it note. She peels it off and hands it over through the window. "Call up the local station and plead yer case there, I can't do nuffin' while the cops are sniffin' it around."

"Oh, poo!" He crosses his arms, stuck with nothing to do. Oh! If Looney Bird were here! But he's been cooped up in that shed for a long as they've been home! Even as much as he begs Looney Bird, he still hasn't gotten a straight answer on whether or not he's going to Dook's funeral this coming Tuesday, and it's already Friday! Billy Bob whines. "Hunny, please! I ain't ever seen poor Dook hurt a soul! And he sure as water wouldn't steal nuthin' from nobody!"

"Alright, well,," His hopes rise. "It's got the wrong plates on it. Reads out that it's for a nineteen-ninety-one Ford pickup truck." Those hopes diminish with her words. The grizzly hangs his aching head. The very end of his concussion still leaves him with headaches now and again. He sighs. "Ma'am, if I could please beg of you, Christian to Christian? We're all God lovin' animals, aren't we?"

"I'm Buddhist, sir." She deadpans. Billy Bob puts his hands together, similar to prayer. "Then as two people who have faith in their seperate god, won't ya please, please... at least let me see it with my own eyes one more time? Ya see..." Billy Bob cringes to himself, feeling horrible just to bring it up. "Ya see... the owner of this van." He points his folded hands behind the woman, towards the van that sits on cinderblocks now, tires gone, probably stolen. "He passed on on the fourth. Ya'know I just wanna..." He shrugs. "I wanna see it one last time, for Dook's sake. Ya see, they ain't found his body yet." The grizzly chokes up suddenly. "I dunno if they will. We ain't got no idea what happened to 'im." He wipes under his eye, shocked at how fast he fell into despair, he only meant to bring it up to sway the woman, not to cry in front of her. "We uh--" He fans at his eyes. "Oh lord. Uh." He holds his cheek. "We were a band togetha', since nineteen-eighty." A deep breath rattles his chest. "Ya see, I dunno what we're gonna do now." He sniffles, taking great care to wipe away the wetness with a hankerchief he procures. "We ain't got no drummer, and we ain't got one of our brothers now." He snorts up snot rather nastily. it continues to run regardless, his face redder than a fresh picked tomato. "I know I can't take it back, but won't'cha please let me look? I don' hafta go inside, I jus' wanna see it fo' myself. It's gonna be the last thing left a' him. In fact, we're goin' ta his funeral this Tuesday." He shudders gently. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I ain't mean ta bother ya about my old-man sob stories. I can jus' leave. I wouldn't wanna bother ya none cryin' no more."

The woman sighs. "Look, I'm sorry about yer loss, i jus'... I don' wanna get inta trouble lettin' ya in there. I'll have to see what's allowed once the cops are done, but it's likely they're gonna take it back, probably sell it in a gover-ment auction if it's not reclaimed by family. If it even can be."

The grizzly nods. "I get ya entirely. I'm sorry ta bother ya."

"It's nuthin'. I get people breakin' in here far too often to count." She heaves a great big sigh. "My old Georgie, the dog back there?' She sticks a thumb behind her. An old blood hound sits in the dirt, right next to a dingy old dog-house. But there's a nice bed inside. The woman shakes her head. "I love 'im, but he ain't nothin' but an old coot, sits there barkin' an' doin' nuthin'. The cops are down here all the time cuz I keep catchin' 'em on that there camera." She flicks her hand backwards in the general direction of a camera out of sight. "But anywho. It's not much bother. I'd say yer best bet is ta talk ta the cops, give 'em some info."

Billy nods, even though he will most definitely not be doing that, as much as he loves old Officer Robinson and his wife. It's too weird of a situation right now. "Yeah, I'll look inta that."

She nods back. "Alright, good. Ya take care now."

"You too, Ma'am!" Billy Bob turns and walks away.

Darn it!

What's goin' on with Dook's van?!?!

...
Log 42.

Dook has begun to find relationships with the soldiers, recently. Some are dismissive, others he avoids like the plague. It avoids Crozier the most. The two met accquantaince a cycle ago. Immediately they begun to despise eachother. I believe Crozier dislikes that the Earth creature has fight in it's tone. I also believe that Dook hates our General based on personality alone. Still, he fights our Superior's rules, begging to be free from the ward constantly with the promise of problems ceasing to arise near him.

Dook remains near the door, peering outside. I too think that he longs for freedooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
...

"Ayo! Clooney!"

The Earthican calls from outside of the medical ward. Cloog'narp, or Clooney as Dook has taken to calling him, he jumps right up off of the clear bubble, furiously blinking away the sleep that threatens to render him useless, a log open on his screen that shows the number before it dissapates. This is the third time out of each of those thirty two times that the human has woken for it to scream across the halls, the other two times it had been cornered by two over-eager soldiers blurting non-sense at him. He alarms immediately, jumping to his trio of feet. "Dook LaRue! Where are you?"

"Rooby-Dooby Doo!" The creature howls. But it soon halts, to the alien's confusion, always confused around the creature. Clooney ventures to the door, peering out of the doorway. He catches sight of the Earthican, and now, another alien, peaceful and not currently frightening the human. She's familiar, a friend, one of the few of the opposite species that holds respect for him. "Lookit!" Dook gestures to the soldier with broad hands. "Look, look!"

"I am." Clooney drawls, tired. He steps out of the bay, leaning against the opened door, the warning tape on the bottom of the slat of raised metal glinting near his head. One of his four hands waves. "Go on, Dook."

Dook lifts one ear, and then then other, flapping them one after the other. He bounces up and down on his heels, much more mobile now that he's been given time to heal in this week that he's been fully awake, raring and ready to cause mayhem, much like an amoeba. The dog dances, swishing his hands through the air in circles. Along with Dook, the soldier bores a fecal-eating grin, bouncing up and down likewise, lifting each one of the many tentacles swept against her head like the dog's flexing ears.

Clooney draws in a breath, unnessesary. Mimicking an action he's seen the Earthican recreate when nearing the closer stages of exhaustion. But still, a small smile and a blink is returned. Secretly, he opens his screen behind his back, starting to document visual of this, similar to how he has been almost each and every time the human has awoken. "I see. Is that the rest of it? I see you've discovered a ritual this species performs."

"Nah??" Dook scoffs, rolling his eyes in good nature. "Yer a mess, it's dancin', Clooney."

Cloog'narp nods. "Indeed. It's a dance many species perform to signal contentedness to one-another. This one likes you." He gestures with a bob of a hand. Dark eyes turn to the soldier with no ill-will. "||𝙹⚍ ᓭᒷᒷᒲ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ꖎ╎ꖌᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᒷᔑ∷ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓵᔑリ, ||ᒷᓭ, hᒷ∷⎓'∷ᔑ? (You seem to like the Earthican, yes, Herf'ra?)"

The soldier bounces onto her flat feet, remaining stationary. "╎ℸ ̣  ꖎ╎ꖌᒷᓭ ╎ℸ ̣  ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ʖᒷℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑリ ∴ᒷ ↸𝙹. ╎ℸ ̣  ʖ∷╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ ᒷリᓭ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᔑℸ ̣ ᒲ𝙹ᓭ!¡⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ. ╎ℸ ̣ 'ᓭ ʖᒷᓵ𝙹ᒲᒷ ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ ↸∷ᒷᔑ∷|| ᓭ╎リᓵᒷ... (It likes it here better than we do. It brightens the atmosphere. It has become more dreary since...)"

Clooney's disposition lowers. "Yes... ╎リ↸ᒷᒷ↸ ╎ℸ ̣  ⍑ᔑᓭ. ╎ ℸ ̣ 𝙹𝙹 ᒲ╎ᓭᓭ ↸ᔑℸ ̣ ⍑'∷𝙹!¡!¡'ᓭ !¡∷ᒷᓭᒷリᓵᒷ ᒲ𝙹ᓭℸ ̣  ⍑ᒷᔑ⍊╎ꖎ||. ╎ℸ ̣  ʖᒷᓵᔑᒲᒷ ᓵ𝙹ꖎ↸ᒷ∷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᒲ𝙹ᒲᒷリℸ ̣  ⍑ᒷ ꖎᒷ⎓ℸ ̣  ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ᓭ||ᓭℸ ̣ ᒷᒲ 𝙹⎓ 𝙹⚍∷ᓭ. (Indeed it has. i too miss Dath'ropp's presence most heavily. It became colder the moment he left this system of ours.)"

The other alien nods. As the longer the conversation has gone on, Dook has waned in energy, glancing between the two of them like he can too understand their language. But interrupt he does not, silently watching.

Herf'ra blinks to him, surprisingly. "∴ᒷ ∴╎ꖎꖎ ʖᒷ ∷ᒷ⚍リ╎ℸ ̣ ᒷ↸ ╎リ ℸ ̣ ╎ᒲᒷ. (We will be reunited in time.)"

"╎ ↸𝙹 ʖᒷꖎ╎ᒷ⍊ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ∴╎ꖎꖎ. (I do believe you will.)"

The soldier hums, turning on her heel. Soon she continues on, down the hall, away from them. Perhaps going to the training room.

Dook turns to him, face pinched, clearly puzzled. Clooney shakes his head fondly. "What is it now?"

"What's that language y'all got goin' on?" He swirls his fingers around his mouth. "No offense."

"I felt that none needs to be expressed." The alien laughs as he can, a wobblier sound not fit for his vocal chords. "I am not offended to be asked, I've learned your way of speaking is simply more antagonistic than most who speak your language. The one that we speak, it is the traditional form of the Galactic language in this galaxy's belt."

"Oh. Sahrry." Dook rubs across his neck. "Yeah, that makes sense. I wuzz wonderin' why ya knew English."

"Is that the name?" The medic quizzes, flicking a hand, the glowing ring still around his finger. His screen follows it's movement. He swipes around on the screen, leaving the video on, but writing more on a seperate window. Dook snorts. "You and that dang computa', Looney. Yeh, it's English. Not everybody speaks English down there. I'm like,," He looks down at his hand like it gives him the answer. "Half hispanic? Hey,," The spaniel squints. "Whatchu mean by belt? like, which belt are we in righ' now? Kuiper?"

"Oh. Oh no no no, don't make me laugh!" The alien snickers. "My friend, we're in the Andromeda Galaxy! You're a far and away from your home galaxy, Dook."

Dook pales.

"What."

Clooney wafts his top-right hand back and forth. "Oh, you play. Surely you know you're located more than two million lightyears away from that tiny little galaxy! You're the one who flew here! You would've had to fly very specifically to land yourself in a wormhole all the way to here."

"I got SHOT here!" Dook stabs his hands into his chest, his breath quickly beginning to heave. He looks around, frantic. "I ain't had no idea I was in goddamn ANDROMEDA?!?!" He flings his arms outward. "I thought we was on Mars?! We in ANDROMEDA, CLOONEY? ANDROMEDA?!"

"Yes, uhm... inside the Pegasus Dwarf,, in fact. I believe." He lifts a spindly finger. The human's expression drops with rage. "OH LIKE THAT MAKES IT ANY BETTER?!"

"Dook!" Clooney shoots back. "Please, quiet yourself! Superior Crozier wouldn't like to see you out of bed."

"WHY DOES THAT PRICK GET TO DICTATE WHAT I DO?!" The spaniel shrieks. "Ya ain't bothered to mention I'm SO FAR AWAY FROM EARTH I'D DIE TRYNA GET BACK?!?! HOW THA HELL AM I GON' GET HOME?!"

"Please!" The medic pleads, coming closer to the human. Dook steps back. "How do I know ya ain't been tellin' them stuff ya don't want me ta hear?! Ya already took mah organs!" The spaniel snatches and drags up the gown without thought, revealing the roadmap of gouges healed, frozen in time, like a corpse he's tattered and mutilated. "YA FUCKED UP MAH TEETH!" He yanks up his helmet and pulls at his lips, exposing his crooked and out of place teeth. Hell, one of his molars is right next to his canine tooth! The dome slips into place when he drops his hand and flings it outward. "I TRIED FO' YEARS TA KEEP 'EM CLEAN AN' YA FUCKED IT ALL UP! NOW I CAN'T EVEN GET HOME?!" He shrieks.

Clooney jolts forwards and grabs him tight while he has a chance, pressing the spaniel's head to his chest with one set of arms, while the one other hold firmly to the dog's waist, still his screen is open. Dook struggles like he's drowning, kicking violently to be rid of the hold. Cloog'narp mutes him between his two chests, sticking firm to muffle the panicked ramblings. "Please! Please be calm. You will not let me explain! I do not know how the teeth are placed! The human on the wall had none to save!"

"CLOG! WHY'S THAT THING UP AND OUT OF YOUR WARD?!"

Pounding footsteps echo down the halls, voice booming far, far louder than that. Clooney hand flicks hard, the screen's remaining shards disappating like a shattered glass and halting the visual of the holo-video's constant recording. He huddles the human closer out of pure fright, hugging the other more than he is restraining it. "Get-- getting exercise!" He fumbles. "I am only testing the functionality of it's legs, my S-Superior."

Crozier slams down the halls, planting a hand on a soldier's face who stands in his way too long, jamming them away from him. The unprepared alien falls, cracking it's head against the wall. It curls as the General darts past, to become less of a target and stay out of his way. Crozier oozes aura just inches from the both of them like he's bound to kill, wrenching the human's wrist and yanking it back. "Y'all're hangin' up corpses--!" Dook yelps, flying out of the medic's arms. He drops to the floor, knees slamming on the hard tile. "IS THAT THA ONLY REASON I'M ON THIS GODFO'SAKEN ROCK!?" "That's why I hear it shouting then?! Fix it before I fix YOU!" The General's finger stabs into the medic's chest, pounding it into a bruise. "Keep that thing in there or YOUR PARTS ARE NEXT IN LINE, GOT IT?!"

"I understand, my Superior I won't--" "Ya AIN'T keepin' me here--!" "AGH!! Star-blast it, shut your ⎓⚍ᓵꖌ╎リ⊣ trap--!" General Crozier silences Dook with a brutal swing of his rock-protected boots, kicking him hard towards the wall. "Filthy animal!" He spits. Dook shakes his head free from the stars and he lunges, helmet jammed upward by the force, sinking his teeth into the flesh of his ankle with a wretched snarl. Crozier boils with rage, Clooney shoots forward, grappling the General. "PLEASE! PLEASE STOP HE'S ONLY SCARED, DON'T HURT HIM!"

He's shoved back hard, right into the wall. Three yelps sound brutally, accented with hard, fleshy thumps. Clooney rights his vision in time to see those same boots slam into the human's stomach, knocking the air from it's lungs. The human curls, shaking in mere moments. "Stahp! Stahp!"

Clooney jolts forward, dropping to the ground. "Stahp!" Another thump and he's wrapped around the human like a shield, all arms out. "General, please!" A kick knocks his ribs into his teeth. He gags. Crozier lands a brutal hit right in his face, knocking Clooney back and off of the human. "Superior, Clog! If I have to correct you one more time I'M TAKING YOUR HEAD OFF AND MOUNTING IT TO THE WALL LIKE THAT HUMAN!"

"*THUMP!*"

"AGH!"

Dook yells out like a shot cat. "SUPERIOR! SUPERIOR CROZIER! PLEASE!" Clooney shrieks, clutching to the alien's pant-leg. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It won't happen again, I swear to you! I never meant to upset you! I only tried to extend the creature's mobility for more profit, PLEASE!"

"So it can escape?!"

"*WHUMP!*" "AGH-HAH! STAHP! STAHP, PLEASE!" Dook begs, staring frightfully up at the tall alien, clutching where the alien's been centering all of his anger on. Tears spill, not of any of his own will. The General snatches him up by the neck of his gown, dragging him off of his feet. He dangles there, horrified, clinging to the man's wrist only to avoid choking. The alien growls, a horrid warbling deeper and snappier than a devil's jazz band. "If I find you out of that flarking bed I'm gonna tear you from your stupid ears to your bung-hole, got it?"

Dook's pupils shrink. But he remains quiet. "GOT IT?!"

The dog's ears cower back from the volume. "Yeah yeah! I got it!"

"Don't forget it."  The General throws him to the ground. Dook gasps and curls, clutching his aching ribs, protecting the spot where they couldn't find a replacement, leaving him with one bone missing. Clooney darts to him, wrapping him up in each of his thin arms. Crozier glares, colder than ice. Clooney blinks back, slow. The General scoffs, eyes hardened. "Yer a disgrace to your already pathetic race. You won't even try to fight."

"Why would I?" The medic's voice shakes, eyes unwavering from the Superior's one firm iris. The General smirks, a horrid thing. "That's what I like to hear. Put that thing to sleep."

"Yes, Superior. Agh--!!"

A kick punches into his ribs. "Correct this time?" The General pries. "That thing too." He points his boot to the other. "Yes, my Superior." Clooney taps the other's leg. "Supe-ria--'" Dook wrasps quiet, too bruised to want to fuck around now.

"Good." Crozier turns on his heel, hands behind his back. "Take it back. Now."

"I will, my Superior." Clooney grips and begins to lift Dook. The human sobs out without attempting to, the noise forced out from the pain. Clooney hushes it softly, gathering it in his arms as they stand. "I'm going now."

"I don't need you to tell me. DO it." The General begins to walk off. "Entitled dirt."

"Yes, my Superior."

Their Superior pays him no mind, continuing to walk. Dook pants, quite close to hyperventilating now. The human scratches at his own arms, shaking hard. Clooney essentially drags them into the ward, dropping the human onto the stretcher. Then he crosses the room, punching his spindly finger into a hole in the wall. The doors close and the lights shut off, leaving them in a dull, star-lit hall, only the two of them. Every other soldier has,, passed on by now. Their resources are becoming more and more limited.

As with his Superior's patience.

Dook shivers and gasps on the stretcher, laid to his side. Still his claws sink into his arms, taking great care to pinpoint each burn and stab into it. Surely it hurts. But the human doesn't show any kind of reaction to it to indicate that.

Clooney comes closer, resting a hand on the creature's arm. The human grasps his wrist, yanking him down. Clooney slumps, and Dook clings to him like he's the one true king of this base, hugging him and shaking as fierce as the winds of Yahl. "I jus' wanna go home-- I jus' wanna go HOME!" He sobs, cracking hard like a fragile egg. "I JUS' WANNA SEE BEACH BEAR AGAIN!" His voice howls, falling apart with brutal pierces. "I WANNA GO HOME!"

"I know, I know." Clooney holds the other, if only to soothe it's fright. Truthfully, it helps him as well. He rubs his hand over the dog's back, under the gown. The thick, long fur is a nice texture on his hands, the slices in skin an interesting counter to it. Hot breaths fog up the mask on the human's dome, heating it up quickly. Dook gasps in a fit, claws digging into Clooney's arms. "I wanna go home, I wanna go home! I WANNA GO HOME!" He cries, voice torn. More sobs add to the mess, then pitched cries. The animal shrieks, lower volume, but high, high pitched shrieks push out of it's throat without stopping, even as it takes a breath it's right back to it, like a wounded Buggalo. It's hard to describe the noise with letters, merely, Dook screams, loud, reverberating in the helmet. But it's not loud enough to cause alarm anywhere else but in the med-bay, the doors closed, sealing them in.

The cries continue.

Clooney's arms tire, but still he does not let go. Even as he calms from the common assault, brief as the attack was compared to others, Dook does not, unstopping in his elongated shrieking.

It goes long enough that the human goes hoarse, his screams wrasped and dry. Still, the noises do not end, ringing as crackling cries.

Eventually... the screaming starts to pause longer between each cry, surely the creature is worn out by now. Clooney can't exactly blame him.

They share a similar story, him and Dook.

Both taken from their homes.

No way to go back.

Clooney pets the other with short tuts, clicks in his throat, soft. Dook's body jumps with wordless, soundless sobs, unable to make another noise, voice screamed raw. He takes in deep, deep breaths, breathing in and out through his mouth. His exhales shake, but he breathes as though he's trying to calm himself.

Clooney does not get to question the outburst much. Soon after the sobs dwindle, the spaniel bears words.

"Where's mah ship at?" Dook sniffles, voice raw and torn. He clears his throat from the squeak, though his tone is still weak. Clooney frowns, not from the question, but from the answers that rise from that. He can't tell the human that he cannot leave.

And yet..?

What if he allowed it?

Clooney digs his his fingers into the other's back, into the tangled, long fur.

They'd be killed, of course.

But theoretically, they could find a way.

Maybe the human would take him off of this rock.

But what about his friends? Well, maybe not "friends", but, the people who were abducted as well. And the small amount of friends he's made along the way.

He'd never live it down to abandon them, especially to the hands of... Crozier. What would they think of him as? A traitor? A monster?

Crozier himself?

But.

It'd be impossible to make it out of here alive regardless.

Clooney releases the other's furs.

"In the hangar. The General has it now. I wouldn't know where the keys to it would be." He sighs. Dook shakes his head, the dome sliding against the alien's stomach. "Ain't got none. All we gots is a computer. I jus' gotta get it on."

"Surely the General has set it up with a key."

"..." Dook lifts up off of the medic, whinging softly from the pain. "He's been modifyin' MY ship?"

"I'm afraid, yes." The alien gulps audibly. "Extensively. He refuses to be rid of the metals, however he has reinforced it. You DID crash land here. The entire front crumpled. I barely got you out." Clooney draws in a breath. "The documents I had to take of you were graphic to say the least. You died, if only momentarily." He holds the other's arm, rubbing across it reassuringly.

"..." The spaniel pauses. "Damn. Okay." He slides back slowly to ease the bruises, removing his arms from the alien. "So. How would I..? How would I get the keys?"

"You won't." The medic says firmly. "It would be suicide. The General would rather kill you then let you leave."

"For parts, right?" The spaniel sneers. "Fuck that. I'm taking my shit and I'm gettin' outta here. I don' care what it takes. I'm not stayin' here where yer boss regularly beats the shit outta his peeps." Dook stands up off of the bed, clutching his ribs. "Ah-- Mmhm, I'll be fine. I can hotwire that shit."

"With all due respect..." Clooney rises. "You'd never be able to. Unless he's kept all the wiring, there's no way you'll be able to."

Dook flicks his hand. "I wired that whole thing m'self! I'll find a way."

Clooney sucks air through his sharp teeth. "We'll only have one shot."

"We? Dook's brows furrow. "Man, you actually wanna come with?"

"Of course!" The medic cries. "I've only ever wanted to be rid of this place! They took me from my home, I've never wanted to be here. Each day is worse. The General, he..." Clooney sinks his teeth into one of his fingers, cringing. It draws blood. "He cares not for my patients. Only for their parts."

"Like me." The dog's tawny and dark navy eyes roll.

"Yes." Clooney nods. "However, I believe... He wouldn't use your ship as his own, to fly I mean. The metals are far too pricey, he'd be piloting around a glorified trash can with how poorly it was slapped together. No offense is meant."

Dook tsks. "Nah, I get it. It's not no Star Trek levels of good. We tried our best. It got me all the way to Andromeda." He throws his hand down. "But if ya think it bein' junk helps, all the betta'. Whatta ya say we find my busted up lil' beauty? The uh---" He pauses. Then he sticks his finger into the air. "My rocket ship's name, by Dook LaRue!" He calls proudly.

"That's what you chose?" "Hush! No!" Dook flicks his hand. "Ya ruined mah moment!"

"Oh. Go on."

"My rocket's name, by Dook LaRue." He repeats, a hand to his chest.

He raises that hand into the air, pointing.

"The Bach-Afire Explosion!" He coins, snapping his fingers.

"..." Dook pauses. "Nah, that's stupid."

"I quite like it." Clooney raises his hands. "Non-sensical. It fits."

"Good enuff."

...

A long talk later find the two rogues venturing out of the medical ward, slow, calculated, a small plan in mind. Simply, they;ll escape, finding Dook's ship to blast off of this rock with, if all goes correct. In the off chance it doesn't, they have enough ties to soldiers in the base for them to help cause an uproar so they can find and steal the keys back. Yes. Very much easier said than done. Dook walks without the aid of the monitor, he hasn't needed it for two days-- many cycles now? How long has it been? Regardless he needs little help to walk, but to navigate, he needs much help.

Clooney takes slow, easy steps as he creeps past the cafeteria, gentle on his trio-feet. Dook follows as quiet as he can, a hand on the alien's shoulder.

He stumbles into Clooney as they stop, pushing against his back. The medic grasps him from behind, steadying him with one set of arms. Dook opens his mouth to apologize, but he's hushed with a finger on his lips-- on the dome, actually. "Stay here."

"Why?"

"I will ask Herf'ra if she will come. She will ask the rest of my people as well, if all goes correct." Clooney steps forward. A door appears from the wall, hidden from sight formerly. Dook's brows furrow, but he can't do much. Clooney steps closer, and he sets a hand on the door as it raises quickly, slowing it's trek. It slides up quietly. Soon he steps inside. The door closes behind him.

Dook peeks closer. The door opens for him. He joins Clooney in the room. The door shuts, leaving them inside. He turns to the sight, but the enterance is gone. Alright. Weird.

The room is huge and dark. Many cots are thrown down in a scramble, all over the place. Clooney steps over aliens in the beds carefully. Dook remains put.

Clooney continues to cross the room.

It's quiet.

Voices rise from the other side. Dook snaps to attention.

It's only Clooney. He speaks his own native tongue to one of the soldiers, supposedy the one that was mentioned.

Soon, the medic comes back to him. The other alien remains.

Wordlessly, Clooney brushes past Dook, through the door. Dook turns, following after a beat.

Once outside, he touches the other's shoulder. Clooney brushes him off. "We have no reason to stay. Follow."

"Wha' happened in there?" Dook steps after him, walking in front of the other. He stops him, hands on his chests. Clooney frowns deep, snarling soft. Dook, despite not knowing this man for very long, softens. "Ya alright?"

"They're dead." The alien snarls, quiet, but deeper than anything. "In their sleep. Herf'ra saw. She covered their bodies. She said they seized in the night, she only had enough time to check on them before they passed." The medic's chest rumbles with the growls, much like Dook's own. "I know he was responsible. To keep me in line. No longer."

"..."

Dook turns, continuing to walk. He grasps the other's wrist, having learned within the month of waking up and passing out again that the full hand was no go. Vulcan rules. Still... He can't help but feel like... maybe this was his fault.

"I'm sahrry." The spaniel calls back. Clooney follows along, glaring hatefully forward. "It was not you. It was Crozier. He started this whole thing. The war."

"The war?"

Clooney nods grimly. "The war. All of it. The whole reason we're fighting, the entire reason I..." He pinches where the bridge of his nose would be. "Killed Dath'rrop. I was made to. I tried every-day to heal his wounds. But you can't re-grow what isn't there. We were all content to let him live with his disability. Crozier..." The alien snarls, fangs dripping a sick green. He warbles incoherently. "I would kill him if I had the chance."

"Me too, man." Dook drags him along. Clooney pulls him instead, guiding him. "This way. Herf'ra has decided to stay, regardless if she is killed. She is versed in enough medical care to treat the soldiers if need be. I have no doubt that he would keep battling for the sake of his own ego." The alien draws in a breath. "I know in my chest that my time has come. Whether or not we get on that ship... I've done far too much. Taken far too many lives. I could've fought him each step of the way." Clooney shudders. "I am Cloog'narp no more, medic to Superior Crozier. I shall start my life over, helping as I need to. I'll never take another life again. I'll give my own to save one, single soul." He guides Dook along with a determination in his steps. "We will flee from this forsaken asteroid. Andromeda holds more in the center. We shall travel there. It's possible we may find a wormhole, one of these cycles."

Footsteps ring behind them. Dook looks back. But there's nothing. His heart surges. "Uh, Cloons'." Clooney continues. "Yes, my name now. I will be know as Clog no longer. No moe will I take his incessant bllathering. I will take no more orders. No longer will I fuel his energy to continue throwing innocent soldiers to their deaths. I am Clooney."

"Clooney." Dook tries. The alien breathes in a fresh breath. "Yes, I can see it now. Visiting planet to planet, helping those in need, like I did before I was captured. Oh wonderful times, I--"

"FUCK!" Dook startles suddenly, claws stabbing into Clooney's arm. "Clooney Clooney CLOONEY!" The spaniel begins to run, dragging him along. Clooney sets into a sprint just to keep up, heartrate skyrocketing. "Is he here?!"

"JUS' FUCKIN'--!! GO CLOONEY GO!" "CLOOG'NARP!!!!!"

The two of them dash through the halls, Dook's bare feet slamming into the ground, bruising. Clooney hurries to keep pace, and then he takes the lead as they run, now he's the one dragging Dook. The human stumbles but Clooney is strong enough to pull him regardless, yanking him to his feet past the blurs of jagged stone. Louder footsteps pound like that of a cheetah's.

They skid around a corner and the very edge of Dook's gown is snagged and torn, ripped to shreds by a lone finger. The General slams around the corner, diving for the two of them. "||𝙹⚍ ⎓⚍ᓵꖌ╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ᓭ! ╎'ꖎꖎ ⍑ᔑ⍊ᒷ ʖ𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑ ||𝙹⚍∷ ⍑ᒷᔑ↸ᓭ ᒲ𝙹⚍リℸ ̣ ᒷ↸ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᒲ|| ∴ᔑꖎꖎ!" The alien shrieks, pissed to the highest degree. The wind billows as the two make their escape, sprinting hard enough to hurt. The General's horrifying speed makes itself known each time Dook is dragged just inches from the alien's snatching fingers, pulled to safety and then put right back into danger each time.

"There!" Clooney shouts. "There!"

Suddenly they stop and Dook is flung forward, aided by Clooney's strong arm throwing him to the garage-like door. Dook slams into the metal hard, groaning, but he lifts to his feet, pounding on the door. It slides open easily, and he dashes inside. His neck snaps to look behind him, heart sinking. "CLOONEY!"

"WHERE'S YOUR PRECIOUS ORGAN STEALER NOW, DIRT-WAD?!" The General flings the other alien around, grappling him by his thin wrist, wrenching him back and forth. His saviour struggles to stay on his feet, snarling and snapping at the other's face with poison dripping fangs, just out of reach. Dook dashes forward, and the General pulls out a shining object. Dook doesn't even give himself time to register what it is, charging with all his might at the dictator.

He lunges once close enough, arms out, teeth bared and with a gutteral yowl. "RAGGHHHHH!!!"

He slams into the General with his paws, knocking the alien out of his hands. Clooney stumbles back quickly to the door, yanking Dook with him and off of the other man, face to face with the rapidly heating tip of a weapon still in his hand. Dook grabs his wrist, pulling him. But Clooney draws him in, twisting the two of them around.

"*BYOO BYOO!*"

Pink splatters everywhere, all over Dook. Clooney drops to the side of him like a sack of rocks, limp. The spaniel's heart stops, mouth agape.

Clooney's head is split open. Mushy red lays inside the burst open cavity, and it feels like he isn't looking at anything real at all. His saviour slides off of him, dropping to the ground with a fleshy thump.

His head lifts, and he's face to face with the General, his gowned disposition quaking. The alien drops the gun, stalking closer. "Get over here." He snarls, approaching slow, but with the distance, it feels all too close. Dook snarls like hell, anger overwhelming him with hard spikes, quick to hunch, grasping Clooney's wrist. He drags the... he drags Clooney along, like the alien has with him. Each step closer to him, he growls at the General, heart pounding and sweating despite the cold. "Get the hell away frum me."

"You're mine." The General narrows back. "I'm gonna rip you apart, bone by bone. I'm gonna tear your skin off and feed it to my crew. I'll sew your dick to the wall. Those ears..." He points. "Down the drain. Like that traitor there." He continues to stomp forward. "Give it to me."

"I'm gunna hunt you down 'till the day you die." Dook snarls, steps backward, until his back hits the door. "They ain't gonna find ya unless it's in tiny lil' pieces in tha garbage where ya belong." He drags Clooney closer.

This man saved him.

This man SAVED HIM.

The giant door rises, Dook peeks around as he steps in, still with his attention drawn to this murderer. This monster.

A hollow hole in in the floor. Dook narrows down the General.

In an instant Dook jumps for it, slamming down onto his knees. Crozier leaps across the threshold, grappling his wrist. "YOU STUPID ANIMAL! I OWN YOU! I'LL TEAR YOU APART!"

"FUCK YOU!"

Dook blinks hard to right his eye and jams his finger into the hole. Instantly the giant door SLAMS to the ground, pinning the General between the solid metal and the ground. Instantly the man scratches, grappling onto Dook's dome, yanking it hard with just one sticky hand.

The helmet pops off of his head and thunks on the ground. Dook is forced to hold what remaining breath he has. Of course the alien goes for the hole, but Dook stops him.

With his teeth.

Dook snarls and latches onto the alien's hand, jamming his teeth down and pinching as HARD as he can. Blood sputters up and the alien yowls, clawing at his face. That only makes Dook rip his head back and tear at his skin, latching right back and throwing his head back again, gnawing the bloodied hand. Crozier groans and clenches his fist, tightening the skin, but Dook simply latches onto his wrist, snapping down on it and ripping his head back and forth wildly, yanking his head back and--

The flesh comes with it. He spits the nasty skin out of his mouth, rising right to his feet, drawing one leg back with his hands pressed to the door, and he slams it right into the other's face, cracking his toes with the force. Again he draws it back.

"*WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP!*"

Crozier grips his foot, dragging him to the ground. Teeth sink into his soles. Dook shrieks, wasting massive amounts of precious oxygen, kicking at the other's face in the iron grip. While the alien is latched on his long arms claw at Dook's neck, climbing to his lips, prying his jaw open. Dook kicks his foot wildly, scratching at the man's wrist.

He frees his foot and before he knows it--

Yep there goes the face. His eyes shine like that of a wild animal as he lunges and snaps right on with his out of place teeth, adrenaline coursing his veins, teeth snapping and snagging and tearing, wet pooling on his mouth and being snorted up his nose as he fruitlessly gasps. The rest is history.

Sorta.

He feels like he blanks out, lack of oxygen blurring his brain, but he can remember ever bit how he shreds the other's sorry face in his maw.

Dook gasps harshly, spots in his vision. By the time that he's done the General hasn't stopped screaming, but, he's not dead.

Good.

He can suffer looking like Dook does now.

The spaniel flops on the ground, sucking at nothing. The air cold and like swallowing bricks. Hard he claws the floor. His helmet is just out of reach.

Just an inch away.

He gasps, hand clutching his throat.

His fingers are so close.

His vision starts to get darker.

Some how, some way, Clooney shifts on the floor just perfectly enough to knock it to him, the alien's arm falling to the ground with a fleshy thump. Whether or not it was on purpose he can't tell. Still he jams the helmet on, taking a full breath of cold air.

On his weak, shaking limps, he stands, grasps Clooney, his wrist luke-warm. He begins to drag again with a limp in his step, panting and gagging at the taste in his mouth.

The door snaps to the ground. There's nothing to hold it up now. Crozier stalks forward, face a bloodied mess. Speaking is unnessesary now. He snarls like a gargling banshee, yelling as he charges.

Dook sticks his wounded foot out and he kicks the other in the stomach, yowling from the hit. The General shoots forward regardless.

Dook drops atop Clooney and out of the way, the alien releasing a choked wheeze, blood bubbling up from the hole in his neck. The General slaps against the floor and Dook wobbles to stand, adrenaline in his blood when he begins to sprint on his unwounded toes, dragging Clooney along for the ride under his top set of arms. He'll apologize when they're not being chased by a crazy ass dictator. They'll be okay.

The ship comes to his view and his speed increases that much more, flinging himself to the beautiful sight. The footsteps pound, but they're slower, though not enough to warrant slowing.

They'll make it.

Clooney's gonna make it.

His head hurts so much.

Dook trips and slams into the ship, knocking his head, adding to the pain. "Ohhh--" He rises quickly with a horrible noise of surprise, brain swirling like a blended compote.

Crozier appears suddenly, gripping his neck. Dook whines, the burn on the back aching hard. "Oh..." The General coos. "I'll have fun with you."

"Go to HELL!"

"*CRACK!*"

In a second he's whipped his head back and slammed the dome right into the other's destroyed face. The General falls, clutching his smashed nose. Still he tries, clawing fruitlessly, blind.

"*WHACK!*"

Dook kicks him and something flies from the alien's uniform as he lands on his sore back.

Keys.

Dook snatches up the fob on a short chain, yanking it over the man's head. Freed, he presses the boldest button quick as can be.

The door to the ship slams open, crashing onto the ground. It pins Crozier where he is, crushing his foot. "YAGH!"

"GOOD! I HOPE IT HURTS!" Dook snorts up, lifts his helmet, and hocks a lougie right in his mess of a face. "PTEH! BEACH BEAR TAUGHT ME THAT ONE! FLARK OFF!" The helmet is adjusted. And then a rather rude festure is flashed. The alien snarls.

Without waiting for a proper response Dook hunches and lugs Clooney up into his arms, though he stumbles, his gown is snagged and torn right off in a sorry attempt by their assailant to keep him there. He pays it no mind, i t's not like he hasn't gotten used to his everything flopping around in just a gown, dashing right to the bottom of the ramp. He slams up the metal ramp, then freezes. Well it doesn't matter right now, and he passes it by without much thought, but there's a literal couch in the air-lock. Whatever! He can work with it! It's not important now. Dook rapidly clicks the button to close the door, and audibly he can hear the ramp whirl. Banging starts up on the side of the ship.

Shit. He's free.

Dook hoists Clooney and runs to the ladder, prepared to climb. Instead, a bubble encompasses him. He looks around frantically.

"Cock-pit, storage, training center, private quarters or--"

"COCK-PIT WHAT ELSE WULD I WANT HERE, LADY?! DAMN!"

"Cock-pit it is."

He's jammed upward with the speed of light, flinging him all the way to the top of the ship. Dook is squeezed through a tiny hatch, grunting as he's conformed to the bubble's whims, but he can't care. He shoots out of the weird transport, depositing Clooney in the seats installed up here, crossing the straps around his chests. He has to pull the straps between the gap of the two chests, securing them in. Dook's mix-matched eyes shoot across the walls.

His space-suit is hung up in a picture frame, along with his rolla'skates?? When did he even bring them--?!?! WHY AND HOW IS IT IN A FRAME???

He takes the picture and slams it to the ground at the bubble with a grunt, using it just a bit to vent his frustration. The picture shatters and the shards remain inside the clear blue orb. He sticks his hand in and pulls his suit out, yanking out the black vest-piece. He shakes it off hard and slips it on quick as he can and the rest of his suit is treated similarily. The banging continues, getting closer. Is Crozier crawling up the ship?! His suspicions are left floating in space as he peeks out the front wind-screen because, no, he is not climbing the ship. He's going to a different one. Fuckkkkkkkkkk.

Dook yanks up the rest of the spacesuit and fits it right on, hopping up into the seat that's facing upward. Various controls lay before him, but the wheel, the wheel is the same. Even betterm the same computer seems to be here and set into the wall, the same buttons laid in the same positions. Here's to hoping to God that the wiring is the same.

Dook sticks the fob into the square hole on the control panel, clicking at the buttons on the side. The panel lights up around the edges. He reaches over and pushes a button on the thick plastic monitor. The computer whirrs to life, the Apple IIe booting to life in green. Quickly he throws his head under the desk. Thank God it's still here! Switches are flicked on the floppy-drive, and once he sits back up, the computer is on, displaying text and a prompt. He types across it quickly, nearly snapping the enter key in half with his force. Flashing rainbow lights blink all over the buttons on the panel. He reaches around, feeling for straps on the seat. A belt flies out and wraps around his waist three times, then over his shoulders. Cool! Fine! He can work with a sentient seatbelt! As long as it's working! Dook wiggles the car-steering wheel and he stabs his eyes around. A big pink button blinks steadily, in tandem with the lights. It's his best bet if the wiring hasn't been messed with.

Another ramp crashes the ground below him, signalling that the General has found a suitable craft. But God he's hoping he hasn't.

With one last hope, Dook shoves an Atari lever forward, blasting the engines. The fuel shoots through the pipes around him, and as it does a pissed-off screech bellows from the ground. In a craft or not, it affected that monster. Dook lifts up, and he slams his fist into the button.

A moment passes.

...

"*FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!*"

The entire rocket lifts off the ground. The dome encasing the hangar splits, allowing them entry to the galaxy, a dark abyss.

Dook holds his breath.

It all goes dark.

...

Seconds, or days later...

He opens his eyes.

The stars blink back at him.
...

Chapter Text

Space.

It lacks atmosphere, as does it many other things as well. Grass, trees. A simple breeze. They're not completely opposite, however. They do both have rocks.

Yes, even still, despite the vastness of space seeming so empty, even it bears life. Lives Dook never knew about. From the moment he woke up he's been finding, and experiencing a new kind of life. One full of confusion, heart-felt memories. Some memories hold anger, some resentment. Others of confusion. A lot bear sadness.

But in that, others hold belonging. A feeling that's gotten harder and harder to feel as the years had gone on down on Earth. Of course he loves being with his family, the band included. He hasn't asked, but they might as well be his own flesh and blood by now. But. Even now, it's always been strange, feeling like he was... for lack of a better comparison, like he was from a different planet. It's a complicated feeling, to be loved, but to never be satisfied. Yearning, but for something you don't quite understand what you're yearning for.

It waned, when Dook was in space. IS in space. Looking at the stars. But he's not seeing the twinkling lights.

Clooney's dead. Just. Dead. Dook saw him get shot, dragged him along as he was dying. Probably exacerbated his wounds by flopping on top of him. Wordlessly a finger brushes across Dook's helmet, aiming for his lips. It's his own.

It's so cold.

Why is space so cold?

Why can't it be warm?

But even still, Dook is not freezing. His suit, while not a great option of actual space-travel, isn't the worst option. He could've been in his tattered clothes.

He's too scared to look behind himself.

But actually, it's not as cold as it should be. The vacuum of space is SUPPOSED to be close to absolute, -455 degrees, in Fahrenheit. Metric is uh... Dook leans back in the chair, ignoring how the belt disappears. He grips the seat with his legs, clutching the arms. Is Clooney really dead? It's possible he isn't. Dook's ears float in the weight-less-ness.

It's 2.7 in Kelvin, at least. Real cold. But on the ship, it feels warmer than that.

His foot stings, scarily warm. It feels like winter on the ship even with the slight amounts of heat added.

Maybe Clooney's alive behind him and he's wasting time.

Maybe he's already gone.

Why does his foot sting again?

Why in all the stars around him can he not just turn around?

Where is he?

It hasn't been long enough since the drugs have faded out of his system for him to think clearly yet.

He MAULED him.

Why doesn't that scare him like hurting the other guy did?

Is Clooney really dead?

Is he really in space right now? Andromeda? What would happen if he just, woke up? In his bed? What time would it be? Is he even in 1993 anymore?

It's really starting to sting now.

Is he really dead.

Dook turns, peeking past the back of the chair. It's the same chair he first put in the ship, melted back together and supported by a red shiny tube on each soldered joint. Why isn't he focusing on what's in front of him?

Clooney's head is split. It drips, floating into the nothing around them. Beadlets of shining pink travel with no aim. Dook rests his arms on the back of the chair, his head finding a space in the lines of his arms. In his head, he realizes he should probably be watching out of the window for asteroids or something. Other ships that could be shooting him. Galaga type stuff. But. Now that he's looking, he can't look away. Morbid is life. That's what Beach Bear would probably say. Some kind of weird Shakespearean thing that would simultaneously confuse him to hell and back, and then warm his heart even more to hear Beach Bear speak at all. Clooney would've liked Shakespeare, probably. Him and Beach Bear probably would've gotten along. Dook can't see through his own eyes, blank. Clooney can't either.

His eyes are so dark. But even before, they held a brightness, a shine.

Space is darker than anything he's seen. And yet, so bright. Dook stands from the seat. Or, he would've, had there been gravity to tie him down. He kinda just kicks his feet around, half-assed. But still, he's been swimming before. It's kinda like that. His fingers,, the remaining fingers on his right hand push at the seat, slow to move him in the air. But it feels quick with how easy he glides. Quick with how close he comes to Clooney, too fast for his liking.

He pushes his hands to the wall, stopping him just inches from running into the man who saved him. Twice now. And is dead because of him. Dook pushes his hands up. It lowers him down, enough that he can sit next to the alien, their legs touching. Still, he watches, eyes concentrated, like possibly he could miss something, his left paw cupping the other's shoulder. He's so cold. Slowly, he sets his hand atop the other's chest, the left one. It does nothing, ice cold in temperature. He keeps it there.

Dook moves on to the next. Unremarkably, it does the same thing the other one does. Refuses to lift.

He leans back, mind blank. His hand crawls further up. Dook's palm rests on the alien's face. There's what looks like blood leaking from his lips, on the one side where he still has lips to have liquid to drip from. His stomach churns. But he doesn't move. Dook's paw retracts, slipping over his helmet, forgetting it's there. Still he keeps it there, resting.

His eyes draw to his hand. One of the fingers of his glove, it's just unfilled. But the material is thick enough to hold, his thick rubber tool gloves. He clenches a fist. The middle sticks up. He doesn't have enough power in him to laugh. Willie's ring is most likely gone. Unless it's in here, it's likely it's gone forever. Like his finger. Years of history, just like that. It wasn't always his. 'Course, it was Willie's, but it was Fido's first, then Fido's father's, and his grand-father. Then his grandfather before that, and then his grandpa way beyond that. Thing is, it's been in the family for a long time. It hurts to know it's gone. Just a simple gold band, not very pricey, but not no dime-store jewelry either. But it was the thought that mattered, who wore it. It's odd. It still feels like it's on his finger, even though his finger isn't there at all, let alone the golden band.

Clooney's really gone. Isn't breathing, his heart ceases to beat, his eyes are lifeless.

Why does Dook feel so,, empty? Like it's not hitting him like he thought it would. He thought he would've cried more. It's hard to think this man really is dead. He looks just fine, except for the holes. And the split across his face. But the other head is just fine. Except for the blood. Dook sucks in a breath.

What does he do with Clooney's body? Dook doesn't know where he is right now, let alone where he could go. Does...?

Maybe Clooney does?

No. No. He couldn't. He won't stoop as low as stealing from the dead, whether the man's screens have information or not. Dook releases his grip on the seat. He floats backwards, the rocket moving steadily in space. The stars move past them, slow as can be. Soon, a rock drifts by, cobalt in color. it clanks against the side of the ship. Right. Dook pushes off of the wall, gripping the back of the chair.

He lowers the lever down, the Atari controller one. Still they slide. No longer matching eyes drift across the console, blurred. He's all alone in space.

Another control. It's an NES controller stuck into the board. He taps at it with his finger-tip, testing it's movement. It doesn't do much to stop them. He pushes at the B button, staring out the window, eyelids low, eyes unfocused. He switches between all of the buttons, testing each one.

Clooney's really gone.

It's all his fault, too.

He really killed someone this time.

The stars begin to slow down. Lucky guess for which button that was meant to do.

Soon, they slow to a crawl, barely inching. He's able to remain solidly in place. He returns the lever to the middle.

It's not safe to float aimlessly through space.

His head turns.

Can the weird bubble thing do anything helpful instead of just sitting there with glass inside?

Dook stares at it.

...

He sighs, venturing closer. He can't even enjoy the weightlessness. His tail twitters around for balance, nothing happening. Another thing gone, he supposes. Surely he asked about it before. He can't find it in himself to care. He's already a goner. There's no way to get back home anyway. He won't ever see anybody he knew again.

Maybe heaven doesn't have to wait. It could be his second chance, a new chance to forget everything he's done. Finally be with Beach Bear, no matter how long he'd have to wait for the other. He'd give everything just to tell him how much he really loves him. How he needs him so much more than Beach Bear would ever need him. If he'd ever even be allowed a single chance after what he's done now...

But, no. He shakes his head. This is all he's ever wanted. Space travel. He has the whole cosmos to himself.

But he never wanted to...

To...

Be out here by himself.

It's so empty.

All he can hear is his breathing.

Maybe Clooney was wrong about them being in Andromeda.

It's possible that...

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they call them different galaxies out here.

Maybe he's farther from home than he thinks. Maybe closer.

Dook settles back into the seat. With a push, he moves the Atari lever in here pedal to the metal. To the plastic. It doesn't sound as good in his head.

In seconds of delay, they propel forward fast. He flicks it down, all the way. They slide consistently.

Guess it's time for some Captain Kirk style trial and error adventures waiting in his direction.

Here's to hoping he's close to a planet he can land on.

What a mess this has turned out to be.

...

Flying a rocket isn't much different from driving a car. Controls aside, it's a lot of slight movements, trusting the frictionless environment. Space happens to be achingly empty, aside from the small belts of asteroids showering over his hull. It tinks like hail, the small rocks he can't avoid. But still, navigating isn't hard. It teeters on maddening, though. It's close to three,, ish? hours in that he begins to lose focus. Dook can't tell. Of course, he's been thinking, watching as well. But it dulls in comparison to real driving. In every state they'd find something new, green scenery, giant buildings, quaint road-side attractions. It's hard finding anything in space out here, let alone anything of mental value.

By the corner of his eye, a glowing shape passes. He jolts, leaning forward to follow the tiny dot. They slide past. Dook reaches for the NES controller they had rigged to the computer,

He gets the rocket to push backwards, however it is that the ship does it. It's hard to know when he never got to inspect his own ship from the outside. He doesn't even know what the inside of his ship looks like now. Despite his inner monologue rambling on, the rocket pushes back slowly.

The dot re-appears, ever the snail-speed task. Dook lets the ship glide. Gently he pushes at the wheel, moving it like a joystick to the left. The dot begins to slide closer to the center of the window. Dook switches the levers accordingly.

He begins to travel towards the dot. It stays stationary.

Oh. It's far. Far, far, far away.

Dook turns to the medic strapped into the seat behind him. Watching.

...

It feels like eons that they drift. It feels like even longer that he stares at the motionless body strapped into his-- this rocket's seats. His rocket.

It's possible, and more than likely that Dook is farther from home than he thought. It's not unlikely that his savior got the two places mixed up, since he's been on that little rock for so long. Through the stories Clooney told him, the very few he can remember past the haze, the man has been all over the place. Helping people, curing the few odd diseases. Doing things far more important than saving Dook's self. Never done a thing in his life but hurt people. Couldn't save Willie, mauled a mugger. Couldn't be enough for Hen' and Chiff' and he couldn't even stick around long enough to tell Beach Bear everything he wanted to. Couldn't even be around to support him. God knows what Beach's doing now. Probably-- He can't even think of what he could be doing. Not like he deserves to know anyway.

Do they know he's alive? It wasn't like the rocket was finished, close but. He crashed, bad. Evidently he died.

"DEAD?!" Dook cries, lifting from the medical bed.

Clooney pushes him back down, clutching his wrist as it bleeds profusely. "Yes, you had died when you crashed. I was holding you as you took your last breath. Please do not move. It is hard to remove the thin stone splinters when you flex your tendons."

"My whuh-?" Dook clenches his fingers. A snap is heard. Clooney leans back with a long, drawn out sigh. Dook twists his wrist around, wiggling his fingers. The pointer on his right ceases to move. "Oh. That's the drugs, right?" The spaniel snorts a laugh suddenly. "Shit I'm high." He flops back on the bed.

"No." Clooney grapples his wrist once more. "The medicine I've put you on is very strong, but it will not hurt you. You've done that yourself. I have no idea why you would start problems with the soldiers. At the very least, I can grab these shards past your bones now. You've sliced clean through one of your tendons. I will re-attatch it when I am finished."

"Whutzz a tender?" The human peers into the gaping wound in his wrist. With a claw, he pokes at the noodle-like tendon hanging free. It does nothing. Disgusting enough, he takes it between his fingers, pulling gently. Clooney watches on, disturbed. Yet curious. Dook's finger curls, working with his movements. "Yo. Ew."

"Then why do you continue?" Clooney gags behind his hand. He smacks his lips. "Why do it?"

"Iss cool." Dook lets his wrist hang limply. Red flows down his arm steadily. "Bein' high is makin' me dizzy."

"You're losing a lot of blood." Clooney twists his wrist over, the wound acting as a pool to keep it in place, at least a little bit better then letting it drip. "It's the loss of blood doing that."

"What'd ya put me on?" Dook snickers. "This's betta' than coke. Don' ask." He cuts a hand through the air. Blood flicks across the bed. Wrong paw to choose. Clooney sighs, holding his wrist tighter, keeping it right where he needs it. "I don't know what this coke is, but I will not ask as you've requested."

"Alright."

Dook fidgets.

Clooney looks up to his face as Dook squirms.

"What is it."

Dook goes to crack his knuckles. Clooney pulls his hand back. The spaniel hums. "I dunno. I kinda wanna tell you."

"I will listen." The alien gestures for him to go on. Dook looks to the wall. "Eh, it wuddn't much. Awful. Real short high. Had me feelin' like shit afta'. This girl had me do it or she wuddn't 'boutta let me stay tha night, didn't do much fo' me but scare me. Had me itchin' 'n shit fiendin' ta try it again. I'm lucky she didn't have nun left." His shoulders lift.

"So a drug, I see."

"Yeh."

A silence overcomes the conversation.

"Hey can ya give me a lil' compartment in there? Fo' like, I dunno." Dook shrugs. "Emergencies?"

"No," Clooney hums, concentrating deeply as he plucks away at the shards, depositing them on the tray. "I have nothing to make you one." One head watches his patient, the other, the wound. "However, I can give you the tendons of a Florbic-nar. Their fingers are very flexible." He wiggles the fingers on one hand.

"Sign me up."

"I presume that is a yes." The medic nods. "Yeah that is, sahrry." Multiple snaps ring out. Dook's fingers fall limp without his control. "Oh I don' like this."

"It makes sense that it would be uncomfortable. I shall go get the tendons." Clooney rises from his seat.

...

Clooney's body remains stationary.

Without thinking Dook lifts a hand, taking a finger. He bends it, edging it backwards. The tip of it touches the back of his hand. He cringes at the sight. Why the hell did he let himself do that? Is he even going to get any use out of this? Clooney's dead. Is there any actual life saving uses for it? Or is it just some kind of party trick?

Dook continues to eye the alien's body.

He's dead. But why would that change now?

The glowing ring catches his attention.

Is that really where the screen came from? It is the same color. Might be some kind of projection thingy.

He looks back to the window. The dot is bigger, but not quite big enough to see any details in full.

Eh, he has time. Dook pushes away from the seat.

He picks up Clooney's hand, taking great care to hold it by the wrist. It's not like he wants to make out with a corpse, vulcan ways and whatnot. But he doesn't slide off the ring on his finger. Instead, he taps it.

"*Bwom*"

The screen appears. Dook waves his hand. It phases through the screen. His eyebrows tense. Dook's seen him pick up the screen before, with all of his hands. He tries again, attempting to tap on the sheet.

Nothing still. He peeks at the screen instead. Nothing on there is readable to him.

He stands, tapping on the glowing jewelry again. The screen disappears.

He won't take it. Even if he would take it for a moment just to test if he was right, he wouldn't do it for his life. It ain't his. Course he has respect for the dead.

So he sits back down.

The dot is barely any closer.

Lord help him, this boredom's gonna eat him.

"Ay, bubble-lady." Dook calls, eyes turning then his head to see the orb that brought him up here, peeking past his tattered ear. The orb doesn't do a thing. He leans to it and taps across the top instead.  It lights up, blinking a green hue. The glass inside shines with green lights in specific patterns, the orb being the only thing to light it up in here aside from the miniscule glow of the buttons on the panel, turning the room evergreen. Dook snaps his fingers. It doesn't make a sound. Just for good measure he tries on the left instead of flicking the empty finger on his glove.

"Mmhm, yeah. Right. Ain't I a genius?" His eyes roll. Sound travels on air so it's no wonder he can't hear anything but his own sorry voice, shot to hell.

Dook slaps his hands down on the wheel, pushing himself away from the same view he's been staring at for hours.

He has a whole spaceship he could be exploring for God's sake.

Dook pushes himself down, swinging that same arm that pushes at the ceiling down, hooking his fingers under the latch on the floor. He pulls it up. The hatch opens.

He sticks one foot in.

It's darker than sin inside.

Regardless, he crawls in, pulling the door shut behind him.

Pitch black. A small orange light flickers on inside. A handle is illuminated below him.

...

In the floor below, the ceiling bears a marked out circle. It's kicked open, a boot sticking out. It sinks back into the dark hatch, giving Dook access to the rest of the ship.

He flinches back at a sudden bright beam of light blinding him, eyes adjusting to the light that suddenly kicks on. The beam dulls, dimming into a faint scarlet hue. Dook blinks away the purple orb floating in his vision, having been very close to whatever it was supplying the light.

The floor in here is a deep, dark color, dark enough to look black in the light. The whole room is saturated in red, the walls, perhaps even the carpet is dyed the dark color. Dook turns his head, having come out of the right side of the room. There's a bed? Maybe? But he knows enough things in this world, and hell he's been wanting one himself, so it's easy that he knows what it is.

Still, his lips titter upward, his out of order teeth flashing behind his twitching top lip. Of course it's a damn love-bed. Bed shaped like a heart. Whatever! It is what it is, and he's still pissed. In HIS ship, this-- fuck him! That piece of shit stole his ride and started pimping it to his liking! A goddamn BEDROOM?! STYLED LIKE THIS?!

Dook nearly dents the ceiling with a vicious punch, the hit stinging, but he's thankful he has his gloves on right now. The force knocked him back, sending him floating through the air. He crosses his arms, glaring at that damn bed marring the territory of what was SUPPOSED to be an interstellar garden, had him and Looney Bird somehow found a way into space to gather fruits from there, that is, before the rocket shot off through the air and sent him on an early rendezvous with the stars. There's even a goddamn vanity across from it, with another heart shaped object atop it, this time a mirror.

Dook's bottom contacts the floor, nearly sending him off in another direction. He slaps his hand down, fisting it in the-- oh that fu---- he grabs ahold of the carpet strands beneath him. They're thin like fur.

This-- this-- ooh he can't call nobody that. His momma would soap the swears outta his mouth if she could hear what he was thinking. Dook thunks his remaining fist on the ground, biting at his lip. One of the canines replacing his front teeth slot into the cut of his lip perfectly.

Dook stands up quick, before he can get REALLY pissed off. He floats in the air, venturing towards the ceiling. "God-- Man!" The spaniel kicks at nothing, trying to work himself the right way to move forward instead. It doesn't work.

He clenches his fists, bringing them to his face. His paws thunk on his helmet before they can reach.

Oh.

My.

GOD!

"RAAGH!" Dook tears at his neck gloves and rips at his neck, snatching the closest thing he can reach in his fingers. He tears off the high-collar on his jumpsuit, the snaps unbuckling. He doesn't have that stupid dog collar on to rip off, so instead he digs his claws into his neck. HARD. They sink in with a piercing ache, then they're wrenched down. "Agh!" He clutches the spot as the scratches sting, gripping the skin tight. "God-DAMN! Why do I gotta be up here?! I HAD A DATE! I HAD A DATE!!!" He screams into the nothing, hurting his own ears with the volume bouncing around his helmet, kicking around furiously in the air, unable to reach anything to tear apart. He only achieves looking like a toddler throwing a fit, and that's exactly the words that sink in his mind. He balls up instead, aiming his teeth at his leg.

This goddamn helmet is STILL in the way.

Dook leans back and cracks his head into the front of it instead, hard enough for the stone to ring around him. He holds the side of the helmet, dazed.  "Ay, chihuahua."

It's quiet.

The silence laughs at him.

Dook remains curled.

His nose wets, filling with mucus. His eyes sting. Dook fights the feeling furiously, scowling down at the carpet.

That stupid one-eyed gangly limbed snaggle-toothed bitch-ass mutherfucker destroying HIS ship. The ship he SLAVED OVER for over FIVE FUCKING YEARS. Oh but no, that stupid-- BITCH! Gets to come into his basically finished rocket, point around his soldiers so THEY can move furniture while he sits on his ass, and turn HIS SPACESHIP INTO A GODDAMN HOUSE.

And THEN.

Shot Dook's savior through the head right in front of him. Forced Dook to flee instead of tending to his friend's wounds and trying to return the favor. Clooney SAVED him.

And Dook got him killed.

The spaniel bites at his lip, staring unfocused into the ground. He got Clooney killed. Got his savior so excited to see the rest of the stars he'd gone "trillions of cycles" without seeing while on the base, had the other lead him through the base, only for Dook to neglect mentioning he heard footsteps for seconds too long and to end up with Clooney taking the blasts meant for him and falling to the ground with his head split open and choking on his own blood.

It's hard to forget how Dook's eyes settled on the other's body when he fell. It's like he already knew Clooney was dead before he truly got to check. Like the life he knew before he got into space died with Clooney.

Dook sniffles, but he refuses to sob. Perks of living with four different brothers, you'll never want to cry again if they catch you. Purely because of the embarrassment. A lot of it being that he was coined to be the family crybaby at the ripe age of one, and that little nickname and functionality of his wasn't trained out of him until he was fifteen years old.

Is he ever going to see his brothers again? General, Major, Teddy? Mitzi? Willie? Even if he's just an urn? What if he never gets to see if Teddy will finally muster up the courage to talk to his coworker outside of working, even as much as Teddy denies that he's in love with his coworker, Dook can see it every time he walks into that gas-station and they're behind that counter bickering it up. It reminds him of his own love. How they play with each other, teasing and flicking at each other's ears. Valentine's a nice guy, and Dook can see that he makes Teddy so happy.

But,, Teddy never had the guts to tell him. Valentine's got a baby mama and a kid on the way. Sure they're not together, but... Teddy never did like kids like Dook does. Dook's got enough love in his heart for an army of kids, and he never minded the idea of being a stay at home mom for Beach Bear like his own Momma did.

Uhh-- being a stay at home mom for whoever he ended up with, had Beach Bear rejected him, and rightfully so. Yeah. Dad. Whatever.

But now, even that hope seems bleak. It's not exactly news to his ears. He always knew Beach Bear didn't want kids of his own, no matter the amount of years that went by every time Dook asked. It never... well. It did kind of scare him. It's easy for him to judge, as much as he hates the words that fly out of his mouth without his control. But he never could with Beach. He'd never judge the man for not wanting kids, heck, with how he was raised, he isn't shocked to know why Beach doesn't want any.

It still hurts sometimes. Of course he thinks about their future together, every single day, without fail. What they could do on a date, what walking on the beach together would be like. The dates he could bring the other on in space, surfing the stars, cruising to different planets and finding new aliens now that Dook knows they're out there.

But he doesn't deserve that. Why would he ever deserve it after stringing Beach bear along for THIS long now? Each and every time they'd be together, something would happen, and Dook would have to tell him no.

Why could he never just,, try? Try to have things work out?

He's been so scared. But why?

...

Every reasoning seems so fake.

Fear. That brings him back to the topic he's been rolling in his head to avoid thinking of Clooney's lifeless body splayed on the floor, his blood a sickly pink and his teeth stained with green. Head split wide open to show mushy brain splattered across his nose and mouth. The gaping hole in his neck pulses and oozes, leaking that same warm-toned liquid. His hand had twitched, clenching hard to the last vestiges of life. Dook recalls that maybe Clooney had made a noise then.

The spaniel stares down at the carpet.

He shucks off his glove.

Brain matter is stuck between his fingers.

His eyes fill faster than he can blink the tears away. Viciously his fingers flick. He has to let out a sob to catch his breath, gasping past his blocked windpipe. His throat hurts, but he takes in a couple breaths regardless, opening up his airway. The sour tangs of blood fill his lungs.

Dook whimpers and lets out a gag, eyes widening, grasping at the solid ring in the opening of the helmet. Fuck. No. God. He can't throw up, he can't throw up. God please don't let him throw up.

Another lurch forces a gag from his lips. Dook squeezes at his thumb, pressing just below the webbing of his two fingers. The queasy feeling doesn't subside. Dook breathes in through his nose.

"BRRB--!" The helmet is torn off and the glop he ate comes back up, coming out of him the same exact way it went in. He continues to wretch, spitting at the ground. He can't breath, like at all. Desperate as he chokes and gags, burbling past the vomit, Dook yanks at the cord on his helmet whilst expelling the rest of his lunch, choking up the nasty. He pulls hard, freeing the tube. He sticks it to his mouth even as it's slick from the slobber, gasping down a breath. "Hrp--!" Tanned cheeks puff out and his eyes stick out like saucers.

He just threw up in his mouth a little.

Dook throws the tube, the slight push of it pulling at the filter strapped to his arm. It's easy to forget it's there, constantly recycling all the nothing around him. While his mouth is uncovered he spits out the remnants left behind his lips, finally blinking his eyes back open. "Ugh tha's disgustin'." He cringes, wiping at his mouth, unable to hear his own words. Right, there's no gravity here. So it all floats. Ew. He follows the length of the tube with his fingers, pulling it back where it's been pulled out of his jumpsuit at the neck. Before the panic can set in, he takes in a breath of the compressed air. The small tank on his lower-back makes itself known to him by beeping angrily.

That's probably something he should worry about. But he has no idea how to unhook the tank from around his lower back. There's no belt keeping it up, hell, he forgot it was even there. And it's under his jumpsuit, just to add a cherry on top. The air tastes fine, so, he takes another quick breath before he takes the tube away.

His eyes search, even if the donor eye is a bit slow, unfocused. It's so dark in here.

There. He pinpoints where his helmet is. At the top of the room. Dook kicks off of the fuzzy flooring, pushing himself to the ceiling. He floats fast enough. His head contacts the ceiling, bare. Looks like he has to find his hat sometime too. Probably ended up where his finger and the ring are now. Carefully Dook brushes his fingertips along the ceiling, drawing closer.

He snatches the helmet, cheeks pushed out, desperate to take a breath. But he knows it'll all be nothing. Quickly he dons the stone-dome, twisting it around to find the hole where the tube went. He jams it in, taking in a hard breath. Dook chokes on the nothing in his lungs, gasping hard. There's no air in here.

Thinking quick he jams the helmet forward, pressing his lips where the stone allows the tube to connect. The air finally enters. He tries to take it calmly, gasping, but it's hard to keep himself calm when it's been four times now that he hasn't been able to breathe. He's starting to appreciate asthmatics a lot more now. Not that he didn't it's just---- damn, that came out horribly. Woof.

Dook holds the helmet in place, head spinning. Talk about a migraine.

Clooney probably had a migraine right before he died on account of his head being split open. Just that thought has Dook's stomach twisting like he's gonna throw up again. Didn't the General say he was gonna feed Dook to his crew?

Where have they been getting food?

...Oh god.

Dook slams his foot into the side of the wall, jamming his toes against the steel-toe inner of his boot. It aches hard, not even just his toes, but the arch. weirdly enough. He bites at his lip, eyes rolling up as he clutches his foot. Fuuuuuudge that's gonna bruise like hell. But it's helping him focus on the pain more than--

Dook shakes his head out, his ears floating into his vision. He attempts to flick them back. They slide further into his eyes. Man! Forgetting that, he pushes at the wall, sending himself back to the carpet. Dook holds the wall for stability, noting the divots in the wall that he's able to grab. Huh. Perks of building his rocket the way it is. Just teetering on the edge of being the most busted piece of machinery in the galaxy.

With the stability he has, he pushes off, paddling through the air with his feet and hands. Doggy style. He snickers to himself. There's a different kind of doggy style he wouldn't mind to be having right now. It's been about a million times that Beach Bear's jokingly asked him if he was gonna do it doggy style for any kind of thing he said he was doing. Brushing his teeth, washing his van. Going on a date-- that is, before he knew for sure that his confused feelings were love for Beach Bear himself and not just his looks, before Beach Bear spilt his guts to him. But still, it came up often.

Also comes up often in his head when he's thinking a bit more,, lustfully than usual.

It's been more than once-- more than a handful-- okay it's been many more times than he can count that he's also fantasized about going at it in zero G. Who wouldn't? Anybody's lying if they said they didn't think about it.

Dook grasps the ladder, trying to ignore all these thoughts swimming in his head. Damn. He shakes his head out. Went from thinking about death to thinking about making life. Kinda.

He's screwed up.

Eh.

Dook starts pushing himself down, climbing down the ladder. The floor below opens up with a swirl, and his stomach lurches at the bright light. That too dims soon, but into a blue-ish hue beneath him. Talk about disorienting.

Dook bids the room farewell, the thoughts slipping out of his mind that there's still vomit floating delicately through the air like a sickly ballerina.

...
Earth.
...

The radio runs loud and proud from the console of a 1986 cherry red cruiser, blasting down the highway with the twangs of metal strings making up the riffs for Johnny Be Good. Silky white fur billows in the whipping winds, clean and glistening, long ivory strands bending before the highway's bountiful power. A pair of sunglasses don sun-weathered features, bright red to match the scarlet paint on his well-cherished vehicle. Long clawed fingers tap away at the wheel, dark nails glittering with a simple silver coating of sparkles that shine in the blistering sun like the stars in the sky would twinkle.

"HABIbibleibi-- HAHA!!" The car speeds up, busting down the road with a speed probably far higher than the limit. He never could pull off the voice for that song. Never had the accent for it either. It's not like he has one himself! Got that good ol' American gobble-gook they seem to all come in standard with when you get to certain states. The polar bear laughs hard, cackling into the air.

God it's nice to be back behind the wheel, travelling the open roads again. Now THIS! THIS is what he meant by therapy! Travelling at about-- he glances down briefly past the sunglasses, the frames slipping low enough to show a hint of crystalline blue-- seventy six miles an hour! Going seventy six and busting ass down the long open stretch of asphalt, or whatever it is, cruising steadily with only his hands and foot in control of where he's going. It's exhilarating! Like taking a fresh drink of water after running for your life.

Beach Bear pushes up the sunglasses, letting out a yowling whoop, long and unrestricted. Nothing can stop him now! No cars, no people. Not even any stupid accidents popping up out of nowhere. Nope! For now, it's just Beach Bear, his guitar, his car, his surfboard and the road beneath his tires.

Is that the exit?

The drop-top flies by the bright green sign in the blink of an eye, zooming right past before Beach can even read the sign. "Nahhhh!" He flops his hand at it, smiling bright and big with all of his big, pearly teeth. "I'm catchin' the next one, Barbie! You're not so special."

It won't be long before he sees the next one either, seeing as he's going this fast already. Seventy six? Pah! He pushes at the pedal harder, the engine roaring with a zipping zoom. The speedometer levels out right at eighty, throwing him down the road. He cackles proud, heartrate spiked like a well-inflated volley ball.

Ooh, maybe there's hot peeps where he's headed too. Hell, it's prime time down in the Keys right now! It's not too hot, not too cold. Just perfect enough to have him begging for some waves. Some hot sun on his skin, sand in his toes, salty breeze blowing in his fur. Now THAT is some therapy. Screw all these ideas Fatz is trying to put in his head. "Oh it's not healthy to forget!" "Oh you'll kill yourself drivin' that there car!" The polar bear mocks, tilting his head back and forth. His stabs his hand at the windscreen, pointing at the emptiness of the road beyond. "I'm perfectly fine! I can drive with my eyes closed! He can't even drive that little Chevvy automobile without Ezzie-Poo knocking at his thick fingers talkin' about "YA CAN'T PUT IT IN DRIVE PUT IT IN DRIVE!"" Beach Bear shrieks, laughing to himself at his own stupid impressions.

A bright green sign comes into his view, then out of it in seconds on a wire frame above the road. Beach Bear lets off of the gas, attempting to slow himself.

The car evens out closer to seventy than it is eighty. The bright white lines appear, and as it does a white sign does too. Beach Bear tilts at the wheel, guiding it gently across the lines. He lines the car up right as the white stripes come to his eyes, signifying the loss of time for others in the other lane to turn in. A car swishes past as he turns, his fingers holding the wheel hard, actively slowing when he takes the curve a bit too close to driving off of the road, his left tire coasting into the rocks beside just a bit, the whole car jumping. Ain't no problem. With the more reasonable speed, he guides back on and swirls right through the turn on the road, easy on his wheels. Without the wind whipping around and deafening him, the music threatens to do the same. Regardless he lets it blare, shaking his head to himself. Looks like it's his entrance music then.

The road swishes and swirls left and right, dragging him along through the backroads.

...

Beach Bear hops out and slaps his car door closed, jaunty as he bounds to the building before him. The place he lives is tall, bearing many doors and sets of stairs. Instantly he hops up them, taking about three with each jump. He fists his keys in his hands, flicking through the vast amount of keys and keychains set onto one ring.

"Ay, Beach Bear!"

The polar bear lifts his head to the call, not even having to turn his head. He brightens instantly, bearing a toothy smile. The lobster before him raises his claws up, and Beach Bear bounds right to him full of energy. He slaps the other's claw, bouncing it around in the air in the guidance of a long-known handshake. They both lean back. "Ayyy, Terry, my main lobster!" "My aquatic bro-botic! What's up, man?! I already got Springy and Bruce fed up in this house. They got some of that good krill." Terry taps at the door. If fish could bark, they'd be howling up a storm right now. Beach Bear shakes his head, laughing. "Ahh, thanks man! I haven't been down here in like a month. I'm actually back to get my clothes." The polar bear scoffs, continuing to shake his head. "Mannnnn! I am SO not ready for this shit."

"Tell me about it! Home-bro really took an intergalactic spill! That's rough shit." Terry copies the others movement. But he brings up a claw, flicking it down. "But guess what?"

"What's going on in Larry-Land?" Beach Bear sticks the key in the hole, twisting it. All of his keys jingle, tinkling melodically as they contact the wire fish on his keyring. Terry groans, sinking with his despair, arms swinging in an arc below his knees. "BRO!!!! It's TERRY! T-E-R-  RY! T to the E to the R R Y! You've known me how long B-Bear, homie, and you still can't get it right?!" The lobster cries, clearly offended. Beach Bear rolls his eyes behind the dark glasses. "Since college, man! I KNOW it's Terry, Terry. Doesn't roll off the tongue as well. And you do know--" Beach Bear looks behind himself, the shades dropping to his nose without any effort. "I am, a master, at handling this tongue."

"Get in that house before I snap your fingers like carrots, yo, I got goods." Terry pushes at the polar bear, shoving him forward. Beach Bear barely moves an inch, chuckling hard. "It's an apartment, actually."

"And carrots be carrots yo, open that door, ten-foot-two." He shoves again. Beach Bear gently pushes his arm back and sets his own on Terry's shoulder, shoving him to the ground without any kind of effort at all. The lobster hits the wooden planks on his ass and claws, scoffing instantly. "You prissy bitch."

"You can't say you didn't have that coming." Beach Bear's lips curl harder. Man, he missed having someone to push around and joke with. The knob twists, the door pushed open with a hair bit of force. It's an old building. "OOH that's straight YUCKY, dude!" His feet take him away from the massive wave of heat cooking him to ash. Terry shrugs. "Ay, fish like the warmth."

"YOU like the warmth, fish." Beach Bear steps inside, cringing at the humidity. "Were you boiling water in here?!"

"NO!" Terry cries out. "Was your brain woven into your hair? You left the keys in the door, brah!"

"So you can come in!" Beach Bear excuses, coming right in and dropping down onto the couch. As he ducks, he sticks his hand underneath the solid block of wood that his coffee table is. It's one of the pieces of furniture he found near the dumpster around the back of the building, best believe he took it, lack of drawers or not. From underneath the table he pulls free a tray, setting it down on the table with a metallic "*Clank!*" and pulls out a paper from a pack of zig-zags.

Terry bolts to his feet. "On Rah! You're rolling?! Who blessed my shell on this fine day?!' The lobster comes right in like he lives there too. He might as well with how much he's over here. But Terry spends most of his time slinging dope before he goes back home to his Gram-Gram. She's not long for the world after all, and the extra income helps MASSIVELY with those stupid medication bills. "ME. I know you have fresh stuff, throw me that. I can smell it. Ghimmeh." Beach Bear clenches his fist. The lobster kicks the door shut and swings the baggie he's got out of his pocket and into the bear's awaiting hands, reaching without looking and taking the key out of the knob. "Thank a-youuuu." Beach Bear catches it, quick to deposit the already ground green onto the paper. Terry brings the keys to his eye. "Funky little fish friend. Where'd ya get it?"

Beach Bear rolls up the paper before he answers, dragging his tongue along the edge. The joint is sealed up without a lot of room to spare. It's a FAT one. The polar bear shrugs. "Dook made it."

"Oh..." Terry sets the set of keys on a flipped over box near the door. "Gotcha. It's cool though."

"Yeah." Beach Bear sticks it between his lips, puffing at it, letting the bits of smoke out from the side of his mouth, since right now it's only paper. He drags off of the wrap, squinting at the hard taste. He takes it out of his lips with a gasp, leaning back into the comfort of his ratty couch. His voice strains, smoke escaping. "That's good stuff. It's chill, though. I'm surprised you never noticed. Gave it to me years 'n years ago." He sinks into the cushions, shucking off the sunglasses on his face, eyes drawn to a close. Terry cringes with a sound to match. "Ooh! Dude! My God. Those bags." The lobster drops down onto the couch, resting a claw on the other's thigh. "They carry the weight of Egypt, my prince. The tapestries tell me the stars do not cross in your favor."

"What's up with you and Egyptian stuff today, Ter?" Beach Bear passes along the joint, and truthfully, his eyebags are DARK, sunken even. Terry takes it, quickly taking a puff, then another. He hands it right back, Terry coughs once. "Keh-- Yo, that's some avoidance, man."

"I don't really wanna talk about it." The polar bear shrugs, sticking it back in his mouth. He pulls off of it hard, the cherry blazing a violent scarlet.

Terry rubs at his azure knees.

"Yeah, that's cool." The surfer hums. "I dunno, I thought you'd wanna talk about it, bro to bro. But that's cool, really. Like I'm not trying to push. It's rough." Terry raises his claws. "But It's chill. You're doing good now though, right?"

The polar bear's nose twitches. Terry cringes. But Beach Bear only sighs out smoke, rubbing at his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah I'm good, Terry. I really don't need everyone asking me that every five seconds."

"Nah, nah, I get it! I won't!" Terry rises off the couch, turning behind it. He crouches down, peering into the fish tank. Two fish wander around the warmth of the water. "Yeah, no. That was the last of that. That's my bad."

"It's fine." Beach Bear waves his paw around, joint smoldering between his fingers, eyes closed still. "I'm just so sick of everyone acting like they care so much. God knows my parents would've told me to jump long before I ever considered it."

"Fuck them, man." Terry scoffs. "They don't care about you. I do, you're my tall drink of homie, and that's all that matters. And you got your band."

Beach Bear shrugs, leaning forward and stubbing the joint out on the tray, cuz he's clearly not gonna be able to relax right now. "However much longer that lasts. We can't keep going without a drummer and I'm sure as hell not playing without Dook. We can't replace him." He drags off of the joint hard. He's quiet for a good minute, but Terry can tell he's not done. Beach Bear lets the smoke pour out of his nose, relishing in the burn. Good weed always hurts. "Keh- yeah. I'm not gonna sit around and act like the man I loved for years is some toy poodle who can't even drum."

"What?!" Terry nearly shrieks. "You can't be telling me they're already rockin' with a new drum-dog?!"

"No, no. They're not." Beach Bear sighs, staring down at the coffee table. "But it's gonna happen eventually, or I guess I'm out a job. I might as well start looking around. You need a bodyguard?" The polar bear peeks through his swatches of white fur. Terry shrugs. "I mean, if you want to come with me on a bud-run you can. But I can just give you cash. I make enough to support more than my Gram-Gram, dude. I don't mind."

Beach Bear cringes hard. "No offense? I don't want your money."

"You always were like that." Terry hums. "I get that."

"Yup." Beach Bear keeps the joint between his lips as he stands. "I need funeral clothes." He ventures off, going towards the only other door in his small apartment, ducking past his fan with a violent twitch. That damn ceiling fan. If Terry has eyebrows, they'd be pushed together hard. "Do you even own a shirt?"

Beach Bear grunts. "It's blue and I hate it."

...

Beach Bear wanders out of his highly decorated room and into his dismal living-room, the clothes hung over his arm brushing over a vintage record-player given to him by the landlord years back. Broken, of course. But Dook took a look at it a month after and got it working fine. Got himself covered to his elbows in oil though. That's actually the reason he got flashed that one time. Offered Dook his shower and the lock popped right open in full when Beach Bear knocked on the door. Got himself four crushed fingers with how hard Dook kicked that door shut, literally kicked it, and while he was near completely naked too, no mercy given to his friend purely out of shock. Good times.

It got made up for when Dook walked completely ignorant right into their motel room when they were late for a show and found out what Beach Bear really meant when he said he had no balls. Walked out blistering red and that's one of the many times Beach Bear ever got to stun him speechless off of the stage. It's not his fault Dook just so happened to walk in right when he dropped his shorts. It also isn't his fault that he refuses to shave and more than likely gave Dook the new-found knowledge that the carpet does indeed match the drapes.

Beach Bear walks up to the couch, Terry sitting there with his two toed feet kicked up onto the coffee table, joint in his hard-to-find mouth, fidgeting around with an NES Beach Bear actually bought with his own money like a year back. Much cheaper when there's a new little console out now. Terry picks at the buttons with his long claws, tapping away at the right-most button. The clothes are dropped right on his lap, and with that, a swirling bit of music plays from the boxy CRT Terry moved from in the kitchen into here. The lobster groans, extracting his arms from the pile to simply toss the controller onto another cushion. "Man, I was about to beat that guy."

"You're playing tennis on a T.V. man, I hope that digital trophy's worth it." Beach Bear picks one specific item from the pile. He holds it up to his shorts that he's wearing, a wavy stripe pair. The only real difference is that this pair that he's holding happens to be a darker color, but not black. They're purple. Beach Bear shrugs. "I mean, I'm not going for that long? They can't be longer than the buisiness meetings I got dragged to." A cringe deepens the lines of his snout. The shorts are twisted, held up to his eye. "Is it really gonna matter if it's purple instead of black?" Beach Bear wiggles them between his fingers. Terry gives a non-committal hum. "Just think about what people are gonna see when you're walking around, looking in the casket 'n stuff." The lobster shrugs. "They're not so bad. Unless you count Franklin's funeral."

"Yeah..." Beach Bear drops the shorts onto the arm of the couch. "I don't think I can look in the casket. Like..." The polar bear's brows furrow. "Nothing's come down to Earth yet. It's been a month. If it has come down, then we don't know where. I've been watching the news so much now. Dook's moms won't take her eyes off of it." He picks up another pair of shorts. His red ones, with the islands on it. One of the pairs he wears on stage most often. One of his favorites. He sets it on the top of the couch, reserving it. "I don't know if they're gonna find him, and if they do, I'm sure it's gonna be a closed casket kind of deal." His shoulders lift, drifting down slow.

Terry reaches past the laundry, resting his claw over the other man's paw. "It's gonna be alright, man. If they find him or not, it's still an event held in his honor. I don't think anybody's gonna care what you're wearing. Everybody who knows you knows you as the Beach Bear." He holds his claws out like a banner.

"Except for my parents. Bob can get outta here trying to convince me he changed." "Yeah fuck that shit." Terry pats his hand, retracing his own. He slides it through the air. "No Bueno for me dog."

Beach Bear sighs, holding the right side of his face. His eye drifts, focusing more on the fish tank than he does Terry. He just looks so tired. His friend stands, dumping the laundry into the floor. Beach Bear's other hand slides over the remaining side, hiding what he's thinking from the rest of the world. "Dude..."

"I'm fine." The man rubs over his face. "It's just..." A single shoulder shows his emotion well enough. "It's hard. I feel so raw all the time." He lets his hands drop. He holds his paws out by his thighs. "I dunno. I just. I can't seem to be happy. Like I can be happy," His shoulders drift up and stick there. "But I just keep remembering how much more fun it was when he was talking to me in the car instead of just blasting the radio." A breath extends his chest. A finger rubs across his scar, tracing the left-side. Then it drops near his waist, between his navel and the bottom of his hipbone, drawing a diagonal line.

"Hey though." One of Dook's hands had left him that night all those years ago, at the concert that started it all, pressing against his own belly, near his hip. "Scar buddies."

Beach Bear's smile had gone a tad wobbly, his paw lifting, cupping the soft of Dook's cheek. The other man leaned into it, navy eyes shut peacefully in his warm hold. "I love that."

Beach Bear sucks in a breath.

"Gloves." Dook had looked up at Beach Bear, his hands shaking as he flipped them over, back in the first year Beach Bear joined, who averted his gaze as soon as he met his eyes, the dog's face soaked in crimson, figure shaking like leaves in a thunderstorm. His hands had been held out, drenched in blood that wasn't his own. "Dook it's okay, you don't need your gloves. I should've never told you to go get them. This is all my fault, I'm so sorry. I should've never given you the keys. You don't need them. We can play without them. We can just go home, forget the opening. I just wanna know you're okay." He rubbed at his eyes when they started to tear up, rubbing at the top of Dook's head where his left hand rested. Dook shook his head, moving away from his hand to turn and hook his sore fingers under the handle. Beach Bear stepped behind Dook so he could push the door open wide.

In the back of his head he had debated with himself shortly as to how and why this all happened, of course it was his fault, but on the outside he just pushed the door open wider as Dook slowly and gingerly climbed onto the seats, sniveling and panting as he stuck a darkened paw into the passenger side pocket on the back. It left a dark red streak down the leather, and Dook pulled his hand back out once he realized he was getting that man's blood all over his van. He crawled back a little and found perfect red paw prints on the seats.

Dook hissed as he slunk out, the movement pulling at the wound currently darkening his outfit. That got Beach Bear to notice finally, the dark spot across his waist having been covered from his tall view. "Dook! You got stabbed and didn't say anything?! Oh my god?!" He pushed at Dook's shoulder so he could fully face him, squatting down to see him at a more acceptable angle. Now he could clearly see the long slash running from just above his right hip to a couple inches below where his navel would be. "Holy everything, I would've been dead on the floor if I got stabbed."

Dook said nothing, eyes foggier than frosted glass.

All he did was shake, staring at Beach Bear like he couldn't see him at all.

"Are you okay?" Tender pincers brush down the polar bear's arm. Beach Bear sucks in a hard breath without meaning to, tensing up hard. Terry's hands raise defensively, though he's quiet.

He lets the breath release. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay..." The other surfer nods, antennules wobbling. "If you're sure." Terry reaches into the pile of clothing, sorting through it lazily. He abandons the task with a wave of his ocean-tinted claw. "Don't you have that fancy cheese-'n-crackers stuff you wore for your magic shows?"

"..." Beach Bear rolls his shoulders, eyes set on the ground. "Yeah... I didn't really wanna have to get it from Rolfe right this second. He's been acting... really strange." The polar bear sweeps a hand over the fur where his hair would be, and where it's starting to grow back in. He rubs the shaved bits delicately. His hand drops. "Did I tell you Earl's like, an actual dude?" His eyes focus back into the world.

"...What?" Terry cocks his head, words breathless. "That's a dude? Like, living?"

"Yeah." Beach Bear shrugs, like he's only now realizing himself. "I was in the clouds, I thought I was dreaming or something. But no. He's a living breathing... uh, whatever he is?"

Terry rubs at his chin, grazing it with his claws. He holds them up.

"Yo, hear me out."

Beach Bear's eyes come to him, but he motions the man on. "Go ahead." His voice is gentle, weak.

Terry wiggles his claws. "Might be a sore subject."

"Dude." Beach Bear draws in a sigh, rolls his eyes. "Just blurt that stuff out."

The lobster points a claw up. "What if he's an alien?"

...

Beach Bear stares. There's a really, quite uncomfortable pause. Terry cringes back.

"...Terry."

The lobster waves his claws around. "I know! I know! Space is kind of a bad thing to bring up right now! But have you seen anything else that looks like that funky dude? I dunno, man, it seems likely to me."

Beach Bear pinches the bridge of his snout.

He takes in a good breath, lets it flow out of him. He shakes his head. "Honestly? Do you really think I wanna bring aliens into the equation of where the hell Dook is in space?"

Terry shrugs, looking for all his worth like a scolded child. "I dunno man. I'm just throwing it out. Bad timing."

"Well thanks for that." Beach Bear snags the shorts off the back of the couch as he walks. "Thanks for taking care of the fish."

"Wait, Beach, bro I'm sorry. You don't have to go." Terry begins walking with him, reaching down to flick off the CRT. It flickers off with a static bwoom. Beach Bear snatches his keys off of the box. "It's fine." He shoots back, in a low tone that makes it obvious that it's not really fine.

"Where you goin'?" Terry comes around to the man's side, peering up at his face. Beach Bear turns away. Without pushing, Terry grasps the other's wrist. The polar bear merely sits there, quite obviously fuming. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to like,, I didn't,," He thunks at his head. "I got nothing up here right now. I know it's rough. It's crazy I even met him." Terry sighs. "I wasn't trying to make it out like there's aliens wherever he's at."

Beach Bear pushes the door open. His snout twitches violent, Terry's reminded of a time when he first met Dook.

"..." Gloved paws raise beside the spaniel's shoulders as they're sitting on the ground, both him and Beach leaning into eachother. "Dry spell." His hands fall to his sides. "I mean. I still think ya pretty 'n all. Stop pushin'."

"Oh yeah." It makes an odd sound when Beach Bear sucks air through his teeth. "Sorry. Why'd you mention that then?" He squints an eye.

Dook's lips part like he's going to speak, though the words don't come out right. It's more of a groaning whine. "Uhhh..."

Again do his paws lift. "It happened."

Beach Bear nods. "So yeah. You wanted me to know it got you horny."

Dook shrugs exponentially hard. "I dunno! I guess?" He hums with that of confusion. "Maybe I did? Beach Bear I don't even know what I'm doin' here! I hitched a ride off a girl who tried to bed her ride for some fuckin' reason. Actin' like she hated my guts. I've been drunk every single day this week, and if I'm bein' honest?? You havin' me talkin' about this is makin' me wanna start drinkin' again. I was riding fine off offa' the shit she handed me and now this's startin' to stress me out. So can we please just start doin' something?"

Terry slaps his claws together, trying to graze right over the horrified expression falling over the polar bear's face the longer Dook keeps spewing words. "Fantastic! How about we stop blaming each other for our alcoholism and go listen to music, cool? We all have problems! Just-- both of you freaky peeps gotta figure your shit out first. I'm a little done with babysitting three people when I agreed to one."

...

Both of the two inebriated creatures stand there like caught rats. Mme. Poodelei brushes her fingertips against the back of his neck as she leans in closer. A stray they picked up. That Dook picked up, actually, and ran from.

Dook lifts a finger, snout twitching like hell. "You're not gonna fuckin' call me that first of all. I'm not an alcoholic."

Terry holds up his claws. "Fair enough. I won't. But you can't just flip your shit and start blaming your friends for whatever shit you have going on. Beach Bear," He waves a hand over in that direction. "You gotta stop fiending for this man, respectfully."

"Fair." His paws raise.

Terry points over at Dook. "But seriously, that was a flip of a switch in like five seconds, and frankly I didn't appreciate it that much either." The lobster holds his claws out. "Mayyyyybe. Both of you should stop testing each other, when." The man circles his hand in the air. "You supposedly told him it was fine, then randomly told him to stop doing that, and then pull some weird stuff like that?? Get your wants straight, dawg. And you," He waves over to the other man again. "I don't fuckin' know. Stop being horny, man, he told you no, so you respect that. I know you know you can control yourself dripping wet."

"Ew," Beach Bear starts. "Yeah." the other agrees. "Whuh-?" Dook furrows his brows, but now he's the one cut off. Beach shrugs to the prior sentence. "I mean, that was true before then. I'm trying. But it's really fuckin' hard when EVERYTHING I'm thinking about involves--" He cuts himself off, his expression pinching. "MMMMHHhhhh... I'm trying really hard not to. Like, I'm really fuckin' trying. I just--" Beach Bear boxes the sides of his head in with his hands, then holds them outward at the spaniel before him. They go back to his head, then back, back and forth a couple times. "I wanna," He licks his lips. "Everything. To you." He directs to Dook. "Everything."

The spaniel's little anxious smile parts to a pant, and he turns around, already en route. "I gotta go get somethin' ta drink."

"Water, right?" Beach Bear presses.

Dook keeps walking off anyway.

Terry's claw slaps against the bear's head. Beach Bear hunches, rubbing it wordlessly.

"Fantastic. You can't listen for shit, brah."

Terry grips the other's hand, just a bit tighter. "Please. I'm sorry. I don't want you to go."

...

The door shuts. Beach Bear buries his face in his paws. "I'm just so tired of thinking of him, man."

"I get that." Terry gently rubs the other's palm. "It took me a while to forget about Frank, man. It hurts. I know it fuckin' hurts."

"But he's in SPACE, Terry." He rubs at his eyes, flicking away the wetness. He stares at the door. "We got to know where Franklin was. I don't think I'm ever gonna see him again. He could be out there getting torn up by some fucked up squid-thing right now and I wouldn't know." Beach Bear sniffles hard. "Why didn't he just take me with him?"

"To die?? Dawg!" Terry cries. Beach Bear's hands slap against his thighs. "I don't know anymore!" His paws raise outward. "It's kinda hard to know what you wanna do when you blindly fawn over a thirty-four year old man who doesn't care about anything else but space, y'know?" Beach Bear frowns deeply, wobbling at the sides. He shrugs. "I don't know what I expected. I couldn't force him to love me. I never wanted that. But, God, really??" He lets out a wobbly breath, his hands falling without anything to do. "He just had to get shot into space the DAY that we were supposed to go out?"

"I know right??" Terry scoffs. "That's fucked up. Where's karma at??? You didn't do anything."

Beach Bear shrugs again, left with no other actions to express himself. "I don't know. I've never had it." His head thunks onto the door. The slats in the wood do nothing to soothe his teary eyes. "I don't know why I feel so used. He kept telling me and telling me to keep pushing, but-- everyday it's something different." Obsidian fingertips brush over dark eyebags. "Either I'd end up pissing him off or getting him riled up. Couldn't ever do anything with the last part. I don't blame him for that, but. I don't know, man." The polar bear sniffles. "I couldn't ever stop loving him though. It hurt. It still hurts. It feels so raw." Sharp claws trace his cheek. "Like it's festering, I've got a wound on my heart so necrotic I think it stopped beating ages ago. Why'd he have to keep doing it?" A short gasp staves off the tears. "Keeping me going and leading me on with all this stupid hope. The one day I feel like I can finally love him and he can love me, he just. Disappears. Shoots into space like everything we tried to do never happened. Now he's gone. And I don't know what to do anymore." Beach Bear lets out a wobbly breath. "I spent so long putting him on this pedestal, and I don't know anything about him. He lied to me." The polar bear's head thunks on the door. ""I'm not gay!" "I'm not gay I just sleep with random guys!" "I'm gon' act like I dunno the meaning of the word!"" He mocks. "He HAD a boyfriend back when he was datin' Fatz's sister! Oh, that's totally fine to leave out though in his world! I didn't have to know! Like that's seriously something you leave out when considering dating a guy??"

Terry's head jolts back. "Oh." Beach Bear's hand sticks out inches from the other. "That's what I thought!"

"God-damnnnnnn..." The lobster's claw rubs over his hard head. "Okay he lost some points there. The fuck? That's weird as hell." Terry sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry man. I think you have a right to feel used. That's some... shit. I can't really talk." He holds up his hands. "But I would also be pretty peeved about that."

"Yeah. I guess..." Beach Bear rests his cheek on the door, his fight draining out of him. "I don't know. It's stupid, and I know it's even worse knowing what I do now; But I honestly would've rathered to go up with him and figure our things out, to know what happened rather than be stuck down here wondering if he really loved me or if he's dead or not. He wanted me to come with him. Explore the universe, surf the galaxies. But I don't wanna know if there IS something out there. I just wanna move on." He presses his cheek to the door. "I lost one of my best friends I've ever had. One of the best people I met. I don't care what he's done to me, or hasn't done." He draws in a breath. "I just wanted to be near him, laugh with him, make up stupid jokes, try to play around with him and go with him driving. It's sick to think about it, but I would've rathered him to die in my arms and have that be in my head twenty-four-seven instead of him dying in space cold and alone. At least I'd have closure."

Beach Bear took his eyes off of the man lying bloodied on the ground, face torn to shreds, lowering down looking back to Dook instead. He was still staring at his attacker, the tears steadily running down his face. There was a clear line where the salty wetness had washed away the blood he had accidentally smeared across himself. "Hey, man, don't look at it, it's okay. I'm gonna pick you up aight Spaceman?" He paused for Dook's response. He didn't get one. "Dook, man, you there?" He snapped his pointed fingers. Dook looked at his hand but still didn't respond. Beach Bear sighed, and stood back up. He placed his arm under Dook's shoulder blades and under his knees, sweeping him up into his arms. Dook shouted hard as he had picked him up, jostling the cut slashed under his stomach, making blood seep up even further into his costume. "I'm sorry man, I'm so sorry. I'm gonna get you inside, yeah? Get you all fixed up, I'll do anything you ask man, just gotta tell me and I'll do it." He promised.

He gets no response.

...

Once they were backstage, under the grueling lights of the abandoned hall, Dook pushed the silver straps off his arms, the, definitely not a shirt, pooling down around where the belt was loosely cinched. Beach didn't even know that was a jumpsuit. Dook started pulling up the hem of the black undershirt, getting it just past his chest when his position pulled at the slash. He whined a tortured whimper, holding his arms up awkwardly to try to ease off of the pain. Beach Bear took notice and pulled the fabric down so he could slide back into the sleeves. "It's okay, it's fine like this." He kept the shirt bunched up to Dook's ribs, holding it there as he reached for the rag he had soaked in alcohol. "Alright, I'm gonna uh, this isn't gonna feel very good man I won't lie to you."

Before Dook could try to scoot away from his well intentioned friend, the surfer swiftly released the shirt, grabbed his wrists and pressed the rag against the sideways wound. The pain shot through his entire body like he'd been slashed all over again, a searing white hot burning in his nerves. It forced a howling scream from Dook, jerking forward into a bow and cracking his skull against the bear's own. The white hot pain let loose a stream of wavering groans and moans, his hands flexing and pulling back on Beach Bear's firm grasp. The bear had to blink the stars out of his vision before he could push back at Dook's shoulder to force him to sit back against the wall. Had to sit there for a minute to ease the new found headache he'd been awarded with too. He hadn't even made a sound when he was hit, but it hurt like hell. His eyes refocused and he laid eyes on his bandmate.

He still had his paw pressing on the rag, Dook's own soft paws laid over top of his hand, shaking and shaking, whimpering madly. Poor guy looked like shit, for lack of better terminology. Leaving out the horrible cut, Dook had blood smeared all down his face, fresh red streaming from his nose, albeit slowed from before. He craned his neck to glace down at his own shoulder, and sure enough there was even more red where Dook had laid his head. He could even kinda make out where his eye had been because the red had swapped from his face to his coat. There's a huge bloody stain on his ribs. Not right now, he sucked in a breath. Turned back to the bleeding dog. He was staring blankly just to the left of Beach Bear, mouth opened as he panted. He followed his gaze to the stage door far down the hall. Right. "Keep that on there, I don't care how much it hurts, you HAVE to keep it there man." He pleaded, squeezing at his knee from where he was still on the ground. Dook shifted his eyes to face him and nodded his head minutely, pressing both his hands to the towel even as it ached. Beach Bear nodded in turn and quickly rose to his feet, already stepping towards the door. Something crossed his mind and he stopped, whirled around like he was struck. "Don't go to sleep Dook! Don't go to sleep!" He pointed a dark claw at the dog, who had closed his eyes and set his chin on the crate raised up beside him. His eyes blinked open just halfway and he nodded as he could. And with that Beach Bear twisted around and slammed a palm into the door, bouncing it back into the wall just like the other one. Although this time it bashed into the plaster of the wall and stuck there. He wrenched it free.

Beach Bear lets out an aching sob, clutching his face as his hands shake violently. Terry wraps his arms around him, leaning into his friend's shivers. "It's alright, man. It's okay."

"He almost d-died in my a-arms." He snivels with a pathetic gasp. "He almost died. He's DEAD, Terry." Beach Bear sucks down a horrid breath, panting like he's been struck in the chest with a hammer. An alabaster paw clutches into the furs, gripping it tight. The air puffs in and out horribly fast. Terry pats the other gently. "Beach Bear, dawg, you gotta calm down."

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CALM DOWN?!" Beach Bear snaps suddenly like he's rabid, teeth clacking together, shaking his fists. "He's DEAD! He's DEAD! I KILLED HIM!" He pants and whines, twisting away from his friend's hold on him. "He's dead and I killed him myself! He's DEAD! He FROZE out there! He's probably rotting in space right now and I did it!"

"Dude, no, you didn't kill him." Terry continues to follow him, footsteps quick on the dingy carpet. "You didn't push the button. It's not your fault."

"I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE!" Claws stab into the bear's chest. "I GAVE HIM THE IDEA! I told him to go to college and he said he couldn't! I told him he couldn't build a rocket, and THEN HE BUILT A FUCKING ROCKET, TERRY!" Beach Bear cries out. "I KILLED HIM!" His arm swings out hard.

"You told him not to. Please! Calm down, Beach. You're okay." Terry continues forward, reaching out for the other. "STOP FUCKING FOLLOWING ME!" Beach Bear shoots back away from him like he's an alien himself, knocking into the table behind the couch. Water splashes from the tank. Terry freezes, claws to his chest. Beach Bear doesn't even look down at the soaked carpet. He speeds away instead, on some kind of mission. Terry abandons the command and nearly runs to him, already knowing where he's going. "Beach Bear please! Please stay here, bro! It's okay! Don't go in the bathroom! Please! Stop!"

"Fuck OFF!" The door slams. The windows rattle and the few dishes in the cabinets clatter together. Terry doesn't even bother to go to the door, automatically popping open one of the kitchen drawers. In his claws he chooses a butterknife. "You're scaring me, man! Just tell me what's wrong! Please?!"

"I'm FINE! Leave me ALONE!" Multiple objects clatter to the floor, like they've been swept off the counter. "Damn it!" There's a short grunt that comes from the man behind the door. Terry rushes to the noise, twisting at the knob. It doesn't shock him that it's locked. But it brings up all too familiar memories of sharing a dorm with the guy. Right after he got away from his parents. Terry sticks the butterknife into the knob, twisting at the coin-slot lock from the outside. He tries to do it quietly.

Once it's twisted he jiggles the knob. It still won't turn. "Beach Bear let go of it, please, man?" He begs, already knowing, pleading through the thick wood. He tries, but still it won't turn. "Please let me in, you're scaring me man! Please! Just let me know you're not gonna do something stupid and I will!"

"Just GO! LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!"

"NO! I'm not leaving until I know you're not going to hurt yourself! Calm down, please! Beach Bear, I'm scared! Please!" "I'M SICK OF PEOPLE TELLING ME TO CALM DOWN! JUST FUCK!! OFF!! I want to be left ALONE!!"

The sounds of glass shattering and hitting the tile forces Terry to wrench the door open himself. Beach Bear kicks it shut, but it's merely opened once again. The shards of the mirror lay shattered in the bowl of the sink, and on the floor. The polar bear cradles his paw to his chest, expression far more ashamed than it is pissed off.

Neither of them do anything for a long while.

Terry wordlessly pushes past his friend, reaching into the shower. He collects a few things and dumps them right into the trash, claws shaking. Then he steps closer to Beach Bear, gently pushing him back. The polar bear steps back without any hassle. Terry swings open the cabinet under the sink, digging inside.

He pulls out an old roll of ACE bandages, lightly stained, setting them on the sink. He holds out his claw. Beach Bear holds it closer to himself. "Don't worry about it."

Terry lets out a breath gently and takes the other's hand from him, gripping it just tight enough to keep it in place. Beach Bear's paw shakes, stained with red already, down to the roots of his fur down to his wrist. Terry twists his hand around, to the back of it. Small and some frighteningly big shards of glass stick out from between his knuckles, marred with scratches and cuts across his dark-skinned hands. His claw pushes at the other's back. Beach Bear follows it, regardless of how he may feel. He's guided to sit on the edge of the tub.

Gently, Terry picks a piece of glass and he clenches it between the tips of his quaking pincers, beginning to pull it free despite the shakes. Beach Bear starts to groan, expression pinching hard. His claw-tipped fingers stab into his thigh, digging a different pain. Terry extracts the piece, dumping it into the trash. He looks over the other's hand. "I t-think you need to go to the E.R, dawg."

Cold ice irises ghost into the tile flooring.

"I'm really sorry. That was my fault." Terry stands from his squat, patting at the other's shoulder. Beach Bear stands up. "I just wanna leave." "Okay." Terry follows him as he goes. "I can drive."

"Just..." A breath is taken. "I'm fine. I'll get clothes from Rolfe. I'm not staying here."

Terry nods, refusing to touch the other no matter how much he wants to comfort the other. "I can watch the fish. That's fine with me, man. I'm sorry."

The keys are slid off of the floor, leaving a dripping of red across the light strands. Beach Bear holds them out backwards. Terry takes them. "I have my car. I don't wanna crash yours." he holds up his claws, shaking. "I'm shakin' too bad."

"I'm going back when we're done. I can stay with Fatz or something. I can't be here right now." His voice is roughened. Terry's arms shake fiercely. He staves away the bitter tears trying to rattle his core further. A swallow nearly deafens him. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you for being scared, Ter." Beach Bear's expression remains scarily blank. Like Frank. Terry sniffs gently, quiet. His throat claws. The polar bear turns back, eyes set onto his own dark, dark brown. "I'm sorry I'm so fucked up."

The tears flow with those familiar words. Terry clings to his waist hard, shaking so, so hard. "Please don't say that. You're not fucked up. I like you how you are. Please don't keep telling yourself that."

They don't say anything.

Beach Bear pulls from him. "I wanna go."

"Okay."

...
The Rocket.
...

The floor beneath that sickly red abomination is lit by blue tubes running along the floors. Inside the room is blank, nothing there but squishy mats on the floor. Dook scoffs. A waste. For this room, well, this is the room that was actually planned out to be where he was gonna put anything he could find that wasn't edible. A storage part two, if you will. He moves past it with ease, going to, and climbing down the ladder. It may as well be one of the only things unchanged.

The floor opens.

Dook climbs down regardless of the dark void cloaking the area. Once he's inside, the floor swallows up all the remaining light. He taps on his helmet. It makes no noise around him. So much for echo-location.

He clutches to the ladder, glancing around.

He still can't see.

His hands push at the ladder, bringing him down further. In a moment, his feet touch the floor. This SHOULD be the storage room they planned out, and actually started putting stuff into. It started out with him and Looney Bird using this floor for the fuel tank. Then they started dragging stuff up for parts. By the time they were done building the other tiers of the rocket, they had dragged so much stuff into there that they decided to simply use it as they were already. As storage.

The light flickers on out of nowhere, the bulb stuttering with life, the glow orange-y. An actual light bulb. A tassel hangs from near the bulb, caught. The long cord is stuck onto a cardboard box, which floats through the ship. Dook pushes away from the ladder, dragging in a sigh of relief. It's all still the same.

In the middle of the room, he catches the box, gently untangling the light from it's grasp. He flips the container around.

Shoddily written across the side, it bears one word.

Peanuts.

Dook's stomach growls. Well, a snack is a snack. It also reminds him of how he got them in the first place.

"Ay!" Dook walks up to a man, who's venturing closer and closer to the entrance behind this bar. The man jumps hard, reaching for his pocket. Dook holds up his hands, stopping. "Woah! Don' shoot! I'm just gon' ask ya somethin'." He points at the ground. "Imma stay righ' here."

The worker looks to the door, and then back. "What? Whatchu want? I'm not afraid to shoot you." His head shakes.

Dook holds up his hands, silhouette dark, purposefully lowering his tone. It's the same tone of voice he's used for his nieces before, young as they are. "It's alrigh'. I know ya aren't. That's fine. I wuzz jus' wonderin' if I could buy that offa ya." He points to the box. "It's nuts, right? I saw y'all pull up."

"Uhh, maybe?" The guy tilts the box around, glancing between Dook and it as he does. "Yeah. Why do you wanna buy these? Just go to the store, man. You're looking sketchy as hell sitting in the dark waiting for peanuts."

Dook steps forward, and into the light. "That's mah bad." The other man steps back. Dook continues to keep his hands up. "They ain't got 'em like this place does. I ain't been here in a while and I got a hankerin'." Peanuts don' weigh too much." He shrugs. "I'm jus' askin'. I got here right as y'all were closin' up. I would'a jus' went inside if y'all were open."

"Dude, just..." The guy throws the box near him. "Just take that shit, I don't know what you're trying to pull."

"Nuthin'! Seriously!" Dook kicks at the box, drawing it closer to himself. "I swear on mah life, I jus' wanted the nuts. Wal-Mart ain't got those big ol' bags y'all get 'em shipped in." He bends and picks up the box. "Whatchu want for these?"

"Just go." The worker crosses his arms. "It's not THAT much. It's not worth getting stabbed either."

"That's fair, honest." He lifts one hand. "I'm jus' realizin' how sketchy this looks, yeah."  Dook pats at his side. He simply pulls out a couple bills and sets them on the ground. "I been mugged before, I'm not pullin' that on someone else. Yer a good kid. I think." The spaniel nods, squinting an eye. " 'ere, why don'tcha take this too?" He reaches into his pocket. The worker tenses.

Dook slowly and simply leaves a little can of something on the ground. "Thank ya thank ya." He bows, turning on his heel.

The worker watches, eyeing him as Dook leaves.

He watches as the other puts the box into his backseat, and then starts up his van. The dog-man waves at him, turning the wheel, and turning the van into the opposite direction.

After a moment, that is, after Dook's van leaves the parking lot, the worker comes forward.

He picks up the bills, then takes the can off the ground, looking it over.

It's pepper spray.

What the fuck.

Dook pulls at the top of the box, tearing open the glue holding the lid down. Clear packages slide from the cardboard recesses, packed down tight, wrapped up in the plastic like they've been vacuum sealed. Dook plucks one out of the air and tears it open, shaking it around. Loose nuts float around the room. That's not the only nuts floating. The ones floating around outside of his jumpsuit are plucked up, Dook brings them to his mouth.

"*Thunk*"

It hits the helmet.

He sighs.

For God's sake.

And his foot still hurts.

He can't help but wonder what Beach Bear's doing now.

Probably living far better off without him.

Chapter Text

Desolate is life in the face of paradise.

What do you perceive life to be once paradise has been discovered? Redundant? Bland? Perhaps even worthless?

And what would you perceive life to be once that warm, secure, safe feeling has been taken from your grasp, your hold far too limp to keep it from happening?

Nothing. What would be the point? Why would you turn back to life after you've so happily spent your time in a paradise of one's making, ending any reason to return to what life had to offer before?

There IS no reason.

There's not much reason left for Beach Bear.

Call him selfish, call him anything under the sun to tell him he has low-self-esteem. Call him whatever at this point. Cuz it doesn't matter now.

He can't find a reason to do much of anything.

It scares him.

But at the same time.

He's left numb.

Dark azure claws shake on the wheel of Beach Bear's own vehicle, trembling despite the reasoning why he's shaking is gone, dealt with. Bland icy eyes float over the bandages wrapped around Beach Bear's knuckles, knuckles that barely feel like his own. His chest feels heavy, and yet, light. An in-between that hurts his heart. Terry's talking, but Beach Bear isn't listening. He knows that his friend's talking, saying something, but there's no energy he can spare to tune back in.

He just doesn't care.

His hand drops, resting over his bare thigh. His shorts are pulled up slightly. It happened when he sat back down in the car, in the passenger seat. He just never gave any time to shuffling ever so slightly to make himself more comfortable. The wind breezes through the fur on the top of his head, rustling the long strands. He almost misses the gold.

His eyes turn to the road.

It's dark. Beach Bear has no idea what time it is right now. He had no idea what time it was when he left earlier today, why would he know what the time is now?

He draws in a sigh. Terry glances over. "You okay?"

Beach Bear doesn't bother to say anything, simply flipping a hand palm up, and then back down on his leg. Terry shuffles in his seat, uncomfortable resting on the too-high back of it. Beach slumps to the side, resting his cheek in his palm, elbow propped up on the non-existent window of the car. It's really just the top of the door. But does that matter that much?

The road is dark, white lines illuminated by the harsh white of car-headlights. It's near blinding. Again, he does nothing to stop it.

It's wrong, but...

He was halfway through convincing himself that Dook was driving rather than Terry. Until he tuned back in, that is.

The click of a lighter sparks a conversation in the late night. Dook's van always held a certain scent, and an atmosphere along with it.

The smell is nicotine.

In the late of the night, as Dook is driving them to yet another gig, he sparked a cigarette, the window rolled down already to bring forth a cooling breeze. The sound catches in Beach Bear's ears, eyes turned to the window then lazily scrolled across the interior, over the bodies of their bandmates resting and snoring in the back, coming to rest on the sight of the man's navy irises in the mirror. The dark blue flickers away from his, nearly black in this light, curiously his midnight eyes were already on him, constantly hooded, and this occasion is no different.

"Ya ever dated someone who wanted ya ta do sumethin' weird? I mean, downright looney. Present company disregarded."

The bird shufflles in his can at the mere mention of the word, muttering something along the lines of "Beaker bleaker."

Beach Bear pushes at the floor, finding grip on the ugly orange carpet to raise himself higher, peeking over the seats with a purpose other than staring at Dook's exposed arms as he drove through the nasty Florida heat. It gave the other a bit of a trucker feel, especially with the rarely smoked cigarette between his lips and the wife-beater Dook's come to leave in his van to wear beneath his jumpsuit, given certain circumstances, it'd be revealed past the jumpsuit tied around his waist.

Beach Bear mulls the question over, an eyebrow coming down.

"What do YOU consider weird, man?" He keeps that eyebrow where it's at, staring towards the other for a response. Dook stays quiet.

The dog shuffles, adjusting, his thighs unsticking from the seat below. Right, yeah. Can't forget that he's in shorts too. Real high-cuts too. If only Beach Bear could see his legs now, debatably more perfect than Dook's nicely sculpted arms. Squishy, yes. But you need some fat to balance out the strength it takes to drum like Dook does.

Beach Bear has to blink away the stars in his eyes, mentally snapping his fingers in front of his eyes. Right, right. The topic at hand.

"Dook?"

"Yeah, yeah." The spaniel hums. "I dunno, it's kinda-- I dunno."

"Speak your mind or forever hold your peace." Beach Bear's hands raise.

Dook's eyes squint in the mirror. Ash falls from the fag in his lips.

"You tryna play wit' me askin' what I think's weird?" He accuses rather suddenly. Beach Bear cocks his head, looking to the ceiling.

"...accusation is only a question. I meant it like I'm asking you what you would truly consider to be weird. We share different defintions of many things. Like if it's called a dish WASH-er or a dish WARSH-er. It's really all up to what YOU think is weird."

"...Yeah, I guess so." Dook takes the cigarette, ashing it out the window with a flick. "I talk diff'rent tho'. I know it's a warsher."

"Washer."

"Yeah, see?" The spaniel shakes his head, his ears gently swaying against his cheeks. Hook-clawed fingers scratch at his sideburns, flicking his ear over his shoulder. They're just at the right length to avoid catching his shoulder and staying away, annoying him further. Already knowing nothing will change, Dook merely pulls off of the cigarette, turning his head ever so slightly to blow the smoke out the window, cautious of Mitzi's sensitive twitching nose. He takes the burning fag and stubs it out, extingusing the barely smoked cigarette in a tray sticking out from the console.

Beach Bear leans back against the wall, pushing his feet past the drums in the back.

"I haven't really been asked to do something I didn't want to. Not much, anyway. At least not from a girlfriend." Beach's shoulders do a funny little dance. "Azalea would MAKE me do stuff. Like, she'd twist it around like I was gonna do it and then I'd end up getting stuck like,, doing her laundry." His eyes trail across the night sky past the back window.

His head turns. Their eyes lock. Dook's eyes quickly go back to the road. The spaniel hums a short note. "Yeah."

Silence. The only noise remaining is the van being guided through the road and the sound of the interior flapping in the wind where it hasn't been glued down correctly. It's loud, louder than anything now that Beach Bear's tuned it back in.

The surfer rests his arm on the back of the rear-seats, curling a finger around a kinky strand of gold from Mitzi's head.

It drops from his hold. "Did you have something you wanted to say specifically? Kind of an odd thing to bring up out of nowhere, man."

Dook's eyes stare into the road.

Nothing.

Beach Bear sits back, content to leave it where it is, despite the curiousity welling up inside of him. His eyes watch the other instead, picking every little detail he can, any mannerism.

All he finds is the line of Dook's neck, slightly taught.

It takes a while for anything new to happen.

After what feels like hours, and it's possible that it was, they turn off of the highway, the van jumping and jolting suddenly. The van slows forcefully to a stop, and Dook's cackling laugh cuts through the racing heart-beat Beach Bear's got in his chest. Rolfe groans, stirring. The surfer chuckles along, reaching up to hold onto the hanging strap from the roof. "Damn, Dook, what'd you hit?"

"Took it too fast." Dook's smile is audible through his words, turning the wheel to guide them back onto the road straight. "We ain't gon' make it tonight. Keep an eye out for a motel or sumn. Or twenny-four hour parkin'." He snickers. Rolfe's grog burbles from between the two of them. "Could you PLEASE drive correctly?"

"Ah, I'll hop out an' make ya drive, Rolfe, don' test me when I've got an hour a' sleep unda' mah belt."  Dook pats the wheel. The wolf huffs, already so moody despite just waking up. "The only driving I'll be doing is over your cold dead body when I strangle the life out of you. You'll do better when I have my beauty sleep."

"Put ya hands aroun' mah neck and I'll be drivin' ova' YOU, pure-bred."

"That's true, and I have the papers to prove it." The wolf snuggles into the pile of animals making up the back-seat, resting his chin atop Billy Bob's shoulder, his hand resting over Mitzi's arm. The mouse's ear twitches. Dook hushes up quick at that sight. But he bites back just one more time. "I'll shove those papers up ya ass."

"Try me."

"Man, I hope ya choke on yer next cigarette."

Snoring greets their ears.

Beach Bear chuckles greatly, sliding down in the trunk of the van.

Dook huffs, pointing back behind himself with a clawed finger. "Dead ta me. I'm not gettin' ya jack from the gas-station."

"Ooh, gas-station???" Beach Bear perks right up.

"Here I thought ya hated corporate america an' all that." Those eyes do spy a toothy grin.

Beach Bear's smile is wide and beaming through the mirror. "I do. It's a stain on the already soiled history of this beautiful home of ours. But I can sway my opinions for Cola."

"Coca-Cola kiss-ass." A scoff marks the end of that conversation.

...

When they pull into the gas-station, by one of the tills, Dook steps out, swings his door shut, and proceeds to go around and lock every single one of the doors. Beach Bear watches on like a guard, leaning against one of the poles holding up the awning above the gas-tills as his eyes scope the area for unwelcome guests.

Dook spins the ring of his keys on his finger and tosses them over. Beach Bear leans forward and snags them just before they hit the ground. Dook's bare feet pad across the lot, uncaring of the rocks, the dirt, the various germs marring the concrete. Beach Bear follows along, also shoeless. But that's normal for him.

The door to the station swings open with a squeal loud enough that it renders the bell above basically useless, grinding metal on metal and producing a grating shriek. The man behind the counter doesn't even spare them a glance. Beach Bear wanders into one of the aisles and Dook approaches the counter. Only then does the man look up. Dook sticks his arm down like he would the sleeve of his jumpsuit, then pauses. His ears whip when he turns his head.

"I fo'got mah wallet in tha car."

Beach Bear turns on his heel without a word, foot still kicked out to continue walking. He goes the opposite direction, heading right out of the gas-station past the door.

...

The polar bear comes back in after a tense couple of minutes of the two men standing next to the counter silently, the only sound being the smack of lips each time the older gentlemen would lick his fingers and pick a crisp corner to peel over to the next page. Beach Bear slaps the leather square on the counter, venturing right back where he was in the aisle before he chose to go back outside. "Thank ya," Dook swipes it up, unfolding it, peeking through the pockets. In a cartoon, flies would come out.

After a second Dook pulls out a card, sliding it across the counter. "We on three." The man takes one look, then his eyes center back on his magazine. "We don't take card."

"Ya don' take card???" Dook's hand flicks palm up, he leans on the counter, that classic southern 'we can come to a compromise or it's gonna be hell' type stance. "It's nineteen-eighty six! Whatta ya mean ya don't take card??"

"We ain't got no fancy machines. It's cash or nuthin'."

"Well, I ain't got cash." Dook taps his nails on the counter, resting his cheek in his hand, waving at the card sitting innocently on the stained surface. "Whatchu want me ta do, sit in the parking lot all night?"

"We got a loitering law down here." The man leans back, peeking at the words on the pages from farther away.

The magazine is lowered with a curved black claw. The man stares at Dook with low eyes now that the magazine is pressed to the counter. "Can'tcha at least tell me where I could figure it out gettin' cash aroun' here?"

The man takes the magazine back, rolling it up and snapping a rubber band around it. "Start writing betta' articles. If ya stay in here any longer wit'out buyin' somethin' I'll count it as loiterin'. Leave me be or buy ya gas with cash."

A shadow casts over the two of them, blocking the florescent lights. A glass bottle hits the counter top, and with that, as do two arms. "Hey. I'm sure you two are having a great conversation." Beach Bear leans close to the man, pointing a lone claw to the door behind the older man. "Could you be a dear and go get me Darla back there?"

"Darla ain't here." The man stares skeptically. Beach Bear nods with a hum past his lips, resting his head in the one hand not busy. "Mmhm. Yeah. Her car's in the lot. Unless you gave somebody her spot with a Ford truck the same color, I'd say she's back there."

Dook looks between the two of them skeptically. "Whatchu talkin' 'bout?"

Beach Bear flashes a smile towards the other. "Ah, I went to school with her daughter."

"Darla's busy." The man flicks the card back. It slides off the counter. Dook's lips twitch. Beach Bear rests a hand on his arm, trying hard to not squeeze the bit of muscle he knows damn well is right under his fingers. "Oh, she's here?"

"Busy." The man takes the rolled magazine, waggling it. "Best leave her alone."

"Yeah, okay." Beach Bear draws in a breath, raising to his full height. He taps on the counter with his long nails, bending down and retrieving the card on the ground, then standing right back up. He holds it out to the spaniel. Dook takes it, albiet with shaded eyes.

Beach Bear holds up his paws. "Guess we'll go."

"Beach Bear, I gotta get gas." Dook holds out his hands. Beach Bear shrugs. "We'll go somewhere else."

"We ain't got enough in the tank!" He continues. The surfer again, shrugs. "I'll walk."

"Beach Bear." Dook's arms cross. The polar bear pats his shoulder. "Come on."

"I'm not leavin'." The spaniel stands there, defiant. Beach Bear just holds out his hands. "Your loss."

The polar bear turns, going to the door. "Beach Bear!"

"You betta go with him." The man unrolls his magazine. Dook scoffs, eyes rolling as Beach Bear walks out of the station with the bell ringing. "Ya betta fix ya attitude, had ya been fifty years younga' I woulda rocked ya, Grandpa." He turns to follow, footsteps slapping like stomps of a flipper.

"Yeah, I've heard it. Don't crush that tail of yours leavin'."

"Screw off." Dook smacks the door open. The white tip of his long tail flicks just past the door meeting the frame.

...

The spaniel's head swings around, searching for his insubordinate friend. Beach Bear walks along the side of the building, casual and unbothered. Dook approaches quick, arms out. "Yo!"

"What's up?" Beach Bear's head turns over his shoulder. Dook scoffs as he walks. "What tha hell was that?!"

"Just follow me."

Dook stops, sitting there defiantly. "Why?? They clearly got gas here! I ain't leavin' mah van here!"

"You don't have to."

Beach Bear disappears behind the side of the building.

...After a second Dook jogs to catch up.

...

Around the side of the building, Beach Bear knocks on a lonely back door, green and rusted. Dook ushers closer, ears bouncing with each step. He stumbles suddenly, dropping to the ground with a scrape. Beach Bear sucks air through his teeth, stepping just a hair forward, but Dook's already brushing himself off, clutching near his hip and stomach hard, cringing hard, but without words. "Oh dang, sorry man."

"Yer gonna be sorry when I get up there ta grab ya hair--"

The door swings open suddenly. A woman with thin ginger hair tied up in a bun peeks out. Dook stops where he is.

"Beachy?" The woman asks. The polar bear holds out his arms. "Darla! How's it been? It's been too long. Toooo longgggg..."

"Yeah!" The woman swings her hand towards her in a circle. "Whatcha doin' knockin' back here? We're open."

Beach Bear clicks his tongue, leaning in on the doorframe. "Oh, well, yeah. But I thought I'd come in through the back, mingle with the cigarettes." He wiggles his fingers. "Uh, yeah, no. Who's that fine gentleman you have working the front?"

"Gentleman's a choice word." Dook begins to walk again as he mutters, careful to not agitate his scraped knee and aching slash further, the scar just getting around to only hurting on the bad days. Darla sighs. "A transfer from a different store. Why? Is he givin' you trouble too?"

"How'd you guess?!" Beach Bear cackles loud into the night. "Oh that's rich! How awful is he??"

"GOD-awful." The woman huffs hard. She leans further out. Dook steps up to Beach Bear's side, not really wanting to interrupt, but. "Hey, pardon mah interruptin', do y'all got a card reader? I coulda sworn I been down here before 'n y'all did." His ginger furred finger swishes around like stirring a hot coffee.

Beach Bear points to his friend. "Yeah, that's actually the reason I wanted to talk to you. Other than catching up. You make heavenly lemon squares, I have been DYING to get that recipe since graduation." His paws clap together.

"Yer in luck cuz I got it memerized." She points to Beach Bear first and foremost. She then takes that hand and swipes it to Dook. "I do in fact have a card reader. That bitch fights Marv all the time an' he wonders why-- Did he tell y'all it ain't workin'?? Who's your friend by the way?" Darla looks up Beach's tall self. The polar bear thunks his forehead. "Oh, that's my bad, this's--"

"Dook LaRue, drummer in The Rock-Afire Explosion." He takes her head, bending forth to press a kiss to her weathered knuckles. "Maybe drummer fo' tha stars in the next comin' years."

"Oh, charming! And that's an accent I hear." The woman rests a hand on her chest. "Why ain'tcha brought him around before?"

"Because he acts like this." Beach Bear smiles, jabbing a thum toward the other. "He does that with every girl he meets, just to let you know."

Dook pulls back with a scoff, still with her hand in his. "How dare you! I only do it with the pretty ones." He assures Darla with a pearly grin. "Don'tcha worry yer gorgeous head."

"Oh, I won't, but I gotta say I been spoken for for the past thirty years, yer outta luck." The woman takes her hand back, adorned with a simple gold band. "Why don'tcha two come up around front? I'll ring ya up."

"That'd be great." Beach Bear presses his hands together. Dook points to him. "I second that."

"Alright."

...

The time it took them to get the gas rung up was far quicker than it was to fight with the guy working the front counter.

Beach Bear and Dook walk out of the station, Dook with his wallet in hand and Beach Bear with a green glass bottle. Instead of finding, oh who knows, a bottle opener? He takes the bottle and swings it down hard, popping the top of it open with a precise jerk against the metal trash can that they pass by. It fizzles up and spills over, dripping down the droplet covered glass. Dook jolts back, unprepared for it. "Damn, Beach Bear."

"I didn't wanna go back in for a third time and get their bottle opener." Beach Bear's shoulders bounce. He rubs his fingertips around the rim of the glass, flicking his fingers then taking a short drink off of the bottle. From the corner of his eye he catches how Dook licks his lips. He holds it out without looking, an offer. Dook raises up a hand flat. "Nah, I can't. That's yours. Ya got me itchin' fo' a beer though."

Beach Bear continues to hold it out regardless. "It's fine, I don't care about germs."

"I jus' put on chapstick a minute ago." Dook holds up a small stick of the afformentioned balm pressed to his wallet by his thumb. Beach Bear shrugs. "I don't really care that much, man. If you don't want it just give me the news."

"I jus' don' wanna take what ya paid for." The dog follows Beach Bear along. The surfer hums. "Yeah. I'll pour this down your throat, just take a lil' drink."

He reaches down and snags the other's hand, pressing it to the side of the bottle, holding it there. Dook stares at the sight a tad whistfully. Beach Bear cocks his head at him, trying to descern whether Dook was looking at the bottle like that, or their locked hands. "Dude. You clearly want it."

Dook takes the glass snappily. "Yer insistant I get mah lips on this thang, Beach Bear."

"Spoken like a true straight man." The polar bear snickers. Dook scoffs. "What tha hell's that supposed ta mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Drink up." He motions, tapping the bottle's bottom. His nails click melodically. Dook rolls his eyes. "I neva' know wit' you, Beach."

They both pause as Dook takes a drink off of the cold cola, soft lips pressed to the rim, standing there in all of his dishelveled glory. He swallows, an action caught and drunk up by crystalline pale eyes. Dook pulls it back with a dab of his lips across the back of his hand, holding it out for Beach Bear to take. The surfer does as such, continuing to walk. Dook pads along, hastily as to catch up.

A bit of silence takes over the night. The sky is dark blue past the awning, stars barely peeking past the clouds, illuminating the white in the bright sky. Even though it's far past sunset, it's still bright enough to light up the horizon.

Beach Bear inspects the bottle.

After a moment, he too drinks from its cold grasp. The cola is crisp and refreshing on his suddenly dry throat.

He's not in love with Dook.

But the burn of peppermint chapstick transferred from plush lips to the rim of the bottle sticks out on his tongue hard enough for his heart to race.

Beach Bear rubs his fingertips over his lips, just inches away from imagining the taste perfectly. A claw rests on his arm.

The polar bear looks to the owner of said claw. Then he looks around him, at the sight behind him, then the one in front of the car. Then the back.

They're stopped. They're back at Beach Bear's apartment complex. Terry's claw is heavy, big. It hasn't changed size, but it might as well be massive. Beach Bear wiggles, attempting to rid himself of the weight. The claw is taken back. "Dude. Are you alright? You're acting like you JUST noticed we stopped."

"I'm sorry." Beach Bear's voice aches with much more gravel than he expected. He clears his throat, working up the grog. His tone is a lot clearer, but even without the grog, it's drifty. "How long have we been here?"

"Like nearly thirty minutes." Terry shrugs weakly. "I was waiting for you to get out, but'cha never did, brah."

"Oh."

...Beach Bear reaches to the door, pulling at the latch. The door pops open. He pushes it. The door sticks out, opening the way for him to leave.

But his feet never move.

He sits there, staring at the open door.

Terry does much the same, but to Beach Bear, dark eyes raking over the man's hollowed figure.

...Even the world can't stay quiet. The wind howls. It's cold now that the sun is gone.

Isn't it funny how simple sayings describe his life perfectly?

"Do you want me to get your stuff?" Terry asks, brushing his claw along the other's arm. Beach Bear blinks, eyes turning to the other. "What?"

"Do you want me to go get your stuff?" The man repeats, shaking the bear gently.

Beach Bear stares.

"...Oh! No, I'm good, man." The surfer sits up properly, sticking a foot out of the car. He stands up, venturing to the sidewalk in front of the complex. Terry does the same, shutting the door. The keys jingle in his hand. "Dude."

Beach Bear doesn't turn around. Terry hurries to the other side of the car, shutting the door on the passenger side instead of trying to get Beach Bear to come back. His feet slap on the concrete, but he comes to the other's side, following along.

Beach Bear takes his trek up the stairs, jumping up them two at a time, a force of habit at this point. Terry walks up from behind him, taking the lead once they're past the stairs. Beach Bear catches up soon enough. The keys are stuck into the door, then twisted. It opens, Beach Bear wanders in, reaching behind himself and grasping the key. He takes it even as Terry's trying to do the same, sliding them from the door and out of the man's grasp. Beach Bear drops them on the box next to the door, walking further inside. Terry comes in, going past him and towards the kitchen. With a scoop, he drags over the surfboard propped up against the wall, setting the tip on one edge of the counter. He hefts up the other side, and then sets it on the opposite counter, blocking off the small walkway into the kitchen. Without elaborating Terry leaves it, going into the living-room only a few steps from there. He picks up the pile of clothing on the couch, wandering with it towards the door half-open adjacent to the room. The pile is dumped onto the carpet near the door.

Beach Bear watches on without a care in the world, numbed. No matter how hard he tries, he can't come up with a rational thought.

Maybe this is what dissociating is. He's heard and seen enough from Dook to identify it. He was able to identify it even before that.

But he's never felt it.

It's awful.

But he can't stop it.

Nothing looks real anymore.

Terry comes out of the room, pushing open the poster marked door.

Beach Bear stands, still.

Soon, the lobster approaches, a hand on Beach Bear's back as Terry leans past him. The lock clicks. Beach Bear's eyebrows furrow, head turning, west coast eyes slow to follow.

"Why'd you lock it?"

Terry holds the other, somewhat hugging him, more or less just kind of sitting there with his arm wrapped around his waist. "I don't think you should go tonight. It's dark. You're not acting like-- like you, man."

"I'm okay." Beach Bear rests his hand on the other surfer's shoulder, primed to push him off. He never does though. He stares. Eyes down on the carpet, he doesn't do a thing.

Are there really aliens out there?

Terry fully hugs him now, clinging to his waist with fierce shakes. Beach Bear's hand slides up, cupping his head. "I'm alright, man, really."

"You really don't sound like it..." Terry snivels, overcome with sudden tears. "I'm sorry, man, I should'nt've brought it up... I'm sorry..."

"It's okay." That hand slips up and down the other's head, bald, but lacking a key feature. Fur.

If there is, DID they have something to do with Dook's body not coming down?

Terry gasps and sniffles aggressively, rubbing at his nose. Beach Bear can feel snot work into his fur.

The image of Dook frozen to the seat of a rocket just won't leave his head.

"Do you want me to stay? I honestly don't know if I can live with leaving you alone right now." A dark claw scrubs at protruding eyes. Terry smacks his lips, drawing in a breath. "Whoo! I'm fine. I'm alright."

"You don't have to." Beach Bear takes a step forward, pausing quite soon after. "I can just..." His hand lifts. It sits.

After a moment Terry comes to him, a hand on his back. "I'll stay. If it's alright, man."

"Yeah! Yeah, that's cool..." Beach Bear begins to walk with the lobster's soft pushing. "Where you takin' me?" His eyes turn to the other's own. Terry looks away quickly. "Bed."

"You didn't even buy me dinner..." The polar bear hums, scratching at his face idly, tracing the lines beneath his eyes. They really are sunken. It's not much of a shock. He's barely slept since he found out Dook died.

Just.

Died.

Gone.

Forever.

"I wouldn't try to do that to you when you're like this, Beach." Terry pushes him on, walking gently with him, stopping him, so he can then move to the man's other side, guiding him past the coffee table. Beach Bear follows, slowed. But he pauses.

"You wouldn't?"

Terry's footsteps slow, nearly stopping. "Dude, no. I'd be an awful person to try to do that to you."

Beach Bear continues with him. His walking halts slowly.

"What if I wanted you to?" The man looks to him, fuzzed out in every aspect but movement. Terry doesn't give him an answer, staring like he's downright insane, would be eyebrows drawn down. Beach Bear steps closer, and then lower, sinking closer to the ground with each tiny step. His friend backs up every time he comes forward. He gets close enough that he has to get down on his knees, hands rising to encompass the other's shoulders. "Would you?"

"No, dawg." Terry holds his arms. "I wouldn't, no. I don't care if you want me to, I'm not. You know I don't do that kinda stuff, especially when you're grieving like this."

Beach Bear leans in closer. Terry holds his chin up, grasping the man's hands. Instead of going straight for his mouth like he was so sure Beach would, the polar bear rests his cheek on his chest, eyes focused up on his. "Why not? Anybody else'd jump at the chance. Why wouldn't you?" He continues, batting his lashes slow. He's mostly doing it to try to refocus on the other's face. "I'll let you. I don't care at this point. I've fucked high before. We can be quick about it... Pretend I'm someone else... lay in those silk sheets I got. They're nice, slippery." Beach Bear hums, eyes slipping closed for a second, opened to show that same frosted glass. "I can be like that."

"You're my friend, man. I wouldn't sleep with you, period." Terry attempts to back away from him, slow. Beach Bear pulls him back in, worsening the situation by reeling him in with a paw pressed to his lower back, chest bare just like his. Lickable. "Beach Bear, bro. Stop. I'm not."

"...Please?" He continues to pry, almost relishing in how the other's heartbeat jumps wildly beneath his hard-shelled pecs. "I know you know how wild I can be. I'll let you do whatever you want to me. I'll do anything to you, I don't gotta get off. I got that blacklight in my room. You think you'd glow? You think anything else would glow?" His hand lifts.

"No. I don't like you like this, man." Terry steps back. Beach Bear grabs him around the back of his thigh this time. His hand is grabbed, taken and cinched within a claw. The other hand lowers instead. That one is also grabbed, just before it can grab somewhere Terry's sure he would've jumped from if gripped just right. "This is a major violation of bro-code and consent at this point."

"But you're hard." Beach Bear tries. Terry's eyes roll. "Dude I'm soft as fuck. You'd know full well if it was dick or a fold, and that's a fold."

"I can make it--" "Alright I'm done, get up." Terry pulls at his arms. Beach Bear falls into him when he more than easily could've held himself up, his cheek resting closer to where the other's navel should be. The lobster pinches at the bridge of his nose, sighing hard. "I swear on everything Beach Bear, I WILL lock you in your room."

"I know how to climb down from there, I'll fuck the first person I see man or woman. I don't care if they're homeless, that just means we can do it in the street. Raw."

"God, man, what is going on with you?? I'm not sleeping with you and I'm not letting you fuck anyone else like this, not now or ever. I don't fuck my friends." Terry pulls harder. Beach Bear suddenly wraps his arms around him, pushing at his waist, hard. Terry stumbles and falls to the ground, quickly kicking at the carpet to fall out of reach of the other's face, scared to know what would happen if he had stayed a second longer. Beach Bear sits there with his tongue stuck out between his lips, pink and wet, but eyes unfocused and blurred. Terry stands with haste, scurrying back as if burnt. "Were you gonna try to lick me???"

"Come on, Dook, please???" Beach Bear begs, reaching his paw out clenched in a claw. "I just wanna stop feeling empty... Just a little bit, please... I just wanna make you feel good... I just want it to stop hurting for a little bit..." That paw slaps on the carpet. Beach Bear's face lays on the scratchy strands, eyes still on his friend's own. "Please just let me try. I won't do anything you don't want me to. You don't have to get me too, i just wanna hear you moan a little bit..." His hands press atop the back of his head. "God just let me fuck you, pleeeeaaaaaaaaaaassssseeeeeee!!!"

"Dude." Terry steps back even more. "You called me Dook." He points between the both of them. "I didn't... I said Terry. TER-ry. Your name doesn't change the fact I wanna lick you like a popsicle. Does the skin match what's in those shorts? Don't answer that, don't answer that." Beach Bear flicks his fingers, licking his lips sensually. "I already know~"

"You gotta go to bed." Terry wraps his arms around his chest, pulling at his ribs. Beach Bear barely lifts off of the ground. Terry pulls regardless.

He has to drop him. Beach Bear giggles. "Are you coming too?"

"I'm sleeping on the couch, brah, I honestly don't trust you won't try to touch me right now." He tries to twist the other over instead. Beach Bear rolls onto his back, tracing the line of his left-side scar. "They don't work that well but I got feeling left in this one still... y'know... if you wanted."

"Dude, ew. No offense. You sound like a grandma." Terry grabs his arms, beginning to drag him to the bedroom. Beach Bear laughs even as his fur snags in a few places. It honestly feels kinda good. His body's hot, hot hot. The polar bear snaps his fingers suddenly. "Ooh! Ooh! Slap me."

"No?? Why??" Terry drags him closer. Beach Bear hums. "I wantcha to. Slap me.  Come on. Slap me. Do it hard."

"I'm not gonna slap you, man."

"Why nottttttttttt...? You're so fuckin' boring. Just fuck me. I know you want to. Everybody wants to. Dook wanted to. Come onnnn do it hard, make this pussy sloppy like you want it. Stretch me out. I get real wet, like the oceannnn~ you know it's tight when you can't get more than two down there to start. I haven't let anyone fuck me like that in a loooooonnnggg time. Just imagine that on yer pretty dick. Like silk-k." Beach Bear shuffles his feet gently against the carpet as he's pulled. Terry groans hard. "I already told you no, bro. Jack off or something! It's not that hard. You have thirteen years of spank bank material, think about licking Dook's hands or something, you freak."

Beach Bear remains quiet, for once since this weird turnabout happened. The polar bear giggles. "I bet he's got a knot..."

"You're freaky, bro. You know if he does it doesn't work anymore. Evolution, man."

"Let me dream!" Beach Bear snaps, wiggling his wrist. "If you won't fuck me I'm just gonna do it as loud as I can and THEN you'll wanna do it."

"Dream on cuz it ain't happening." Terry pulls him in past the doorframe. Beach Bear pushes at the ground, raising himself to a stance rather quickly. Immediately he lunges, cornering the other at the wall with his hands pressed firmly between the other’s head, staring down at him like a starved animal. Terry just hunches, lowering into a squat. "Dawg, really??"

Beach Bear draws himself lower, pinning the other's back to the wall with just one hand. Terry groans. "Man!! What do you even expect to do when I'm on the ground??"

"This."

His head dips past Terry's claws. The other man cringes back, stuck to the wall having to endure the sickly feeling of a tongue slipping across his abs and up his chest, right up his neck. Beach Bear pulls back, eyes to Terry's chocolate, dark irises fraught with a lightning-struck terror. "Saltyyy. That make you wanna fu--"

"*WHACK!*"

The polar bear reels back, clutching his nose. "FUCK! Ow!!" He cries, setting back off of his toes, bottom contacting the ground. Terry scurries from the taller man, making his way across the room. Firstly he locks the window, staring down at the fire escape. But he goes away from it, since he can't exactly rip it off of the side of the building. He then goes to the dresser laying adjacent to the bed, swiping away the decorative tassels hanging off of the cover on its top. The drawer is thrown open, then things start being thrown out of it, laying on the end of the bed. Something is pinched between his claws, turned each and every way.

"Aww, you're getting in my drawers??? Weak..." Beach Bear stands, venturing to the bed. He rests with his palm on the tie-dye comforter, still with his paw over his nose. He blinks rapidly, trying to rid the tears from his eyes. "Good god man, you HAVE claws!"

"And you're acting like a prick, I told you no and I mean NO when I say it! What is this??" He wiggles it. Beach Bear peeks over, going right back to cringing away the pain. "It's a fucking vibrator man, I don't use that one."

"Sure don't look like one. Why do you still have it if you don't use it??" Terry tosses the U shaped device onto the bed. Beach Bear flicks his hand out. "It's Azalea's! She didn't take it back and she never used the damn thing cuz she always had that stick lodged FIRMLY up her ass! Take it if you're so fuckin' curious, man!"

"Maybe you SHOULD use it, dang, dawg, lose the 'tude! I'm just trying to help!" Terry sticks his claw into the drawer, digging around further. Beach Bear groans, releasing his snotty nose to cross the room, taking the other's hand out and snapping the drawer closed. "This is one of the more creative ways I've been told to go fuck myself. Get outta my shit and stop snooping."

"I'm not snooping, I'm giving you some options so you stop trying to molest me, man! Get that shit outta your system!" The lobster pulls his arm free fast, walking past the other man before anything worse than the licking can occur. Beach Bear scoffs, continuing to follow. "Oh, you wanna pull those cards? Cry wolf? Try crying when you have to FUCK HER after she pushed you down the stairs, I'm STILL trying to remember what we were fighting about before it happened!"

"I told you NO, and you fucking LICKED me. I don't know what's going on with you, dead dog or not, you don't FUCK with your FRIENDS when they tell you NO!" The tip of Terry's claw stabs into the surfer's chest. Beach Bear grasps his hand, pulling it straight up. Terry stumbles forward, but not into Beach Bear. The man growls, as much as he can without having the proper vocal chords.

The arm is wrenched away. "Yeah. Nothing to say to that."

"Get away from me." Beach Bear snaps, turning away from him. Terry hums. "Yeah, now you want me gone? Cuz I won't do what you want? You're gonna try to act like I'm your dead best friend and make me leave cuz you're mad I won't sleep with you?! That's fucking low, man! I could've left you in the bathroom, I could've left you to rot back then and I sure as hell could've left your fish here to die, but no! I actually FUCKING CARE about you, and I was WORRIED, and I didn't wanna leave you here where you were clearly going to HURT yourself!"

"I would've been just FINE if you didn't come here!" Beach Bear goes to the window, pulling at the pane past another tank set up on a table, perfectly maintained. Terry's arms fly out. "You punched your mirror!"

"Because YOU came in acting like I was gonna spill EVERYTHING like some good little kid who wants to tell their mommy EVERYTHING! Well I don't WORK that way! You wanna act llike you care?? Then LEAVE ME, the fuck ALONE!" The window rattles as it's jerked. "Did you lock this??"

"Yeah! I'm gonna lock the window when you say you're gonna raw some random guy on the street!" He gestures to the pane. Beach Bear snarls in his throat, taking the latch between his fingers. Terry throws up his hands. "Where are you even trying to go??"

"Just FUCK OFF!" The window snaps open. Terry comes forward, snapping the window down to the frame, hand on the lock. Beach Bear's fingers cinch around his, tight. "You need to go to bed and calm down."

"I'm a grown adult, KRISTAL." Beach Bear snaps, pulling at the pane. Terry forces it down once again. "I'm doing this as your FRIEND. You need to go to BED! Figure your shit out!"

"Y'know what, Terry?" Beach Bear's head cocks matter of fact. "Maybe Frank'd still be around if you knew when to shut your fuckin' mouth and leave people alone."

...

A hard shove pushes Beach Bear to the bed. His paws push at the comforter, but he's forced right back down with a claw to his chest. "Go. To. Bed."

"Make me, bitch!" He jolts.

Terry reaches down and picks up a leg, hoisting it up and onto the bed. Beach Bear sits up instead, gripping at the other man's shoulder. He shoves Terry down on the bed face first, hand snagged on the back of his neck. Terry pushes at the bed, though he's just jammed back down. Beach Bear slides off of the matteress, going right past him to the bedroom door. He walks out of the room, Terry jumps to his feet, rushing to the living-room.

Before it's even established he plants himself firmly in front of the kitchen, gripping the surfboard he had set up there. Beach Bear goes past him, to the front door. "Go ahead! Lock me out of my own kitchen, that's fine! I'LL leave!"

"Beach Bear I'm not letting you leave! Why are you tryna make this so difficult man?!" Terry steps away from the board, going closer to the door. Beach Bear rolls his eyes. "I'm difficult?! You won't let me do ANYTHING in my own HOUSE!"

"LIKE LEAVE TO FUCK A STRANGER OR TRY TO ASSAULT ME ON YOUR BEDROOM FLOOR?!?! SERIOUSLY, BEACH BEAR?!" Terry plants his feet in front of the door. Beach Bear fists work into claws, and he rests his hands on his head, bowing to it. "If I wanted to assault you I CLEARLY would've done it already!" His fingers flick out, hands shaking with rage.

"You STILL licked me and you grabbed me when you KNOW my thighs are like the only soft part I got AND THEN you tried to MOLEST ME ON THE FLOOR! That's bad enough for me! You don't even CARE that I'm upset about it! I've been helping you since this shit all happened and I'm STILL HERE when I should've left the MINUTE you tried to convince me to sleep with you! But guess what?! I CARE ABOUT YOU ENOUGH TO STAY! Can you say that about your shit parents or are you gonna continue to lump me in with them too?!" Terry swipes the keys up off of the box, shoving them into his pocket. Beach Bear grips his shoulder, just close enough to the crook for the other to lash out. Terry's arms fling. "Yeah, go ahead! Choke me out! Prove to me that you really don't want me here, and I'll leave you alone, right?! You want me to leave?! I'll leave! You can take yourself outside when I'm finally fucking gone and get yourself knocked up and have a kid just as screwed up as you are! Do you really want that?!" Beach Bear's shoved with a firm claw. "Huh?! DO YOU?!"

Beach Bear steps back, snout twitching hard. Terry holds out his arms. "REALLY! Just tell me you want me gone! You wanna act like I was the one who got Franklin killed when he already decided what he wanted? I WAS THE ONE WHO FOUND HIM DEAD IN THE BATHROOM BEACH BEAR!! Is that fair to me?! I TRIED! I tried to stop him! I took away everything he could've used to kill himself and he STILL overdosed! DO you know what it's like trying to do CPR on someone who's foaming at the fucking MOUTH?! DO YOU WANT ME TO HAVE TO DO THAT TO YOU TOO?!"

"No!" Beach Bear holds his hands out. Terry stabs a claw out at him. "Then maybe you should LISTEN to me and go lay down! You don't even have to sleep just-- go do SOMETHING! You're obviously pissed off, I get that! But I have my limits! I have NEVER been scared of you until you tried to do THAT! I shouldn't have to be scared, and you shouldn't even have it in your head that I'll sleep with you! You JUST came back from the E.R! Do you want me to drive you back?! You're acting like you FUCKING need it!"

"NO! I'm fine, man!" The polar bear huffs. Terry points to the bed-room door. "Then just go lay down! You said it yourself, you got silk bedsheets! That shit's comfy, brah! Get under the covers, feel that shit on your body. Smoke if you want! I seriously have known you for THIS LONG and you've NEVER been like this. It's fucking terrifying! Can we please just like,," Terry's claws fiddle around in the air. "Do ANYTHING but fight??? I'm tired, I'm sure YOU'RE tired, can we PLEASE just do something but this, B??"

"Fine!" Beach Bear throws his hands up. "Fine by me! Will you please just get off my case, man?!"

"YES!" Terry swings his arm up and points his claw to the bedroom door. "I can bring the T.V in there and we can finally just chill the fuck out, okay brah?!"

"OKAY!" Beach Bear turns, shaking his head as he wanders. "God-DAMN you make me wanna drink!"

"Thank you for listening, damn, brah!"

...
Space is wonderful, exotic, teeming with life. Aliens roam like cows do on a farm, plentiful and spry, living their own lives beyond any could ever imagine.

Just not here.

Whoever said that there were billions of different life forms in space lied, they even lied about the planets. As the hours have passed Dook has seen nothing interesting appear, nothing of any value, nothing that looks even remotely interesting. It's all just been nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. All nothing.

The stars twinkle past the circular window opening the storage room to the cosmos, shining off of the glass with brilliant starbursts that comb the reflective clear surface. The only being in the room lies still as one can in the weightlessness that the galaxy holds, cuddled up on the floor, only able to touch the ground with the propulsion the ship provides. Soft snores reverberate inside the stone, glass-like dome.

He's asleep. It is, of course, dangerous. Though not purposeful. It had been a long day,, night... A very long period of time that he's been awake. From rising out of bed the day he left, to getting curb stomped like a homewrecker, to then battling for his and his new friend's life, only to be left limping and dazed and stuck in a rocket ship with nowhere to go. Nobody to help and comfort him, as much as he screams at himself that he's a grown man, it would help. Help way more than the emptiness around him does. No friends around him, no memories of how he got there other than a horrid burning-slashing sensation, feeling weirdly thin, and the faint rememberances of choking past the blood spilling down his lips and pooling under his head.

Images dance in his unconscious mind, teetering just on the edge of incomprehensible mess.

But everybody knows dreams happen quicker than anybody could expect. Just like living a dream in waking life. Fleeting, falling so close to your fingertips begging to hold on, slipping from your grasp like you never held it at all.

"Why did you do it?"

Cold ice eyes on him, always warm, never this dark. Tawny paws shake within the binds of fear. How would he know?

"I don' know." Hooked claws dig as though spikes on a shivering neck, whole body quaking like a leaf in the wind. A dark skinned hand lays over his chin, harsh and gripping. "You do."

"I don'." That voice continues to insist, his own, but foreign, so small and so weak. Pathetic. "I-I don' know, I don'."

The silence brews like the tea of Rasputin.

"Why would you leave us?" Those hands rise, so gentle and yet so cold. "Why lead me on like you did? Like you are?  I'm not like that, Dook. I dont play with people's hearts the way you do."

"I neva' tried to." More pathetic noises, sniffling. Sniffling he doesn't deserve to even think about, much less do. But his heart can't help it. His breath remains craterous, caving at his chest. He can't stop no matter how hard he tries. "I'm scared."

"You're broken."  Dark hands caress his cheeks, so, so fridgid. Hollow white furs give way to silver, deepened color down his arm, his chest devoid of scars. A rounder belly then the other would ever have. Eyes that scream the deepest of the Arctic. The man's voice is not his own, but familiar, familiar in a way that draws dread to the dog's chest. Dread and...

Content. Content that he had one person to fall back on, no matter what. No matter the situation, no matter the trouble it brought. No matter how many times he was turned away, one person would always be around to keep him, even if...

He could always come back to him, no matter how many times this man continued to hurt him every step of the way. Sharp claws carress his cheek, drawing slashes that burn the soft flesh and fat beneath.

"I can break ya even more. But you’re gunna want that, I know ya would."

A voice considered goofy to most, unbearable to the highest degree. Even now it hurts the spaniel more than simple words could.

"I'm 'unna break ya 'till yer beggin' ta be fixed. And I'm not gonna give that to ya. Ya don't deserve that."

"I don’." Even with these words the dog leans into the pain, embracing the only thing he's been given in this cruel life. Claws sink and drag across his lips, splitting skin easily, slicing through plush flesh. Not once does the spaniel draw back.

Dark black nails drip with the liquid once pulled back. But it's not blood. It's hot pink. Neon nail polish drips from the fingertips of a thick, short fingered hand, furred up the back with black hair, adorned with gold link chain around the wrist. Speak she does not, eyes full to the brim with words left unsaid.

She stands, bosom bouncing lightly, pushed up her blood-red top like she always had it around him. She leaves without a word, hand stretched beind her. The spaniel reaches out.

Her hand is taken by another. Her figure fizzles from mix-matched eyes without a glance. Soon, the other does too.

Only Beach Bear is left.

Bloodied, ruined features are laid into tattered hands.

His face is dragged free, held with a powerful paw.

"Why won't you just leave us all alone? You're better off dead."

"I know." The dog's cheek lays into the other's palm. Just when he was getting used to the warmth, it's taken from him. Begging eyes to turn to only ones left. Glaring. "I don' deserve you."

"Then go. Leave me alone." Hands in pockets. Blood smeared down his wrists, his chest a potent stain. A scarlet ring on his shoulder, sketching an eye. The spaniel does not move, given no command to do so. "I can't."

"Why not?"

Beach Bear stares. Gold hair falls down his back, so, so long. Long enough to touch the floor, tied up in a tattered ribon. In one blink the other's chest is unscarred, far more than that even. Rounded. Soft pink peaks peek from shining white fur, marred by the distictive curves of his chest. That weathered face is pale, streaks marking tear stains down the cheeks. Long hair is twisted, tangled, curled and uneven in places, cut blunt in some spots, left matted and blood-stained at the roots of his scalp. Slow does the other bend, giving so much more view to the dog than he ever wanted. He never wanted this to begin with. The man's voice is high, nearly unfamiliar without the gravel.

"You love me more as Bernadette." Beach Bear's claws slip down his face, painted ice, unmarring, but cutting all the same. "No." Dook chokes, eyes pinched, shaking his head. His eyes are all but forced open to drink down the sight. "You do. You wish I was, so we could be happy like normal people. You wouldn't have to tell your father anything. You don't have to be a shame."

"You're not happy." Rough paws swipe at swollen eyes. "I don' love you like this. I love you how you are."

"When have you ever cared if I was happy?"

"I do." Again does his voice shake. "I don' care what he says anymore. I jus wanna be wit' you, Beach Bear. I jus' want you ta be happy. I jus' wanna be happy. I don't wanna be scared anymore."

"I never was happy around you. "Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering - and it's all over much too soon.""

Dook reaches up, towards that face he so recognizes, buried beneath the smudged makeup and tear streaks. Past the ugly red lipstick.

His hand is grabbed.

"I'm done waiting for you. Leave us be for once."

Dook flinches, curling, hands pressed to the back of his neck. The most he can do is stare, eyes wide, tears welling with a pounding in his head like his heartbeat thundering in his chest.

He can't find any words, any things to say, to think even. A shuddered gasp tears his throat ragged, hands shaking, pressing to his helmet. Choking sounds, almost deaf to his ears, but heavy as it pushes his ribs to squeeze his lungs, piercing the fragile organs. Over and over he pants, claws sinking into his neck, rubbing into the front, carressing the main arteries. It does nothing but block his air momentarily, sending him further into panic. The lights continue to flash.

He should check that, a small voice tries from the back of his head. His fists pound on the dome instead.

STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, YOU'RE NOT IMPORTANT TO THEM, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, LEAVE LIKE THEY DID, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, YOU'RE WORTHLESS, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, CRYBABY, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, SCARED LITTLE MUTT, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, PATHETIC STUPID PUPPY, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, STOP CRYING, THEY'LL FIND YOU, STOP CRYING.

WHY DID YOU LEAVE HIM?

His body is flung back suddenly, head slamming into the floor below, neck cricked at an awful angle. The dog cries out, unable to even hold his aching neck.

He's going to die out here.

THAT'S WHAT THEY WANT.

Both of his eyes roll.

...

Dook is brought back to the waking world by contacting full force the ceiling of the room, the dome rattling around his head and jamming into his shoulders hard, leaving him like a corpse on the cold floor. His arm is wedged between his head and the wall, cushioning nothing since his head slipped down. His elbow aches.

Without thought Dook stands, stepping back on his leg, and falling back to the ground easily. Again he rises, pushing his palms at the ground.

Noises of chittering and clicking comes from his right. His eyes slide.

The gash on the side of the ship opens a whole new world. The sky is teal, white near the bottom past the horizon he can see. Stacks of dark stone are tangled with ivy, holding them in place. Hyper-blue puffs blow in the breeze, framed by deep, royal lavender grass.

Nature. So Earth-like. Near exactly the same, minus the colors blinding his eyes.

Dook swallows, trying his best to ignore his mind screaming at him so.

He scrambles past the jagged metal, leaving the safety of his ship, falling to his knees. A flower is crushes beneath the silver, the petals black, center deep blue.

The sounds of flowing water ring in his ears, muffled slightly.

His visor tints without warning, darkening his view. Dook brushes his fingers along the front, feeling the "glass."

He steps forward, rising to his trembling feet.

Maybe finding that water will fix his fucked up self straight.

There's a lot he has to fix, and...

WHO'S GOING TO WANT HIM SO BROKEN? Who's going to want his broken up ship?

...Maybe a walk will clear his head.

...

Soft grass "crunches" beneath heavy leather boots, bending to its power, rising once left alone. Chattering pushes around Dook, niggling at his ears, welcoming him into the forest surrounding him. Trees with pink leaves blow in his direction, reaching for his wandering hands.

He passes by one, when a white blur drifts past his side, ghosting by his paw. "Egh!" He jumps, clutching the hand tight.

He looks around the area. Nothing comes to his eye.

Dook begins to walk after deducing that the area is clear, keeping watch as he goes.

He turns his head straight.

White.

Dook flings himself back with fright, clutching his pounding heart. How long has it been since he took his heart meds??? What is that?!

A small white being floats, drifting to the ground slowly. It has what looks like tentacles coming off of it's head, body fat and round, legs, if they could be considered, simply just twinkling orbs under it's body. The creature's ball-like hands rise, waving up and down quickly. The ghost-like creature shoots around and tears off into the woods, darting down the path Dook is taking between the trees. The spaniel stands, resting his bare paw on the wood. He stares at the hand.

His fingers snap. Forgot his damn gloves. Again. Like the last time. This wouldn't be happening if he died the first time.

He knocks on the tree. He has no time to sit and rake in the self-pity.

From around that same trunk of tree, the creature appears. For his own sake, he marks it as being a... Fluppal in his head. Y'know. Like a Fluppal. Said Fluppal whacks at his fingers like a ball of cotton on his knuckles, wiggling it's hand forward.

Dook cocks his head, brows curled. Regardless of being told, he goes along with the direction, seeing as he was already. A "*Poff!*" floats from the grass, the creature jumping from the bark of the tree.

Wait a minute.

Dook jumps and picks up the creature. It squeaks out. He flips it over and over in his hands.

This is the first alien he's discovered.

"I'm keepin' you." Since no one else will keep him. Dook sets the alien atop his shoulder, footsteps taking him forward. The creature rests on his broad winged shoulder pad, gripping the edge of it with one hand. It points one ball-hand before them, wiggling. Dook smiles. "Yah, okay." His fingers pat it's nearly incorporial head. "Ya bringin' me tah food? I wuddn't riskin' those peanuts yet. Need a supply."

Accursed whispering sounds next to his ear. Dook cringes, rubbing the little guy's head. "Yeah, just keep point'n'."

...

On and on they walk through the woods, wandering, taking small steps through the land. It's grass, trees, rocks. Over and over again, the same things. More white blurs shoot through the trees, but none ever stop, perhaps watching.

Cool.

The water is getting louder.

Dook steps around a large hill, peeking past the grassy knot.

"Ah." A stream. The creature wiggles on his shoulder back and forth, shaking like Jell-O.

He could go for some of that right now.

But he can't, so he begins to follow the stream. Two black flowers sprout suddenly, blooming in an instant on the ground below his feet with audible pops. Dook bends down and takes the two sprouts between his fingers, pulling them gently. The flowers pull from the ground with ease, slipping out of the dirt, speckles of dust coating the odd-looking roots. They look like the carrots of his home planet, if only a bit deformed. Dook pockets the little flowers, saving that in the back of his mind.

If only Clooney was here to help him remember this all.

You’re the one who killed him.
...

What feels to be an hour later, the sounds of water begins to roar, loud and mighty, like billions of gallons of water hitting the ground. Dook begins to speed up, licking his dry lips. He really needs chapstick, but water should help. It'd also get this sickly sweet taste out of his mouth.

He rounds the huge hill dwarfing his vision, eyes following the tiny stream of black that stops suddenly in the path. His view turns up, gazing at the darkening sky. The Fluppal cries in a piercing shriek, darting off of his shoulder. Dook steps closer, opening his vision to the holy grail before them. It points its little hands at the dark liquid, shaped like water fall. But it's flowing in reverse. A grin graces Dook's tired features. "Awww, ya brought me ta water. Whatta you know? Yer like uh,,, that monkey Space Ghost's got." He ventures closer, bending down, rubbing over the thing's head. The fluppal clicks repeatedly, stabbing its hand at the water. Dook hums. "Mm, yeh. I'm gettin' to that."

His thumbs slide up his throat, gripping the edge of his helmet, pulling it over his X-scarred nose awkwardly. A sniff tells him that the air is breathable, but a nasty skunky scent, unlike anything Beach Bear could smell like.

Dook shakes the man from his thoughts, bending down, pressing his lips to the water. Either it's going to kill him or it's going to quench his thirst. How bad can water be? It's hard to drink on account of its flowing nature, but drank nonetheless. Dook pulls from the pond, wiping over his lips, replacing the helmet. The Fluppal stares at him, entirely still. His lips smack. "Whatchu lookin' at me like that fo'?" His head turns, peering to his side. Nothing is there.

The fluppal floats, resting on a bump of grass, watching. Dook's vision goes to his other side. He stands, stepping closer. The waterfall splits off of the pond from behind the falls, cascading down... up? to the pond of liquid. There's a massive drop beyond the cliff. Huh.

Dook sits on the bank next to the Fluppal, toeing off his boots. He sticks his foot into the water slowly, testing how it feels. It's cold. That's about it.

So he sets both feet in the water, leaning back against the hill.

Well...

This is a lot more relaxing than he anticipated. He made a new friend, and his foot is finally starting to wake up from being numb. The sky above him is turning a deep grey-blue, shading the horizon.

He should get back to his ship.

But it feels so nice.

Dook's fingers fold together.

He can stay a bit longer.

His eyes draw heavy.

...

Dook's eyes blink open after only a few minutes, groggy and unfocused, trying hard to remain awake. That new crash really took a lot out of him. Damn. He has no idea how he's going to fix it.

A yawn makes his chest inflate, the long furs underneath curling against the inside. He shaved before he was launched up here. So it seems like it's been awhile since he was on Earth. When raised, the fur on the back of his hand appears to be kinky and laid into soft spirals. Maybe like a month, probably two.

The waterfall seems bigger now.

Dook peers at the water.

It's... a lot bigger, actually.

Like, fifty foot tall, bigger.

Dook pushes at the ground, raising off of the hill. Blue puffs dangle in front of his face.

The flowers.

A gargled, deep clicking starts near his head. The Fluppal, he assumes. He turns.

The creature lays inches from his face, blank white eyes neon and all-consuming on it dark black face, glowing white teeth spread across the length of round head. Dook stares, unable to be rid of its stare.

"Oh....."

His body feels light.

The air feels like cotton in his lungs.

He should be scared.

It feels so...

Relaxxxxxxing.

A flower breezes by the corner of his eye. The stem of it is a neon orange, near glowing in the dark of the night.

"ᓭꖌᔑᔑᔑᔑᔑᔑᔑᔑᔑᔑᔑᔑ!!!!!" The creature screams like set on fire. Dook reels back, sick, falling onto his hands from behind. The Fluppal screams and screams, shrieking into the warmth of the air that does nothing to embrace its cries. A small colorful creature whacks at it's eyes, yelling in its tiny voice as hard as it can. Another orange being darts from behind the flower, roaring a tiny battle cry and flinging right at the shadow of a creature. Dook stands with his hands pressed just over his pounding temples, stepping back quickly, hiding himself behind that same flower stalk.

Okay, okay. He's tiny. Like Honey I Shrunk The Kids, tiny. Cool. Cool.

Not cool but what can he do when he's shorter than this flower???

"*Whack whack whack WHOP!*"

The creature falls to the ground, the smaller beings on top of its chest. The shadow dissapates into thin air, leaving behind the creatures that had defeated it fair and square on the ground. The flower tipped beings stand, turning to Dook with their dark scelarea'd eyes. He slides further behind the stem.

He was gonna eat those things. Makes him a doube cannibal now, huh?

Cannibal holocaust was such a FUCKED up movie and him and Beach Bear watched that thing with such horror that it's only been until now that he remembered.

God, rest in peace, all those animals slaughtered for a movie.

The small orange creatures begin to approach, quickly too. They run towards him, tottling on their three toed feet. Dook jolts back, scrambling away no matter how hard his head aches.

His foot steps down on nothing.

With a gasp, the spaniel is thrown backwards into the water, arms waving madly for purchase. None comes.

"*Splash!*"

The water is cold, fridgid even, whipping around the vinyl of his space suit. He breathes, only momentarily. Water begins to leak in under his neck, licking at his chin. Dook's legs kick out, a sorry excuse for pattling. His head pops up for a brief second, only to hear the cry of what sounds like a record forcibly spun backwards. Two small "*ploop!*" noises fall, but he's back underwater before he can identify where.

They're gonna kill him next if the water doesn't now.

With a flail of his arms Dook claws to the surface, abandoning the glowing white at the bottom of the pond. Just as his helmet exits the surface tension of the water, he's dragged up, following the flow of the water. "Oooohaw!"

That noise didn't come from him, foreign. Back under the water, Dook claws at the stone backing the stream of water, scrambling to try to grasp anything to keep him from slipping further into the stream. His fingers slide on each rock, coated in a sickly lilac algae. His breath is held, attempting to conserve every last breath he can before the water shoots into the air pocket left just above his nose.

A small hand grips his wrist, pulling him. He fights back, kicking out. Another grabs his foot.

They begin to drag. Dook yanks his wrist free, jamming whatever it is back, one eye squinted open. Neon orange floats backwards. It's those carrot things. Dook kicks the other one away, pedalling his feet.

Something latches onto his ankle.

Before he can try to fight, Dook is grabbed and yanked out of the water, stuck in the air for just a few breathtaking moments, droplets all around him, a black flower stuck out of the waterfall's stream of tar.

Dook crashes into the water below, knocking every inch of breath from his lungs. He gasps, half a mouthful of water and half stale air. He chokes, gagging.

Again an arm grips his, yanking him along. Dook writhes.

They touch the surface, and Dook is hoisted out, thrown onto the shore. The tiny orange creature claws at the bank, attempting to do the same, but. A boot to the face stops that pretty quick. The creature falls back into the water, noticably being carried away by the current, travelling up the waterfall quick with agonized screams.

Quick hands yank the helmet off, cold water dousing his already soaked space-suit. He gasps, trying to work up the air in his lungs. Rather hastily he bends over, attempting to rid himself of the water as well. Small burps lead the water out of his throat, pouring down onto the ground in a small stream. A gasp sounds, cleared of liquid. Harsh coughs come out like drowned barks.

That's the last time he trusts something cute out here.

Chapter Text

Crisp, crackling pops bring one blue lobster to the land of the living. Terry's head peeks from beneath the puffy tie-dye comforter, bleary and confused. He jolts up, head snapping to the other side of the bed.

It's empty.

He's in Beach Bear's bed.

His claw automatically clutches his most secured area, feeling across the front of his shorts. Dry. With a snap of a waist band he shoves that claw down his pants, swishing his hand around. Grabbing himself. Also dry.

He doesn't bother to check his chest, since he's woken up lying on his stomach, like he usually does.

Memories of the night before arise. The uh... unfortunate incident. But past that.

All they did last night was drag the T.V into the bedroom, set it on the dresser, and flick on whatever less-fritzed-out channels the CRT got from the dinky sattelite on top of the building. Terry stayed up for a while, staring blankly at the flickering screen, legs over the top of the covers. He was awake just long enough to know Beach Bear had finally fallen asleep, able to discern whether or not he was pretending based on how his ears flick in his sleep. It's something he's picked up, but it took him a long time. Of course, it's hard to pick out whether or not he's actually sleeping due to the amount of times Beach Bear had to pretend to sleep or be knocked out to get his parents off his back.

With that though, Terry has no idea when he actually drifted off into the land of the unconcious. He truly meant to go to the couch after Beach Bear fell asleep. But between looking for the remote, debating whether or not he wanted to get up and simply switch the television off and forget everything, and generally being exhausted with the ENTIRE day, it seems he conked out without noticing.

Which concerned him. And that's why he was checking himself JUST to make certain nothing happened when he was sleeping. He's like a rock on most nights, and like a fizzled out volcano on others. Impossible to wake.

His "nose" twitches, hairs on the back of his arms and on his back, everywhere really, raising to the scent. A fishy scent.

Oh Beach Bear's in the kitchen isn't he?

Terry jumps out of bed, sprinting to the door before he's even fully waken up. His claw snaps around the metal beam holding up the cabinets, swinging his whole body around to stab his eyes into the kitchen. Beach Bear jumps hard, pupils small with a spatula wielded in a paw like a weapon. Something sizzles in a pan on the stove. Terry's eyes flick between the two of them. Beach Bear's own turn to the pan, and they don't return. Ears turned backwards. Ooh. Those are the guilty ears.

Terry settles his feet instead of leaning with the support of the beam, the main, meatier part of his claw swiping against his neck. "Oh. That's my bad, brah."

Beach Bear shrugs weakly, poking around in the pan with the utensil that looks so small in his huge paws. The sizzling becomes louder, the scent deepening. Two toed feet pad closer to him. Beach Bear shuffles back just a few inches. The lobster peeks past the other's arm. "Yo, you're makin' shrimp?"

The spatula contacts the counter. Beach Bear's hand slides over the side of his face closest to the other surfer, shielding it. Just the sizzling keeps the apartment from falling into a desolate silence.

Beach Bear picks up the flat edged tool, using it to flip over the sea-food in the pan. Terry takes an attenule in his pincers, smoothing it lightly down the long strand falling behind his head.

"I can help you if ya got somethin' I can do." the tip of a sharp claw points towards the stove. The polar bear's head shakes, sounding rougher than even last night. "It's the least I can do."

"I know you didn't mean to man--" The spatula is thrown across the counter. "I tried to RAPE you." Beach Bear's head snaps, paws rising, streaks down his face like he's been crying for a while. "I fucking meant it when I tried to do that, don''t try to tell me I didn't have all the control there!" His clawed finger stabs.

Terry raises his hands. "Okay! You meant it. But I forgive you, man. People do stupid shit when they're hurting."

"But I didn't HAVE to try to do THAT!" Beach Bear's hand swings out towards the back of the stove. That paw sets over his cheek, gripping. "I don't have any reason to try to force you to sleep with me and I sure didn't have any right to say YOU killed Frank when I may as well have done it myself. That's not fair to you!" He snivels, reaching over to grab the utensil he threw. "It's not fair to anyone who's dealt with this. I don't have any reason to- to act like my piece of shit dad, get mad and start pulling out bullshit because I knew it was gonna h-hurt you." He pokes at the shrimp, flipping one more of them. Beach Bear turns from the stove, wiping his cheek on his wrist. From the cabinet he opens he pulls out a plate, slapping it down on the counter. He pushes his claws down on the middle to stop it's rattling spin. With one hand he shuts the cabinet door, with the other his shaking paw grabs and turns the hot pan over, dumping the grilled shrimp onto the plate. Beach Bear spins around, pressing his lower-back to the counter, burying his face in his paws for but a moment. He stares down at the ground like IT hurt him, hands shaking beside his head. "I don't know how it even got to that! I didn't start thinking about it until one of us said something and I couldn't stop thinking about it like it was gonna fix everything that happened! I knew I should've stopped but I never did!" Beach Bear turns his watery eyes to the other. "I'm fucking sorry, I don't even know what to do to even REMOTELY make up for that! I know I'm fucked up! I fucked up BAD." He rubs his face in his hands. "I really debated killing myself this morning to get myself off your backs but I couldn't do it cuz I knew you'd be the one to find me, man. I'm not bringing it up to guilt you or anything I just--" A hard shrug, hands rising against his throat lke he's manually thinking of words. "I-I-I-I didn't even think about what I'd do! Pills, probably! Cuz I'm such a bitch I couldnt even think of trying to tie a rope! I could piss in the wind and jump off the building." He gasps in a sudden sob. "But I don't wanna die."

Terry's claws fidget, stuck with no idea what to even try to do. Beach Bear rolls his palm across his eyes, flicking away the bitter tears. "I just never thought I'd do something that deplorable to somebody I've known and cared for for so long. YOU that I've known for so long." Beach Bear snivels to the ceiling, flicking a unguided hand. "I thought you'd all be better off without me trying to hurt you. I'm not really someone that's easy to get off of you, let alone stop me fro-... from THAT." He draws in a breath. "God, If I had tried that with Mitzi?" His fist thunks against his head. "I wouldn't even think about it I'd just stick a gun in my mouth."

"Beach Bear I really can't--" "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." His paws rub over his face. He draws in a great, big sigh. It puffs free shaking. "I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know what to do. I made you breakfast. I tried making rice but I fucked it up. I know shrimp isn't a breakfast food but Dook drank margaritas for breakfast, man,," His shoulders raise and drop, his breath shaking with fresh tears. "I don't know, I'm sorry. I know it's a shitty way to try to apologize for attemped rape, man. I'm so fucking sorry you don't even know. I'll do anything man. Anything." Beach Bear breathes in deeply, letting out a whining whimper. His hands go to his eyes, covering his shameful disposition.

"Dude." Terry approaches. Beach Bear tenses, paws hiding his face, but he sets his claw on the other's arm regardless. "Shrimp's actually like, pretty good in breakfast tacos 'n shit. Have you tried that?"

The polar bear remains still. But... he lifts his head, sniveling away the snot, though it changes his tone to something goofier. "No?"

Terry pats his arm. "Sit tight. I'm gonna blow your mind."

...

About half an hour later, making different ingredients to put into the tacos, throwing the shrimp in the microwave to heat it back up, both Terry and Beach Bear have successfully made breakfast tacos. They only had a little bit of mishap with the knife on account of Beach Bear's shaking hands, leaving a shallow cut on the back of two of his fingers. They're done up in sticky Hello Kitty bandages now, and Terry took over the duty of slicing up the bell peppers nearing their expiration date.

Terry swallows his up nearly whole, a conniseur of such delicious tacos of the breakfast nature. Beach Bear took maybe two bites in total, nibbling at his breakfast. Terry points at it, and Beach Bear offers it up automatically. The lobster shakes his head, wiping across his mouth. "Nah that's yours. Reap your rewards, man, that was mmh delicious! Are you gonna eat though?"

Beach Bear hums, shoulders weak in a simple shrug. "I'm not really hungry."

"You're not hungry?" Terry waves his hand all up and down the bear's figure. Beach Bear's arms cross over his chest without thought, even though he hasn't had breasts in years. Terry continues. "Man, you're a tall drink a' water and I haven't seen you eat at all. I know you can pack back a whole large pizza and still be hungry, I've seen it with my own eyes, holmes."

The bear's west coast stare rolls. "Way to make me feel fat, Terry."

The lobster jolts back, genuinely stunned. "When did you care about that? You're a polar bear, dawg, that stuff just kind of happens naturally. I'd be scared if you DIDN'T have a belly or at least hulking muscles. Y'all gotta eat. Nature, brah."

Beach Bear hums, huffs, a mix of both. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I'm just not feeling it. I'm getting sick just smelling this." He waves his hand towards the plate. Terry shrugs, not really sure what else he can do. "I dunno, we can go down somewhere and get you something different. I mean, you've been smoking since you got here, might be that weed hangover making you wanna barf."

A moment passes. Beach Bear snaps his fingers, leaning away from the counter. "Sure have been. That's not a bad idea."

"Yeah go ahead, dawg, do what you want." Terry turns, gripping the plate and popping it into the microwave before he leaves the kitchen. Beach Bear picks at the tray he left on the table yesterday, twitching full-body for just a moment. Terry's brows hold together. "Yo what was that?"

"I'm just twitchin'." Beach Bear shakes out his head, rhythmically bouncing his shoulders. "I haven't been out of the house in a while. I got stuck not being able to drive for a while. I love Dook's family, but it's really hard seeing everyone break down anytime Dook comes into the conversation. Which happens. A. lot."

"Oof, yeah." Terry's eye squints. He flops down on the couch next to Beach Bear, watching the other finangle with a small glass bubbler pulled from the cove of the coffee table where the drawers should be. It's shaped like actual bubbles, clear blue orbs all stacked together.

His head cocks as the other pulls off of the apparatus, blowing the potent smelling white towards the ceiling. Beach passes it over, tilting his head against the back of the couch. Terry looks over the bubbler.

Once he hits it, blowing away the smoke, he hums. Beach Bear looks over, looking FAR more calm. Terry tilts the small thing in a claw, enough so it doesn't spill.

"You wanna go to the beach, dawg?" "Oh FUCK YES I wanna go to the beach, who do you think I am? Bitch Bear?" "Occasionally." "Get screwed, man, personally."

The bear pauses, cringing to those words he's spoken. "I'm still sorry. I don't know how you're so chill about this kinda thing."

Terry raises his claws. "That's life."

...

Coughs echo past thin whispers of lilac grass, then thick gasps.

A fist pounds on Dook's chest, spitting free the last bits of the murky water. If THAT'S what turned him into this, he sure as hell wants the least amount possible swishing around in his mouth. His feet slip under him quickly, standing with a small wobble. It's cold. His foot pulses.

The grass shanks between his bare toes, irritating and pokey. Might be allergic to it. Dook sticks the moistened helmet on and lifts his foot, eyes dragging down the side. His face blanches. Solid bite marks are punched into the arch of his wet foot, the skin puffed up and the color of a fresh bruise. The more that the cold liquid drains from his body, the more it starts to hurt. Hopping, he pushes to the water once again, crouching near, and sticking his foot into the water. The pain dulls. But he looks like a cat hovering over a litter box while he's trying to keep from falling in.

His boots mark this spot where he turned into this like a giant tower, the shoes far too large to comfortably wear. Maybe if he wanted to hide inside it. But how could he do that, climb into it? Why?

Chirping rises in the distance. Clicking too. Dook pulls his foot from the water.

He jumps, jerking away from a hidden figure. A hand grasps his ankle, colored bright and bold. Dook slaps at the fingers digging into his skin, his hand clawing at the dirt above. He starts to lean closer to the gushing water, as he does he turns, abandoning the hand on his leg just so he can keep purchase on the dirt, whining out in his throat the further his chest is yanked from the safety of the land had he just found to be the most comforting thing around compared to the icy bath leering and pulling him in. "Stop! Stop! Agh!"

The hand begins to loosen, allowing him time to claw an inch further onto the bank, reaching out desperately for the moon-lit grass.

Another wrist grabs his other ankle.

It only takes a few seconds after that for the strands of purple to slip through his wet fingers, rocks and sharp gravel scraping across his palms and sticking under his nails as he tries to free himself with the hands of the reaching ground. The water splashes fridgid and biting, soaking in through the sleeves of his jumpsuit while he's pushed through the dark scratch of chilled ice.

He's freed from the water by a gush in the current, shooting him through the dark depths and into the freedom of air. Though freedom may not be so welcoming now. The pull of the pond sends him ripping through the waterfall, tumbling head over heels into the slightest escape from the ice and then he's back with his head underwater before he can even scream, maybe he whimpers. But it doesn't matter when he's under the surface, grabbed and plunged upward into the stream above. As he's flipped mercilessly his bare paws scratch at the rocks, nails sliding off of the river rocks glistening in the piercing black moon.

"*Crack!*"

His spine whacks into a protruding root, cracking like it's broken, but in the pain that's inflicted it's given him a short reprieve. Desperately he clings to the bits of root hanging off of the thick branch, gasping as his back screams for mercy. With a grip he pulls his chest free from the black sloshing river, groaning all the same from exersion and the pain. "GOD! Th-this's so much w-worse oh--! Than fallin' in the CREEK--!!!" His paw slips on pale slime. Headfirst he's plunged into the roaring rapids. The forest's trees fall dead with silence.

The water screams.

Dook's cries are unheard beneath the surface, but there all the same, blind to his surrounds in and out of the murky pool that chooses his fate.

White glows beyond the glistening top of the water, bending and wavering like an angel in the black of the moon. Dook's wrist is snagged and he's ripped from the water, dangling like a soaked cottonball above the gushing ripples. Luminous teeth pinch around his arm, digging bite marks at the point he's hanging from. Fruitless, Dook kicks his legs, trying to work a way into grabbing a hold with his dangling arm.

The antlered creature swings him up, then backwards, and with one last swing he's flung into the air, his ears jumping to the top of his helmet and sticking there at the highest point of his arch. The stabbing antlers of the creature gleam in the dark, like a royal doorway. The deer opens it's mouth ripe with frothing black, primed for a river-soaked snack fresh from the ice.

The spaniel begins to fall, flailing in the air, unable to twist himself around.

With a wet slap he slams into the alien's mouth and leaves eight thin scratches, his claws sinking into luminecent skin, piercing the tough skin with the nails he can't ever find time to trim. The deer shrieks with a piercing shock of two radio signals smashed together, static and able to make his ears bleed as the scratches well and begin to spurt the horrid black tar. Wildly does the creature whip it's head, mouth open and tongue pushing. Dook screams along with it, holding to an elongated tooth. Some kind of hellish carnival ride this is!

One good shake of the deer's head flings him FAR across the terrain, narrowly avoiding just one tree placed close to the edge.

But he would've liked to hit it.

Without anything to catch him Dook slams to the grass, bounces to one foot and is forced to take the last two steps towards the trees beyond, and tumbles right over the edge of the cliff without a single chance of keeping himself there reaching out to save him. He doesn't even have a chance to pluck a strand of grass. Eyes wide he watches as he tumbles down, spun to see the waterfall he was just in as it gets smaller and smaller, falling away from his hands like it was never there at all.

The stars glitter like a heaven beyond the planet's atmosphere, swatches of orange and purple painting a scene.

The night he dies.

The spaniel reaches out towards the terrain above him, leaving him.

That arm is whacked hard by a blur too fast to see at his speed, sending him into a short spin. With his snout towards the ground Dook screams, hands flailing in front of his chest. He's unable to prevent the enivitable, facing down the beautiful albino rock that's about to rearrange his whole face.

"*BANG!*"

The noise rattles like a gunshot, but it's nearly unheard, the sounds of bones cracking far easier to hear under the reverberations of glass. Dook slides from the rock limp, a deep dark smudge of scarlet left on the uncracked clear stone like he got a hammer slammed into his nose.

The spaniel slips into the open air, tumbling farther and farther until he's "caught" by the embrace of leaves and sharp branches, lowering him to the forest floor with scratches across his palms and the back of his hands. In the light peeking between the trees, Dook remains still on the bed of grass, laid on his back while the world goes on without him.

Chirping and clicking starts to brew once again.

...A hand flexes, fingers twiddling.

Quiet.

Dook huffs and whines where he is, head rolling minutely. His hands ball into fists, clenching and releasing on a cycle. The spaniel pants, groans falling past his scarred lips, splattered with his own blood. Dook snorts the blood from his nostrils and screams out hard before the action is even over, hands resting over the iron-soaked front of his helmet.

"Izz broken! Oh my god izz broken--!" Dook cries, salty wet tears streaming from the sides of his eyes. As he gasps he pulls at the neck of his helmet but he can't even lift his head to try to pull it off. It's probably better that he doesn't anyway. But it hurts! "It hurzz! Ooh-- fuck!" Dook whines loudly, claws prickling at the side of his neck. "Fuck!"

His elbows push the grass away from him, raising gently from the soft reprieve. A hand finds support, pushing him to sit even as his head spins like mad. He's gotta have a concussion or something, given how his brain feels like its been mushed up and put into a crockpot like those late-night ladies put everything they can find into one and put it on the highest setting. God, what he wouldn't give to be as insane and blissfully peaceful as those old ladies are with their pot of gold.

That, and.

It's pretty easy to tell how fucked you are when this isn't the first time this has happened. Well not the cliff! Everything but the cliff really.

...
"Hen, keep 'em tighter on that side, I'm seein' movement!" Chiffon grasps two thick strands of rouge rope and cinches it tighter against Dook's shoulder, the strings digging into his bare arms, only dressed up in his rattier boxers he owns. He smiles gleefully on his knees while both Henry and Chiffon wrench him towards either side of the bed, honestly just happy to be there and the focus of attention for once. Henry growls in his throat, deep and menacing but not unarousing to the spaniel there. "Ya don't think I'm doin' it as hard as I can, huh, Goofella?"

The gorilla points him down, rope taught in hand. "No I don't! I ain't got enough ova' here, do I?"

"Why would I be knowin' of that, Chiffon?!" Henry jabs the tips of his fingers at the ruby red ropes. "This's yer kinda fetish, I ain't got jack ta do with it, doll! I came ova' here anti-pessipatin smackin' him around 'n cummin' and I been here tanglin' him up wit' ropes when I coulda been good as gone like hour ago!" He groans. Dook shrugs, content to be wrapped in all these hugging ropes for as long as it takes. "I still got time befo' practice, I can knock out both if ya gimme a few."

Chiffon huffs greatly, shoulder sinking as her chocolate eyes roll. "See, this's yer problem, Hen! Ya ain't eva' let me work wit' this thing and get it all pretty 'n secure and THEN ya can do whateva' ya want ta him! I don' care whatcha do ta him, that's why he's here! But I don' eva' get to do what I want!" The ropes are thrown towards the other, gently contacting his hands and swinging back down to rest over Dook's bound thighs, his shaved fur puffed up and sticking out past the red twines. Henry snatches the ropes up, weilding it like a long flog to the angered woman. "Cuz it's STOOPID! It's takin' too much time!"

"THIS is the FIRST TIME YOU LET ME TRY, HENRY!" She snaps, whirling around with her arms flung in the air. "I can't eva' do anythin' without you bitchin' and moanin' about it till ya get what ya want!"

"I don't bitch, woman! Ya bitch like ya are one!" Henry takes a hold of the knot on Dook's shoulder, pulling at it with a claw, loosening it until it falls. Dook squirms lightly. "Hey! Hey, now. I'm the one y'all call names around here ain't I?" He laughs with an anxious twitch in his ear, head shaking. "Why-- why can't we jus' do both? I don' gotta leave for a while, y'know I can take the smackin' around and all that 'n still got the energy to fix y'all up. I got love ta spare."

Chiffon jolts towards them with vigor. "Shut the HELL up, Dook! Henry--!" Dook jumps back, ears bouncing. "Don'tchu dare call me that like it's sumn derogatory ya good for nothin' BUM!" Chiffon whacks the other's snout. Henry snarls with dripping fangs. "Come on guys!" Dook tries. The gorilla flings her arm back. "Ya wanna sit aroun' in MAH damn HOUSE when I got shit to do and bitch and whine how ya ain't got off in "weeks" when I'm WORKIN' on shit to keep the HOUSE! I gave ya options to do togetha' and wheneva I try to do somethin' with ya ya say fuck all and just focus on what ya want! I got needs too! Is it so much ta take an hour out of ya precious schedule to do something as a couple with mah brother's drummer every once in a while?! Together?!"

"He's MINE." The man snarls first and foremost. Dook flushes, though even he feels that it's a bit inappropriate right now. Henry stalks closer with each step. "Ya act like I was the one who started this when YOU suggested we bring him into this, Chiff!" Henry snaps, jabbing his claw into her chest. Dook's ears flick wildly as his eyes dart between the two of them. "C'mon now, we--we don't gotta fight, we can figure it out like we did last week! Com-formize!"

"Shut'cher mouth, Dud!" "Don't even get me STARTED on last week right now, Dook!" Chiffon barks, hand wrenched back. Dook jolts with his face turned away from her. The contact of skin never comes. Henry holds her wrist, grip shaking, but not with fear. Rage. Chiffon is shoved back and she hits the floor with a rattle, the house old but the force of the shove even greater than that. Henry bends down next to her, hand snaked to her throat. Chiffon's teeth bare. The older man chuffs, grinning, grip squeezing tighter as she wheezes. "I don' think ya know where ya belong here, do ya?" "Can't we just stop fighting?!? PLEASE?!" Dook struggles, stuck with his arms behind his back, already tightly tied. "We don' gotta fight! It's not worth it, come on now! Henry, Chiffon, babes, please!"

"GET FUCcc--" Her windpipe is cinched to the point that words fall apart like soggy cereal. Dook whines. "Just stop!" Henry lets her go with a smug smile across his stupid face, hand up like it's a simple thing. "Think abou' that when ya wanna tell me what'che'r doin' next."

Chiffon kicks at his shin. "Yer a bitch! If ya don't keep yer hands offa me I'm callin' the cops next time!" She rubs at her throat, soothing the pinches in her skin. Henry scoffs, turning his back to her while he pulls at the ropes. Dook cringes back, a mix of wanting to stay like he is and not exactly wanting to be grabbed so roughly when Henry's already pissed off. The man yanks at the delicate work Chiffon's been tying around his skin, letting the loosened strands of rope fall around the other's lap. Chiffon scoffs, raising up just to grab the woven silk in the other's hand. Henry keeps it cinched. The gorilla sneers. "I'm doin' it, Henry."

The man's snout pinches, marked with a sadistic smile. "Ohhhhh, really now?"

"Yes, Henry. Move." Chiffon stands fully, pushes at his arm. The taller of the men crosses his arms, standing there, the ropes gone from his grasp. Dook has his ears low and back behind his head when he looks between them, flickering between his two bickering lovers and the bedsheets, watching the standdown with his lips taught. Henry steps back. "Go on then. Tie 'im up."

"That's more like it. Now, Dook, ya gotta loosen up, yer tight and ya know we don' like tight." Chiff grabs the ends of the rope loosely in her fingers, eyes searching to decipher where her spot is now that it's been untied. "No tight, gotchu." Dook begins to relax, eyes closed. It's not exactly like he can be tensed up when they're doing this, as he's been told his joints may lock. Henry lifts his knee, pressing his foot to side of the bed in front of Dook's knees. The spaniel eyes him curiously. Henry smiles at him with that damn, charming smile. That honey-oozing grin he gets lost in almost every time he sees it. Dook's chest flares and his expression goes sappy, just relieved that they've found a solution this time and he doesn't have to get back in his van feeling like he fucked everything up, finally able to just sit here with the two people he loves more than anything in the world. Chiffon works delicately with the thick, soft ropes, drawing lines across his skin like art, hell there's even a star crossed over his chest, framing the solid white diamond pattern etched into his ginger fur, shining red and soft. She knows just what he likes.

Chiffon ties up the knot that's been undone and she rests the rope around Dook's neck in a loop, twinging it around and then tying it off at his Adam's apple in a loose bow. "There. It's done now. Go ahead 'n do whatcha want, jus' lemme get a photo for the box." She turns around, venturing towards the closet near the end of the bed. Henry keeps his eyes to Dook's, the unmatching gazes locked like two otters hands in a rough stream.

Dook's weight begins to shift. His brows draw hard and his eyes shift to the bed. Henry pushes his bare foot into the soft matteress, the springs creaking as he sinks it slowly. "Hen what's--" Dook leans back to try to counter the force, but the pressure is too much and he has nothing to balance himself. "Hen! Hen!" His eyes dart to the other with fear and he catches one little smug wink before he tips over the side and slams straight into the thinly carpeted floor with all the force on his nose, crying out hard like he's been stabbed directly in the face.

Chiffon jumps and whirls around as if the same thing happened to her, hands pressed to her mouth with a harsh gasp. "What the hell--?! WAS THAT HIM?!" She rushes across the room, cinching Dook's shoulders and yanking him back up onto the bed on his back. His nose drips profusely, the area around it red-red. "Oogh... I'mm okay, I c'n keep goin'-- Jus' lay meh-- I'm alr'e'y layin' down-- jus'-- Don' stop fo' me. Ooh..." Dook moans weakly, eyes rolling in his head. Chiffon cries out. "HENRY!!! WHAT the HELL did you do?!"

"What I wanted." He shrugs. Chiffon abandons Dook to pull the crisp white sheets from beneath him, piling them on the floor. "My bedding is all WHITE! I told you do the bloody stuff on the old comforter, Jesus, Hen!"

Henry hums. "Couldn't find it. Guess ya gotta untie him, huh?" Dook wiggles his arms behind his back, unable to raise his hand. "Juzz gib me fipteen mmminutes 'n I'll get it back up." He pants, sniffling. He yelps, then coughs up what he's gotten in his mouth, gagging, blood on his lips. "Oh noh. Noh noh noh, gem me outta this, I think I'mm tas'in' blood." His head drops back onto the mattress. "Ooh, yeah, I'm tas'in' blood."

"Oh you're fine, walk it off. Oh wait." Henry points at him like a street mutt. "Ya can't. AHaHa! Bitch."

Chiffon huffs, her eyes rolling into her skull. "Just sit him up, I'm takin' the picture." She turns, going right back to the closet. "You sure gripe a lot." Henry rolls his likewise, but he grips Dook's ears and tugs him up. Dook groans, woozy and in pain. "Thank ya---" Mass amounts of red dribble from his nose and down his lips, dripping down like scarlet wax into the patch of white fur he has. "Oh tha' feelzz like a lotta blood..." Blearily he thinks it's a miracle this rope is red, cuz the blood soaking into it would definitely stain plain brown rope dark red. Henry huffs. "That's GOOD. Yer meant ta bleed fo' ME, ya fucktoy. Don' worry about it. Take two ov' em, babe!!" The man shouts across the small room. Dook cringes at the volume. Chiffon pulls herself from the closet with a camera in hand. "Oh shut up, I will. 'Course ya want the picture now when he's soaked in blood, asshole."

"You bet yer fake extensions I want that. Next time I catch you callin' me names I'll choke ya out again, bitch-doll." Henry clicks his tongue with a finger pointed like a gun. Chiffon's eyes are gonna snap if she rolls them one more time. "For the love of god, Hen, shut your damn mouth." She bends down, raising the camera to her eye. Henry throws up a hang ten as the flash clicks. Dook flinches back hard. The gorilla stands, taking the first picture and setting it down on the dresser, then bending again to take the second picture. Dook blinks blearily, bloodied snout scrunching. "I think I need to go ta the hospit--"

"*Click!*" "*Click!*"

"Welp. We got three."
...

Dook sits groaning at the bottom of the forest floor with stars spinning around his head, a cuckoo bird darting from doors between his forehead. The pain is beyond anything he's been through, at least the things he can remember. He should probably try to find shelter. The pain is just clouding his vision.

Above him, something hits the leaves. Dread sits in his stomach that it could be rain. But what if it's acid rain?

Dook rises to a stance on weak and wobbling legs, keeping off of his bitten and swollen foot, his head pounding like an alarm bell. He stumbles, but he's able to keep upright by balancing one foot on his toes. God, his foot and his head hurts. He blinks away the fairies dancing in his eyes.

An orange creature floats into his vision. Dook tenses up, raising his fists to the thing. The little orange plant thing drifts down to the ground on that pitch black flower attached to it's head, settling on it`s three toed feet. It stares up with curious eyes. Dook doesn't leave it's sight, doesn't move. Only sways. The creature just sits and stares. It's small, short enough to fit between Dook's legs and use him like an awning if rain were to come.

Dook darts forward and grabs the thing by the stalk, hefting it up into a swing and then throwing it over his head into the dark of the woods. It squeaks out "Pikmin!" as it flies, breaking through sticks and landing in what sounds to be grass where the shadows obscure his vision.

Nothing.

Teeny tiny grunt of effort rise from the woods, and then a snap. Quick footsteps start coming towards him. Dook jitters backwards, stumbling and crashing back down to the ground. He cries out, clutching his helmet.

The creature skitters out of the woods holding a great big rock over it's head, scuttling over to Dook and dropping the large red stone at his feet. Dook kicks away from it, whining each time he bumps his wound against the dirt. The creature jolts, gripping the large rock.

It throws its head back and takes great big bite out of the stone, chowing at its glistening peel. It has a very small mouth, but it does indeed eat. Looking constantly horrified as it does. Dook's stomach growls. If that IS edible, well. He hasn't eaten anything since he left that hell hole of a planet. He comes forward, inspecting the creature for malice or aggression, eyes pleading. The being continues to eat voraciously, glancing behind itself anxiously. It looks to Dook, tears off a piece of the food, and shoves it in his face. Dook takes the hefty chunk, looking it over.

A shriek pierces the cacophany of clicking and chirping that the forest seems to hold at a constant, breaking through it's music with a dreadful distorted scream.

Dook jolts to his feet and falls right back down, scrambling onto his hands and knees like a dog and then his toes. The creature screams and picks up the gem-like fruit in it's little hands, looking to Dook specifically. Dook turns hide and starts running like a feral lunatic before the creature that made that noise even comes into his vision, bolting from the sound like a gunshot rang out. The other creature runs right along with him, crying and screaming terrified for its life. Dook hooks a sharp left and he starts snaking into the woods facing that direction, pounding up a cloud of dirt from the speed of the turn and continuing on on every limb, barreling past thick roots and tall strips of grass.

The small orange little Carrotmin stumbles behind him, picks up the jeweled apple and screams right as this scorpion type creature slams into the tree where it once was, hissing at the damage. The carrotmin jumps over a root and scrambles to catch up with Dook, the spaniel far too fast on all fours to be able to catch him. Dook's paws pound into sticks and rocks, but even though his foot is screaming and his hands are aching and scratched, he has to keep going, the trees blurring all around him.

His ankle twists and he crashes to the ground, the wind knocking out of his lungs. He scrambles up and under the root he's fallen against, tucking himself as tightly as he can get into the crevice beneath it, kicking dirt and rocks out of the way to dig into the soil cavern. The jeweled scorpion shoots over the root, scuttling visciously fast into the deep of the woods beyond.

His own sharp breathing pierces his hearing, his ears twitching, twangs of pain coming up with the noises. Above him he hears the footsteps of the carrot creature pattering on the dirt. It might still have food, and hey, it was willing to share. Maybe the plant is medicinal. God, what he wouldn't give for a shotgun right now. A real, proper shotgun. No curled lips, no "I beat you bcuz I thought you were a pedophile" random kisses, and none of that blowing it inches from the lips bullshit, even if it is really hot to see Beach Bear leaning in like that.

God, Beach Bear. Dook's eyes tear up massively without a second to lose. Beach Bear.

The spaniel lets out a sob, shucking off this stupid helmet so he can finally press his paws to his eyes. It's humid in there enough anyway, it's just gonna be worse from the tears. When his hands reach his face he whines, letting them fall. His nose hurts too bad to even wipe his eyes. He sets his forehead to his knees, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. His hands fall over the back of his head, gently rubbing, cupping his bruised skull. Everything hurts, so so much. But it pales in comparison to how much he misses Beach Bear, and the band, and his family, and his dog, so, so, so much more.

He's never gonna get off this planet.

That's what he deserves anyway.

Small footsteps pitter patter and then drop to the ground, just below the root. It turns, then does this little gasp thing, ushering into the cove under the root. The carrot drops the fruit and comes to him, patting on his arm, sticking its hand in his face. Dook lunges and wraps the creature up, holding it to his chest as he sobs. The carrot struggles. But it stills after a brief second of panic, certain that it's not going to be eaten. Dook rests his chin on it's head, whining and whining like he's been left without an owner in a cold, unfamiliar house for hours on end, rubbing it's head for more his comfort than the creatures. Gasps and sobs cut through the hard shrill, but he doesn't stop whining at all.

The forest remains still in its lush enviroment. Teeming with life.

But so, so lonely.

Chapter Text

Frenzied writing cuts across thin paper, scratching lines of messy ink across tattered notebook pages. There's plates and bowls stacked in a leaning spire over multiple squares on the desk, some even dripping onto a towel a nasty mess of red and yellow, some sickly green like peas. The sole provider of light is a dingy flickering bulb, moments from fizzling out each second that passes. Clothes line the freshly hardened concrete, scattered and tattered more than they're folded neatly and stacked. Humming and squeaking and the sounds of teeth grinding away at a long chewed pen echo in the room like it's empty, but that's far from the case. Various tacked together devices and machinery projects fill the spaces on the desk not occupied by uneaten dishes, moldy rotting plates that fester and reach for an owner. Six different computers lay and siphon electricity, each one pulsing a different, unsynced tune all in a row. Thick wires stick out of the backs of the thick screens, running up the bare frame of wall and to the ceiling, exiting out of a small covered hole.

The pen hits the desk with a slap, a growl piercing the silence.

The door rattles. Three nice knocks are laid onto the metal plate acting as a barrier.

"Looney Bird!" The sweet song of southern sweet tea calls through the thick plate. The avain squeals out like he's pained, feathered fingers digging into his face. "WHAT?! I'm not hungry!" Looney Bird jumps up, swiping the thick notebook straight off the desk and onto the floor. Something splashes up and splatters his leg with what feels to be chicken noodle soup. He wiggles his toes. Or tomato. But it's not important. "Looney that's not why I'm here, I'm gettin' worri--" "DON'TCHU WORRY 'BOUT ME BILLY BOB!" Looney Bird shouts back to be heard through. "I'M ALRIGHT! I got ALLLLLL I need in here!"

"Looney that's not it, buddy, I'm tryna tell you--" "I KNOW I KNOW BILLY BOB!" Looney stabs his fingers across one of the keyboards. "I'LL CATCH UP ON THE DISHES BEFORE I GO TO BED!"

"Looney! I know you haven't been sleepin' anyway!" The grizzly calls back. "Come on now," Billy whines. "Don'tchu remember what today is?!"

"Mardi Gras!" Looney Bird grasps the pen and shoves it into his mouth, bending down quickly, thunking his head on the desk, but he goes past it, snatching his notebook off the ground and flipping through the pages. "That's MARCH Looney! Get out here! We gotta get ready!"

"Fo' WHAT?!" The bird snaps, slapping the tacked together booklet onto the desk. Billy Bob sucks in a hard breath. "IT'S DOOK'S FUNERAL LOONEY! GET OUTTA THERE AND PUT SOME NICE  CLOTHES ON FOR GOD'S SAKE!" His finger stabs towards the ground. "I'M GETTIN' READY AND I BETTA' FIND YOU OUT AND DRESSED OR I'M DRAGGIN' YER BUTT THERE NAKED! I TOLD YOU THIS WEEKS AGO! I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU OUTSIDE THAT GODFORSAKEN SHED IN A MONTH, LOONEY! I'M TIRED! WE'RE ALL TIRED! WON'TCHA JUST HELP ME AND STOP THINKIN' YA KILLED 'IM FOR FIVE GOSH-DARN SECONDS?!?!"

Looney Bird pulls at the sleeves of his labcoat idly.

Still air.

Billy Bob sighs heavily. "I'm sorry, I don' needta yell."

He continues. "But'cha understand, don't you? Maybe not for your sake, but for ours, Looney. I know it's tearin' ya up thinkin' about him all the time, but it wasn't your fault, Loon." Billy Bob voices lays softer now. "Nuthin' coulda been done at that point. But you can do somethin' now. Dook woulda wanted ya to say goodbye one last time, don't you think?"

The avain spins the pen between his fingers. Billy Bob's claws click against the door.

"Ain't nuthin' left to say goodbye to." Looney tries. Billy Bob lets out a small huff. "I know." His head sets against the door. "But I really need you right now, Looney. Please."

Oh, the waterworks. Looney presses his palm to his eye, washing away the tears before they fall. "Okay, Billy. Jus' let me finish up in here."

The door holds no answer.

Billy Bob hums. "Okay. I'll come get ya before I go, I'm sorry. I'll jus' go ahead an' fix ya some clothes for it." The grizzly steps away. "Thank you, ol' buddy."

"You too, Billy."

The trundling steps fade away on the grass outside.

Looney Bird takes one last look at the screen on the monitor.

RCKT_DATABASE: Last access (47 day(s))

UNABLE TO CONNECT. CHECK CABLE.

The notebook is set down onto the cold, wooden desk.

...

Sniveling and squeaks mark this home as one of sorrow, despair. Mitzi sits atop a small vanity stool, staring at her own tear-stained reflection whilst her mother, Queenie this time, brushes through her long permed hair. It bounces up each time it's brushed down, slow work to keep it manageable. It was a recent thing she did, spending her earned money on some of the more frivilous things in life. But it kept it off of her mind for a while. Him off her mind for a while. Her brother, uncle. Friend. Whatever it is that Dook is to her in her heart, it hurts. Of course it does. From only eleven years old to now at twenty four, Dook, along with the rest of the band, have been with her for as long as she can remember. She grew up with them, Beach Bear and Dook especially, seeing as they're both the youngests in the band along with her. Aside from Choo Choo. She may be ten years younger than Dook, but it hardly ever felt that way with his childishness peeking through as much as it did. He always felt like one of the stable pillars holding her up with the rest of the members.

Now that he's gone, the supports have started to crumble. Mitzi lets out a squeaked sniffle, pressing one hand to her eye. An auburn furred paw swipes away at her streaks of tears, carressing her cheek with a gentle palm. "I know. I know. It's alright, my dear. Crying is only natural."

"I know." MItzi nods. "I miss him so much--" Her face is buried beneath manicured paws. Queenie continues to brush along her hair. "I'll fix your mascara, little mozzarella."

"Okay." She nods, snffling deeply she lifts her head, cheeks marked with spidering lines of wet mascara. Mitzi picks at the dress she's wearing. It's black, of course.  A simple little thing, ruffled downward is a pencil skirt, a deep forest green blouse connecting the two and a black cardigan over that. On her sash is a pruned emerald rose from their garden, dyed to fit her shirt. Mitzi takes in a breath. "I thought we were all gonna be together until the end." She gasps, rubbing at her already smudged eye. The heel of her palm comes away black. Queenie nods. "I wish it worked as easy as that. I know he's watching down on you every day, sweetheart. It just seems to happen. i'm sure you've heard the saying "The good die young.""

Mitzi nods, a sniffle. "Yeah."

Queenie nods as well. "It's sad but true. Not for all. But it seems that God takes good people from us before their time. Maybe he's up there helping all the little puppies who were taken from their mothers too soon." The fox sets the brush down on the table, leaving Mitzi's hair to puff near her neck. She fluffs it up, sliding a silver pin into the back of it. It clips it all back easily. The woman rubs her stomach, then sets that hand on Mitzi's shoulder. "Id like to think he''s with my little girl up in the stars."

"Me too. I'm sorry." The mouse brushes her nose along the back of her hand. Queenie rests her chin atop Mitzi's head, swiping her hand across her arm. 'It's alright. I'm happy I've gotten to raise you two as my own. I'm blessed everyday with my girls. I know he spent every moment loving playing in that band with you, sweet."

Mitzi smiles, wet but there. "Thank you. I did too."

The door behind them swings open in the mirror. Mini and Missy come through, both donned in similar funeral attire as she is. Mitzi turns to them, face drenched and smeared. Mini shakes her head, but her eyebrows are tilted down. "Oh, sis."

The tears flow without control now. Mini nearly jumps across the room to wrap her sister into a hug, cupping her head into her shoulder. Mitzi sobs without control, gripping into her sister's cardigan harder than she's ever held anything before. All at once she's surrounded by her whole family, cradling her and rocking her as she sits in that vanity chair.

The crying echos past the open window.

It's cloudy outside.

Fridgid.

...

Rolfe huffs as he knots his bowtie for the third time incorrectly, hands shaking and his shoulders tensed. Earl's gloved hand rubs at his shin, too short to reach anywhere else when not connected to the other. Rolfe shuffles away, sending the other an apologetic look.

A sigh breaks Rolfe's resolve. He soon pinches the bridge of his long snout, a pained whine breaking past. Earl hums. "I know. It's fucked up. 'Specially for a big softie like you."

"It's not just that, Earl." Rolfe sniffles away the ache in his voice. "I thought we were finally all gonna be alright. I had the paperwork all filled out."

The shorter man nods. "I know, man." A sigh. "We'll figure that out when it comes to it."

"I have to tell the company that he's gone or they're gonna keep scheduling us and prying and cutting and-- and put us on another gig we can't do!" Rolfe flicks his hand at the mirror encasing his sorry reflection. "You would've been FINE if you hadn't drove him to this you ugly, worthless, USELESS--"

Earl brushes his paw down the other's leg. Rolfe's resolve drops. "i'm sorry. I don't know what to do, I don't even know why I'm going when he hated me more than I ever did." The wolf sniffles pathetically. Earl shrugs. "Nah, he didn't hate ya, Rolfe. It's that dog-on-dog thing. Y'know. Dominance."

Rolfe raises a weak shoulder. "Sure."

The puppet sighs. "Rolfe. Ya know if he hated ya it woulda been a lot more clear."

"We don't always know that." Rolfe wipes his face and flicks away the tears, turning away from the long mirror at the corner of the room. "He hated me and that's a fact." Earl reaches and grasps his pant leg, tugging it towards him. Rolfe stops and bends down to the other's level, getting onto his knees to reach the same height. "Even if he did, it matters more that yer goin'," Earl snatches the tie and throws it to the side, popping open the first few buttons of the crisp red shirt beneath the suit jacket. "Relax a little. Ya don' gotta choke yaself out."

"I'm stressin', little Earl." Rolfe stands up quickly, grabbing a golden chain off of the jewelry hanger sitting on the dresser beside the mirror. He unclasps it and throws it around his neck, securing it at the back. "This is hardly funeral attire."

"But ya look good in it." Earl raises his hands. Rolfe narrows him down with a funny look. "Why don't you seem affected by this at all? You've known him just as long as me, Earl."

Earl shrugs. "Eh. I got better things to worry about. I gotta get my cruiser up and running."

"Your crusier?" Rolfe eyes him down. Earl sticks his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. My cruiser. I got to Earth somehow."

"Well... yeah." Rolfe hums, beading up with sweat. His pupils shrink. "You... You don't think...?"

"I do think sometimes." The puppet snickers. "You really reckon that hunk of junk wouldn't have been found by now after getting launched into space?"

Rolfe blanches. "You can't possibly mean--" "Oh I MEAN." Earl smiles greatly. "Some kinda junk like that doesn't just pass the barrier without notice, y'know?"

"Barrier? Earl, I have no idea what you're talking about." Rolfe bends down, scooping Earl up into his arm. The man,,, possibly a man climbs up his arm and sits right on his shoulder. "There's a barrier around Earth. Has been since the sixties. Doesn't let nobody in or out. 'Cept for space junk." The puppet hums, kicking a foot out. "Y'know if Looney Bird built that rocket he could probably build up a cruiser too."

"Oh Earl, no--" "Earl YES!" The puppet jumps down, landing in a pile on the floor that he picks himself up from, dusting off his jeans. He adjusts his jacket. "I'mma try ta find 'im. Or what's left of 'im. It's been a bit since I been up in different galaxies instead of jamming myself balls deep into this dirt rock."

"But--" Rolfe starts, ears cowering. Earl wavers his hands around. "Yer the only thing I like, don't you worry yer head." He snorts. "Yer too cute ta leave."

The wolf brightens a bit. "Okay... But what are we gonna tell everybody? We can't just leave! Did you think I'd agree on a whim?!" His hands slap on his hips.

"Oh like you aren't. I'll bring em too." Earl rolls his eyes. "But I gotta get the cruiser fixed anyway, and that's gonna take a bit."

"Alright." Rolfe nods, a jolt in his heart. He's never been to space before, never wanted to either. Of course he was always slightly curious seeing as that's where Earl came from all those years ago. Rolfe kept him secret for years and years, even from Wolfman.

Rolfe takes in a deep, deep breath. "I'll go. But we're gonna have to tell them what you're saying, Earl. You really think Dook's alive up there?"

Earl scoffs. "Fuck no. Even if he caught a wormhole or something I think he's deader than John Kennedy. That's why we're keepin' it secret. I've got ties. We're gonna try ta find what's left of him first before we slingshot ourselves into space like he did." The man shakes his head. "Dumbass. Ya can't just BUILD a damn rocket."

"Well, that's quite rude."

"Rolfe." Earl pulls at the waistband of his sweatpants. "Suck it."

The wolf blushes, looking towards the alarm clock on the nightstand. Earl cackles. "Oh you're thinking about it!"

"Shut up." Rolfe stalks forward, grabbing Earl by his thin arm. "You brought the topic to the table."

"Throw me on the bed!" Earl kicks his feet. Rolfe's chocolate eyes roll. "You're insufferable. We're going to be late for Dook's funeral whether he's dead or not." He begins to walk to the door. Earl sinks.

"Damn."

...

The engine of the car purrs as it idles, sitting in the driveway of a quaint little home. Fatz's fingers tap across the passenger side window well, the glass rolled down and the hood on the bright pink convertible fastened to keep the possibility of rain from hitting his head. It's cold, colder than anything. Esmerelda fixes her lipstick in the rearview mirror, applying the deep red generously to her lips. Fatz sighs, but he doesn't make a move.

Esmerelda adjusts the mirror back to how it should be, capping the stick with a golden top. She sets it into her purse.

Fatz rubs his hands together.

Esmerelda lets out a breath, rubbing at her knuckles.

"Have ya ever thought about gettin' married?" She asks, and for once, she sounds nervous as hell. Fatz jolts, just a little shocked. Maybe more than a little. "Well-- Yeah. Haven't you thought about it once in a while?"

"Yeah..." Esmerelda brushes her hand down her bosom, wiping away stray hairs of her own. Silvers. "I'm gettin' older and older now. Thing is, it could be either one of us next." She looks out of her side of the window, letting a sigh sink her chest. "He was so young. Not in his twenties, but still. I'm gettin' up there an'--- I always wanted to be a December bride." She looks to her partner, eyes glistening with more than just happiness. "I don't wanna leave this world without bein' wed ta you."

"Ohhh..." Fatz coos. His hand meets her own, taking it into his big mitt. "I wouldn't want to neither. I'll have ta get you a ring as pretty and as radiant, as beautimous as you, my dear." He pats their clasped hands with his free one. "I'll do it. Decemba's a good time. Gives us lots to think about first."

"Yeah." Esmerelda smiles. "I like that."

"I do as well, my dear." Fatz leans into her, resting his head on her shoulder. She rests her own atop his. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The wind howls past the car's hood.

Esmerelda pulls away, throwing the stickshift into reverse. She takes his hand and gives it one last kiss. "I have to make a stop before we go. Grab something nice for him to put on the grave."

Fatz nods. "I think he'd like that. I wrote a lil' somethin' in his honor."

"That's beautiful, Fatz-y-poo. I'm sure he'd be happy to know that."

"Yeah...."

They begin to pull out of the driveway.

...

"Beach Bear???" Terry knocks on the bathroom door. Beach Bear doesn't respond, in fact, he can't hear at all. He's hearing absolutely nothing past his frenzied breathing, panting and whining and gasping through the pain set deep into his heart.

It was fine when he woke up and he was fine all the way up until thirty minutes before they have to go and Beach Bear freaked out and locked himself in the bathroom before Terry could even ask him what happened. But he knows. Terry knows. What else would be freaking him out other than the fact he has to go to yet another funeral and this time it's for his BEST FRIEND. If there's a god above or not he's taunting Beach Bear every step of the way through his god-awful life. It couldn't have been somebody else??? Like he has no ill will to ANYBODY but his parents-- and to add to that, why couldn't his mom have keeled over with a huge stroke and died on that fucking kitchen floor Beach Bear got his head cracked open on more times than he can fucking count at this point??? It would've rid the world of one more anti-christ instead of taking one of the angels on Earth to throw into one of THE worst deaths imaginable.

Dook could've been here holding him while he sobbed over something completely different, could've been here cooking like he's always loved to and they could've sat down and had a nice breakfast, could've been simply driving and having fun with Beach Bear or even just be alive right now instead of being a frozen corpse up in space strapped into that goddforsaken rocket Dook never told him about.

Terry pounds on the door and Beach Bear yowls out like he's been shanked, crying into nothing with his head tucked under his hands. The knocking stops. Beach Bear whines out without anything to muffle it, staring desolate at the tile with unfocused eyes. His vison's so blurred he can't even see right now, stuck with a harsh double vision that only makes him sob harder.

The door that Beach Bear always forgets about swings open beside his foot, nearly knocking into his shin. Terry ushers in dressed to the nines in black, drops to his knees and wraps Beach Bear up as he can, cradling him to his chest. Beach Bear squeezes Terry tight, claws digging into his hard-shelled shoulders. The lobster pets down his shaggy bits of hair, rubbing his claw against his scalp. "It's alright to cry, man."

"I jus-- I just wish he was here so BAD, Terry!" Beach Bear snivels and gasps. He rubs at his eyes, red and puffy. "I want him here! I want DOOK alive!"

"That's how it is, yo." Terry hums, swaying the back and forth gently, like a boat in the ocean. "Grief hits all at once sometimes. It's hard."

"I wish him and Frank could'a met. I wish he was here. I wish he was alive and breathing-- just happy to be living his life." Beach Bear's sniffing increases tenfold. "I loved him so much. It hurt so much just to see him and not be able to hold him and now he's DEAD, Terry. He's d-dead..."

"I know." He pets down the other's scalp. "I know. It's hard. It's really hard."

Beach Bear leans away a bit, resting his elbow on his knee and his cheek in his hand, looking to the wall with double vision. "I just wish he could've gone out in a better way."

"Yeah..." Terry looks to the ground. "But it's over now. No more pain up in Nirvana, yo. Like the Kurt Cobain guy."

"I swear if he dies too I don't know what I'm gonna do." Beach Bear swipes across his eyes. "That music's been keeping me alive since this all happened."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Terry hums. "Just think about the good times. You know he loved hanging out with you. He's got songs too, yeah? Think about that."

"If I think of his voice I'm gonna start crying all over again." Beach Bear's head thunks against the door against his back. Terry's brow quirks. "Dang. Hey, random question?"

Beach Bear faces him straight on, the lobster a blur in both eyes. "What?"

Terry waves his claw over his dark eyes. "I don't wanna be rude but did you notice your eyes are completely crossed right now?"

"Um. No?" Beach Bear blinks heavily. Both eyes center, then go right back when he focuses in. He waves his hand in front of his face, snapping his fingers. Both ice blue irises seem to wobble, switching around from centered to completely crossed over. His head whacks against the door, a deep huff escaping his lips. "I don't fuckin' know man, I can't see my own eyes. My shit just blurs sometimes."

"Oh." Terry hums. "Ohhhhhhh! That's why you cross your eyes so much." The lobster nods to himself. "Yo maybe you should go to the doctor."

Beach Bear groans. "Dude I have NO fucking money for the doctor. I swear to god I'll go back into porn. I've been thinking about it."

"Yeah go off." Terry shrugs. "When's the last time you went?"

"Porn? Years and years ago. But I ain't got nothing else to lose. But the doctor??" Beach Bear whines. "My fucking bio-demons made me go to the gynecologist to see if my fucking hymen was intact or some shit, I don't know, like fifteen fuckin' years???"

Terry just blinks hard. "You know what? I'll take you to my doctor on the way back or something, you need to get checked out."

Beach Bear's face scrunches, ready to tell Terry no purely on instinct, but. He probably DOES need to go to the doctor. This isn't the first time somebody pointed out his eyes were crossed, just the second. It just didn't ring any bells to him. It was once and it was back in the first grade. Some kid pointed it out and laughed at him, calling him the "Witch Girl" for the remainder of that recess. It just never came up often enough to warrant speculation. Hell it's not like he can see his eyes from here when they're in his head. It didn't hurt him so he never had any issues.

"Yeah... I'll give him the ol' "What's up Doc?" and tell him I'm completely fucked up in the head." He shrugs. "They're gonna call me my old name aren't they?"

"Probably the first time." Terry nods. "My doc's chill, if you get with him he'll probably take just the nickname. You uh-- you probably should also see a gynecologist though. I can't help with that."

Beach Bear lifts the waistband of his shorts, peering downward past the thicket of golden curls. "I think I'm fine but you're probably right. I know for a fact my hymen is not intact though. It fuckin' hurt. Worth it though." He reaches past just to boop at his clit. "The testosterone was good while it lasted."

"Dude I can cover you for you man juice, come on." Terry stands up, offering Beach Bear a hand. "Please just grab mine with your left hand, I know you're clean and all but still."

"Yeah, I'll wash my hands." Beach Bear takes his claw with the left indeed.

...

The rocks beneath thick tires crunch in a line of gravel, the bright pink car rocking back and forth unsteady down this old rural road. Even they don't know why this place is so far out in the boonies, and Fatz has lived here for his entire life. Not down this rurally, no. But Lousiana itself holds a place in his heart no matter where he is inside this glorious state.

But even though he's been all over the place, even this town, he's never ventured this far into the country side of this particular city. Abita Springs just so happens to fly under their radar on account of it's lacking in anthro-entertained arcade-pizzaria dining establishments. It's quite a small town, only about four miles in the entirety of it. Small, yes. But not unwelcoming.

Well, no so much welcoming today. He's just on a roll with talking today, ain't he? In his head at the very least.

It keeps his mind off of things.

Their rocking and swaying slows to a smooth cruise, the wheels finding much easier traction on a paved strip of asphalt. A building looms in the distance, short and quaint, but it makes his heart stop nonetheless. A glance over with dark eyes show to Fatz that he's not the only one. Esmerelda chews on her painted lip, deep red smeared across her front teeth. He notes that down in his head, surely she's far too absorbed in her own head right now to listen.

The car drifts across the hill curving the road, opening far more up to their eyes. Many cars are lined up one by one in the grass, marking out the best parking lines that the LaRue's could muster in their states. Esmerelda guides the wheel slowly, approaching the building far faster than Fatz would've liked. His breathing becomes a bit more shallow with every inch that they steer closer.

In the distance, six different, unmistakable figures stand in the grass, standing about mingling with members of the family. It's not hard to identify each one of them as a member of the band. Fat rests the inner of his fingers against his neck, rubbing through his freshly groomed hairs.

Finally, they reach the rest of the cars, slowing to allow a few dogs, family members, across the thin road. They nod to Esmerelda as they go, tear stains down each of their faces. A man and a woman, two puppies, around Rolfe's age maybe. Fatz recognizes one as Dook eldest brother, if he's not mistaken, his wife and kids following along with him like little ducklings following their mother. They all cling tight together.

The tails on each leave the bounds of the pavement. Esmerelda allows the car to drift forwards, coasting off of the road with a harsh tilt of the vehicle, centering out once the back wheels touch the grass. The woman grunts, pressing harder on the gas to push through the thickets. Her cruiser isn't exactly the best off-road. The vehicle bounces, then continues, sliding right next to a cherry red, vintage 58' Desoto that looks like it was rebuilt a decade ago. Absolutely stunning, but with some wear and tear on the edges. Fatz's eyes fix to the dash.

"Ya ever took a look unda' the hood of one of 'em vintage Fords?" Dook had asked him out of the blue one of those odd days, one of the only times the spaniel had ever caught him with a magazine that wasn't advertizing elder-men's gold accesories. Fatz had looked up from the shining paper, eyebrow cocked at the man leaning over his kitchen cut-out to question him. "What's it to ya?"

Dook shrugged, eyes wandering to the wall. "Ah, I dunno. Jus' tryna strike up some chatter. Ya seem ta like stuff like that. Old stuff. Ya didn' answa' my question though." The man reaches past the cut-out window, tapping his gloved fingertip on the page, right over a mint green 56'. "Tha's a Ford Fairlane. Y'know they got all them safety features in 'em like a sellin' point 'bout a decade before the safety boom, but they ain't ever got that off the runway like Chevy got them Bel Air's off the line back in those times. They screwed themselves with that Y-block. Gotta lube those damn things up like a propa' woman ta keep em going. Iss a tradgedy how hard it is ta find one in good workin' order these days, 'n they're only 'bout twenty years old or so. Prolly thirty now. It's gettin' ta be the same for me these days." Dook clicks his tongue, itching at his growing sideburns. "I ain't neva' seen one wit' my own eyes workin' like they used ta. It's a damn shame."

Fatz hums, head cocking. "Huh. Y'know, I got mah Pappy's sittin' in the garage right now. I been tryna find a reason ta get it in tha shop but I ain't got none. I'm not drivin' around a car worth more than mah soul." The man shakes his head with a chuckle, folding the magazine over.

"Huh!" Dook nods to that, leaning into his hand. The spaniel taps at his lip, eyes focused elsewhere. "Well, I got the experience. If it ain't runnin' I could take a look unda' the hood."

"At this hour?" The gorilla guffaws. "HA! You really ain't got nuthin' betta to do? Like sleepin' away those eye bags?" He pries. Dook's shoulders bounce. "Eh. Not so much. I get restless more than I get rest these days." Dook draws in a breath, releasing it as a sigh. "I didn'  expect ya ta be awake anyway. I could ask ya tha same. But if I got a project I can keep mahself from drivin' myself crazy." He rubs just under his eye at the deep splotches of violet. "Beach Bear alre'dy fell asleep, has been for tha past two hours. Got up once."

"What, were ya watchin' 'im all this time ya been upstairs in there?" Fatz eyes him down. Dook shrugs once again. "Eh. Where's ya toolbox?"

"I didn't tell ya you could poke around." The gorilla squints. Dook hums. "Mmh, yeah, you didn' the last hundred times neither. Izz it unda' the sink?" He begins to poke around regardless. The spaniel snaps his fingers. "Yep. I got it. If ya need me jus' holler and I'll pack it up."

Fatz stands from his recliner, the divit perfectly shaping his back unmoving, forever sunk into the leather. "Dook! I ain't told ya nuthin' yet! Don'tchu touch that car outside my vision!"

The spaniel nods, hefting the toolbox up and onto the edge of the sink. "Kapishe. You comin'?"  He lugs the toolbox under one arm, clutching the handle. Fatz's hands reach his hips. "Nah. It's past midnight, Dookey! Ya ought ta get ta bed."

"Tried." Dook begins to walk, going right past the other man. "Glk--!" The collar of his jumpsuit is snagged, choking him slightly. Dook squints back behind himself. "What?"

Fatz rolls his eyes, letting the other free. "Ya ain't even outta this damn thing yet, I know ya weren't tryin' ta sleep."

The spaniel's eyes stick to his own for a moment, words dead on his lips.

The gorilla sighs, pushing Dook on and stepping past him when he doesn't move, yanking the spaniel by his stupid popped collar. "Yer talkin' whetha you like it or not since ya wanna drag me aroun'  THIS late. Get a move on."

"Right on." Dook follows on, toolbox clattering in his hands.

...

Fatz's large hands paw over his skull, soothing down the headache rising to his forehead. Esmerelda's soft hand carresses the back of his neck, laying on it a small squeeze. Fatz takes her hand and lays a kiss upon the back, holding her lithe mitt to his cheek. "I jus' need me a minute, dear."

"That's alright, Baby." Her voice coos. "I can wait."

The gorilla nods. "Alright. I'm alright,, I think I just..."

Esmerelda hums. "Need a minute alone?" Her eyes soften. Fatz's hairs float when he affirms that. "Yeah. If ya don't mind mah abscense for a little moment."

"Of course not." She leans closer, wrapping her arms around his figure, giving him a squeeze. She pulls away, rubbing her fingertips on his arm. "Ya look very handsome in black, if there's anything nice ta say right abou' now."

"As do you." Fatz smiles. Strained. Esmerelda squeezes his hand once last time. "I think I'll make my way to the rest of them. I can see them all on the otha' side of the buildin'." Her hand clutches the doorhandle. she swings it open, extracting herself from the car slowly, to not agitate her aching feet. Thing is, these are the only goof, insulated black shoes she owns since she lost those winter boots in that poker game. Fatz smiles to her. "Thank ya. I think that's a good idea. I'll come ta ya when I'm ready."

"Alright hun." Her hand presses the door closed. She blows a kiss at the window, twiddling her fingers lazily. With a forced on smile she turns away, venturing past the hood of the car. Fatz returns it.

Once she's out of sight, his head drops into his hands, shoulders tight. His fingers press to the dashboard.

He really is gone.

"Ain't been sleepin'?" Fatz leans against the door, bottom planted firmly in a cloth lawn chair. Dook's tail flicks back and forth, just about the only indicator of his mood besides tone of voice from underneath the car. "Nope. I got betta' things ta do, shit ta work on. Started workin' wit my uncle up in Tenesse while he's covering fo' Barb."  The spaniel's gloved paw reaches out from under the vintage cruiser, wavering up and down. "Kick ova' that pan won'tcha?"

"Ya need ya sleep though, Dookey." Fatz grips the pan with a bare foot, clutching it with a fair bit of strength to simply slide it across the garage. Dook twiddles his hand just out of reach, shuffling slightly, and grabbing the edge, dragging it beneath the Ford. The spaniel grunts hard. "Ah, y'know, I been runnin' off of no sleep an' a coupla' beers fo' the past ten or so year uh my life."  Something metallic clatters and then liquid hits the plastic drip-pan. Dook cringes back. "Damn, Fatz. Did ya Pappy eva' do a change on this thang? This oi-al looks like it dun been rottin' inside Her for as long as she's been off the line."

"Uh,, I'd reckon not." Fatz rubs his finger across his nose. "That ain't great, chu'know." The gorilla shuffles in the wide chair, picking up and fingering through the magazine he had priorly. "Drinkin's fun but,, it can get tha best uh people, Dookey."

The spaniel's tail curls sourly. "Sure fuckin' can. Tha's why I'm knockin' that shit out. Can't help it though. It's in mah blood."  The runoffs of oil begin to slow. Dook digs his finger into the hole, scooping up a thick clump of-- whatever the hell. It's flicked into the bucket."Egh. Mah family's full uh drinkers. I'm naht so much shocked I got stuck wit' it too." The spaniel prods around some more, swiping up what he can. The lesser amounts of nasty oil drip, drip, drip into the pan. Dook folds his fingers together, over the worn out, stained tank top he's got on, his space-suit tied up at his waist. "I dunno. I know I shouldn't. It jus' feels so much betta' wit a drink or two unda' mah belt. Makes me loose, I don' get agitated as much. For the first hour, I mean." A heavy sigh blows past his lip, cinched in his pearly teeth now. "Helps me sleep too. Y'know, a glass a wine before bed. But a glass a wine turned into a finger of scotch. That turned inta half a glass of fireball and now it's two full mixers of vodka."

"Oh."

Fatz rubs his feet together, brushing away dust. Dook flushes, shucking off his glove, scratching a slight bit too hard at his neck. "Mmh, yeah. Sorry. Ya didn' come out here ta listen ta me bitch about mah issues."

"Nah, no, izz alright." Fatz's foot lifts, rubbing across his nape. "Agh. I dunno. I jus' didn' expect that is all." The elder of the two sighs. "I lost a good couple people in mah family ta somethin' like that. Tha's half tha reason I got mah Pappy car here right now. He kept on drinkin' wit his heart meds and he couldn't do a damn thing. Sold this car off ta pay for the medical bills. I been tryna help 'im wit the bills like that, but he's a stubborn one." Fatz's head drifts side to side. "I jus' wish he caught on sooner. It's not great watchin' ya relative's life fall apart."

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Dook clears his throat with a squeak. "Yeah. Yeah it's rough. Sumthin' like that-- well somethin' 'bout what ya said happened wit me. Mah brotha I mean. Uh. I won't get inta it, but. Yeah. Hurts real bad ta see things they didn't." The spaniel shivers lightly. "Uh. Ya reckon ya know what kinda medication he was on?"

Fatz hums. "Uhhhhhh... somethin' like uh... for his heart. Well, course it was!" The man chuckles. "Ah, I shouldn't laugh. It was sumnthin' ta keep his heartbeat lower. Course', that mixed with the alcohol made his heart stop entirely."

Drip.

Dook hums high in his throat. "Huh! Y'know uh-- was he-- ya think he was taken Divoxin?" The spaniel rubs at his neck, pricking the back on his claws. Fatz cocks his head. "Mmh? Sounds about right. Thought it was Dig." Dook nods. "Yeah, yeah, I think it was. I'd hafta check."

The elder narrows his eyes. "Whatchu mean by that?"

Dook's laugh comes from under the car like a shocked honk. "Oh it's fine! Nuthin' ta worry about. I jus' been, y'know. Mah family's got a history of uh, Mitra sumthin' disease? Valve disease? Mitral? Uh." The spaniel whines slightly. "Ya think that's gonna affect anything when I been drinkin' nonstop for about-- oh I don' know, since I broke up with ya sister? Ya know I-- ya don't reckon I'm stickin' both feet in the grave doin' that?"

Dead quiet.

Fatz's feet slap down on the concrete, then a hand starts patting around under the car. A shiny haired mitt wraps around Dook's ankle and he squeaks as he's dragged out, face to face with the leader of the band. Dook smiles back, sheepish and wobbling. Fatz sighs, head shaking as he releases the other's foot. "Ya know I'd be callin' ya stupid right about now if mah Pappy hadn't been goin' ta the same quack fo' twenny years. I dun told Chiff it was a bad idea to screw around wit' mah members and look where it got me. Get yer clothes back on, I'm takin ya ta the docta'."

"Whuh-uh! Right now?!" Dook whines. His tail falls between his legs as he's dragged along the dirty concrete. Fatz shakes his head. "Yes, righ' now. I'm naht abou' ta sit here 'n let ya tell me everythin' wrong an do nuthin. They open till two so we gotta bust it there."

"I didn' agree ta nuthin!" The drummer wiggles in his grip. "N' I neva' agreed ta fixin' up this car at one inna mornin'. We're goin'." Fatz drags him up on his rear and then hefts him right up under his armpits, lugging him over his shoulder. Dook hangs there helplessly, shocked. "Well damn."

"Yup. I'm takin' ya butt there 'n I'm sittin' there 'till we get answers."

The spaniel rests his cheek in his hand. "S'not like I can't get down though."

"Ah, shut up."

And now, regardless of anything done to try to stop it, not even on just that day, it did nothing. Dook still got sent straight to a tombstone whether Fatz dragged him to the hospital or not. Heck, that wasn't the first time Fatz kept Dook from hurting himself in some stupid fashion. Whether it was the time Fatz had to slap away the flames after Dook's popped collar bent into the gas stove, or the time he nearly stepped dead onto a snake that day they all went hiking, or yanking him back on the boat on that fishing trip, everything Fatz did to help him was all for nothing.

But even now, he'd give everything up just to do it all over again, just get one more moment where-- where they were all a family again, living and breathing and just having fun. It felt like having the band all together was his escape from it all, even when it got hard and they didn't all get along at times. It was his home away from home. There was never a dull moment.

Sharp clicking taps across the window. Fatz rubs his calloused fingertips across his eyes. It's Beach Bear. It's the same thing he does every single time, his fingernails too long to properly tap and too lax to want to scare Fatz with a proper knock. When he's ready to face the music, the gorilla lifts his head from his worn hands, eyes flickering to the window with a ghost of a smile. Beach Bear's claws rest against the window, but he's leaning up against the car, the bit of hair that's started growing back is awkward and shaggy, slicked back by his cricked fingers. His eyes lay elsewhere, turned up to the sky. Unlike himself, he's in a dark black jacket. But that bright red peeking past his shoulder looks more tropical.

Mitzi stands next to him, tears clear down her face, but she's not blubbering. In fact, her face is more blank than anything. Beach Bear nods along, sweeping a thumb beneath his eye. A lobster stands near as well, somebody Fatz only vaguely recognizes. A fancy napkin type tie sticks from a fancy suit.

With a deep breath Fatz takes the handle and pushes the door open quickly. Beach Bear gasps as though he was shot, hand clenching dents into a can and flung with shock, pupils so small in his craned up head that they're nearly gone. An eyebrow raises as Fatz steps out of the car, his hand on top of the rolled up window. "Boy! You're a sight for sore eyes."

"Mmh-HMM!" Beach Bear squeaks out. Fatz's face washes with even more concern. "What's tha matter? Did I scare ya that bad??"

"Uh, Fatz?" Mitzi points to the car. The leader's expression pinches. "Well, what is it? We didn' hit nuthin'!"

"Fatz, my man." The lobster rests a claw on the man's shoulder, patting it delicately. Beach Bear sucks in air through his cinched teeth. "OH just shut the DOOR, FATZ, I'm BEGGING you!"

"Al'right??" Fatz steps to the side and claps the door to the frame. Beach Bear jumps away with a wavering yelp, hand clenched down at his tail bone. On his tail. Fatz finally gets what it is now. "Oh. Y'know I didn't even know ya had one uh those."

"SURE DO!" Beach Bear cringes harsh, hunching over. "Oooooo-ooh! I'm fine! Nah I'm fine! Yeah!" His spine straightens, eye squinted. "Okay!" He nods to himself.

The three animals look between themselves. Fatz claps his hands together. "Well. Uh. Where'd Esmerelda go?"

"Not even a hello, Fatz?" Mitzi's hands slap down on his hips. "And I thought you'd be nicer than these two!"

"Mitzi did I not just give you that necklace to wear?" Beach Bear raises the drink to his lips, an eyelid squinted. The rodent rests her paw over the shockingly elaborate gold and sparkling piece. "Well. Yeah! Thank you. It's pretty."

"Just bring it back, that's my Gam's." Beach Bear points past Mitzi with a finger raised off of the neon etched can in his hand. "Ez is up there talkin' to Dook's mom. They started cryin' and I honestly couldn't do it." He takes a sip from the drink, passing it over to Terry. The lobster takes it to do the same. He then offers it to the rodent. Fatz and Mitzi share a look, Mitzi sips lighty, cautious of her painted lips. Fatz nods regardless. "Uh, yeah. Beach Bear, ya sure ya doin' alright?"

"Oh, you're worried about lil' ol me?" The polar bear chuckles. "Yeah you know what? I'm doing awful. But I'm not crying right now so I'm gonna take full advantage of that until I do." He shrugs, reaching over with a grabby claw. Terry holds up his hands. Mitzi relinquishes the drink to him and Beach Bear finishes what's left of it off, taking the bottom and the top of it between two palms and smashing it into a flat disc. He flicks the wetness off and shoves it into his pocket. His shorts pocket. The most un-funeral like shorts imaginable, with islands over them, red. Fatz cocks his head. "Hey, whatchu drinkin' anyway? That don' look like anythin' I know."

"Redbull." Beach Bear lets free the carbonation behind his hand. He sniffs the air hard, eyes widening behind his head. Terry perks up hard, a knowing smile across his face. "Oh my god, hold on. Did-- You guys told the Wolf Pack what happened didn't you?" Beach Bear bores an uncomfortably bright smile. Fatz hums. "Well of course! Why ya look happy all of a sudden." The gorilla steps closer to Mitzi. She falls closer to him immediately. Beach Bear slides his hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just--"

"AYYYY IZ THE LITTLE ONE!!" A goofy voice calls from across the land. Beach Bear slaps his hand down on Terry's shoulder. "Dude this's the guy I tell you about all the damn time."

"Oh my god, really?" Terry snickers. "Dude sounds like a cartoon character."

Heavy footsteps pat through the grass, and a huge fluffy mass of silver tumbles past the front of Esmerelda's bright pink beauty lighting up the dingy field, his arms held wide and his stature indeed tall. Once in his sights, the biggest of the two Beach Bears tackles the other into a hug, just about blanketing his whole body with his own. Absolutely nothing has changed fro when he gets on stage, still decked out in his beach attire like it's another Wednesday. "Ain'tchu gotten big as hell?!" The silver one drops him and pushes him back, getting a good look at him, downward especially. "Ya ain't got nuthin' left! Them fat lumps is taken care uv, huh?? That's great!" The elder of the two cheers, arms up high and moving.

Beach Bear, the Rock-afire Explosion Beach Bear chuckles bright. "Yeah I did! It's been a while! It's good to see you man! I just wish it was in better circumstances." The paler of the two pushes him back without a single ill look. "I'm sure you know what happened since you're here and all. I know you weren't around for long, but still. It's weird, right?"

"Oh!" The taller flicks his hand down. "It ain't nuthin'. Weirder happens every day." Big Beach rolls his matching eyes, if only a little bit green compared to Beach Bear's own. "Tha' shure is a fucked up way ta die though! Goddamn rocket explosion. Woof! And I MEAN that."

"Tell me about it." Beach Bear hums, eyes to the ground. "Uh, anyway." He holds his hand out to Terry. "I'll get to him in a second because you never met, stories to tell, y'know the roll." A lax shrug. "To catch you up again--" He then points to Fatz. Big Beach rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know who this one is. Fotz?" The man chortles. "I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin', I know it's Fatz. It's good ta see ya man. Yer lookin' betta'. Lost some uh the pounds?"

"Yeah." The gorilla holds out his paw. "I'm seein' ya too." Fatz clears his throat. Big Beach slaps their hands together, gripping it just a hair bit too tight, too excited. "Ah, I get chu! Been a while and ya forgot what it was like around ya buddies, huh?" The polar bear takes his hand back, rubbing it across Fatz's head. The leader slaps the paw away, brushing through his hair to right it. "Buddies is sumnthin. Y'know I count mah buddies as the people who call every once in a while."

"Oh." Big Beach snorts a laugh. "That's mah bad. I lost ya number when I picked up shop." He cracks his neck by tilting it. Fatz nods. "Tha's what I thought too."

Terry draws his eyes to Beach Bear, drinking in his expression, puzzled. The polar bear smiles back at him, then turns his head to the other bear. "So what've you been up to, man? This's Mitzi by the way, I'm sure you know. And my buddy Terry." He points his thumb between them.

"Shure I remember you, Booger! Yer all grown up!" Big Beach reaches out and picks up a curl of hers. "I rememba' when I would call ya that."

"Oh, yeah!" Mitzi giggles, eyebrows pinching. "I remember that from a long time ago..." She folds her hands together. Terry raises his claw. "Whazzup."

"Nuttin' much." Big Beach slaps the other's claw. Terry scratches idly at the side of his head. "I didn't know you were taller. I didn't think anybody COULD get taller than Beach Bear. Uh, OG Beach Bear." The lobster chuckles. Big Beach snickers back at that, head turning away. "Oh, yer still moochin' offa mah name? Ain't got nothin' better, Burn-up?"

Beach Bear stares back.

Terry's disposition drops like this guy just can't be serious, head cocked down to show that. Again, the three other animals look between eachother awkwardly. Beach Bear's claws scratch across the sparse bits of stubble at his chin, a choked sort of laugh piercing through. "Uh. Yeah, it's still Beach Bear. I don't go by Bern. Or Bernie. None of it. Like, at all, man."

"Yeah, gotcha. That's on me." The polar bear clicks his tongue. "Eh. Y'know, it's dreary as hell out here. 'S stoopid. DINGO!" He suddenly cracks his head back and shouts. Behind them and about ten cars down a short beige dog perks up, ears jumping to his flat cap. He pads over quickly, sweeping his ear back behind his shoulder. He comes around the front of the car, bright green eyes dull and eye bags heavy. Beach Bear's chest jumps. The short dog just barely comes up to the grey bear's knee. He waves to the animals all standing around. "Yo. You've got an issue?" Dingo then rests his paw on the other's leg. The bigger of the bears snickers. "Nah. You know these people or what? Or didja forget?"

Dingo's brows furrow. "Y'know I wuz in the middle of conversation, Beach Bear. It isn't so easy striking up some catter when you've called me over like this every time." "It got yer attention." "Quite rudely." But regardless the dog scans over the few people. "Hey. I'm Dingo Starr. That's for the new folks. How have you guys been??" He waves.

"I'm Mitzi!" The rodent jumps forward. Dingo clicks his tongue at her while pointing. "Ah, I remember that one! Ya don't seem to remember me sittin' you when you were younger, though. But that's awright!" His hand swings away the bad mojo.

"Oh!" The mouse squeaks happily. "I do! I'm sorry, I mixed you up for a second! But it's good to meet you again! You two look so similar!"

Dingo smiles, though it's soured beneath the surface. "Yeah... I know that. It seems we all look the same on that side, y'know?" The small dog rubs over his neck. Mitzi nods. "Yeah... It's okay."

Fatz shrugs. "Well, regardless. It's good seein' ya, Ding-bat. And I mean that well." He holds out an arm. Dingo shoots to him, wrapping him up in a good squeeze. Fatz rubs over his back, patting him fondly. The dog leans back, looking up at the man. "You too, mate! It's been too long since I seen all of yuzz in one place. I was talkin' to Wolf-man back there before Someone came shoutin'." Dingo raises his eyebrow at his tall friend. The polar bear shrugs, smile across his peachy face. "It worked."

Dingo rolls his eyes. "Yeah. So does a short "hello", Beach Bear. It would've been your first greeting to me in oh, fourteen years. I have things to attend to besides wrangling you in, you know." The man turns his green grass eyes up to the other polar bear while the eldest sneers to the horizon. "And uh. You're also Beach Bear. Small world."

"Yeah." The surfer nods tightly. "Yep. I am. Nice ta meet ya," He sweeps his fingers through his hair, clearing his throat behind a fist. "Quick question? If you don't mind? I don't mean it to be rude, cuz I'm really just curious." He wiggles his hand. "Yeah Dings, fess up." The other Beach points a thumb to the first. Dingo shrugs. "Shoot."

"Is it just something you and Dook do with introducing yourselves to people by your first and last name? Not that it's a problem." Beach hums uneasily.

"Oh. I guess so! It slipped my mind! We used to play together as tykes so often that I'm sure it rubbed off from one of us!" The canine chuckles deeply, his ears bouncing with each one. Beach Bear's smile grows tighter. Terry sets his claw on the other's back. The polar bear sucks in a breath while Dingo taps his claws against his neck. So familiar. "I never took much notice. I've done it for so long." The pale furred man looks behind himself. "Well, It's nice to know you! I hear about you far too often. I've heard a single of yours once or twice! Great stuff, if you don't mind my saying so! Ya really tear it up out there!"

"Really? That's great, man! I'm happy to hear it! Thank you, really. It's great to hear that coming from a member of our predecessors." Beach Bear cocks his head just a bit, the corners of his lips quirking just a bit. Dingo nods. "Mmhm! It's no problem! You're really great out there! Beach Bear here tells me--" "Well It'd be a shame naht ta mention how I pulled myself a proto-gee to turn into the best rock 'n roll star outta the west key! Well, besides me of course." The bigger of the bears chuckles, a hand to his chest. "Well, I'm sure yer got yourself some people ta talk to, Dingo, ain't ya?"

"Sure I do. I have time for some fine conversation with these people right no--" "Good. Hey, howsa bout ya scurry along now? People to see 'n all befo' the service, ya don't wanna run outta time. Gotta catch up withs ya own." Beach flicks his fingers. Dingo hums, head cocked. "Well now, I suppose you're right. I'll get back to you fine folks soon. I should see how Aunt Fifi's doin' anyway." The man waves, turning to scuffle past the two Beach Bears. He stops suddenly, jumping. He sticks his hand upward to the blue lobster. "Oh, pardon my mistake, I didn't get to you! What's your name?"

"Terry. How ya doin' man, wazzup?" The lobster bends a bit, taking his paw, shaking it gently. Dingo takes his hand back, sticking it into his dark suit jacket. "Not much, you? I've been alright! Better, of course, seeing as to what's happened." He cocks his head, drawing in a sigh. Regardless he smiles. "But it's nice to meet you as well. I'm so sorry to you all for what happened, I do hope it gets better soon." He looks to each of them with a small smile to share. "I hope I'll be able to talk to you all soon. I'll be seein' you!"

"You too. Bye, Dingo!" Mitzi calls over as he begins to walk off. Beach Bear jumps from where he's been staring into the ground. "Oh, see ya, man!" Terry smiles. "Bye dawg! D-a-w-g, sorry. Bye!"

Fatz sticks up his hand. "I'mma catch you afta' this fo' everything I got!! We gotta catch up!"

"We do!" Dingo shouts back with his hands cupped. "I'll be seein' ya!" He waves over his head, both hands as he turns and bounds away.

The four of them all take turns scoping the landscape, but the youngest Beach Bear looks to the eldest immediately. The biggest of the bears shakes his head. "Agh. Crazy dawg. I'mma get talkin' too I thinks. But I gotta go do sumn' real quick." He turns and walks off without much of a wave. "Oh. Yeah, okay! See ya, man." Beach calls over. The other's footsteps shift in the gravel by the side of the road.

Beach Bear blinks hard. "Huh. Well. I'm not crying but I want to. I think that's better than before. I didn't know I missed him too. It's good to see him."

Fatz nods, eyes squinted at the other polar bear's back. "Mmh, yeah. I'd say that's better yer not cryin'." The gorilla slaps his hand on the taller man's back, then turns to the rest of them. "That sure was interesting. Y'all wanna meet up with Billy Bob 'n the others?"

"Chyeah." Beach Bear turns, walking off to there immediately. "Yep!" "Yeah I do, man." Mitzi strides to catch up and Terry spins to follow as well. "Alright, good." Fatz grunts and sets off, taking up the train.

...

Esmerelda stands near Rolfe at the top of the hill, hair blowing in the ice-cold breeze. It's quiet. Earl sits atop the wolf's shoulder.

"It's cold." She speaks, her nails tracing over the back of her neck. Rolfe sighs. "It is... It makes sense. He liked the cold more than any of us ever did. Accept for Billy Bob, maybe."

"Yeah..."

The hill isn't very big, but it's like you can see the whole field from here. Below them, but not too far away, Fifi stands with her husband, wrapped into him and unwilling to let go. Each and every brother stands with them, and in one hand, General holds a metal pot, something purple stuck to the top. His kids are all running and playing, blissfully unaware. Teddy leans close to a big figure, a huge ginger mane fluffed out that he clutches like a lifeline.

Rolfe cracks his knuckles, looking down to the ground. Slowly he begins to make the trek down. Esmerelda starts with him, gently. She sucks in air, her heels burning already. Rolfe turns his head.

Wordlessly he offers her a hand. Ezzie sighs great, taking the paw with a smile. "I do thank ya."

Rolfe flashes her one back. "It's quite alright. I wouldn't want grass stains to ruin such a pretty dress." He steps down with her carefully. Esmerelda hums. "Yeah. I wuldn't want to either. But I wouldn't want to leave to change it neither."

"Of course not." Rolfe guides her over a dip in the grass. Earl grumbles idly. "All this fancy stuff is makin' me sick."

Dark eyes roll. Rolfe flicks up his hand briefly from Esmerelda's. "I know you are. But it's for our friend." "I know..." Earl sighs. "But y'know. Dook'd hate seein' all this eloquent junk just for him. Besides the magic show, he ain't ever worn nuthin' fancier than a pair of nice jeans."

"Oh, I'm well aware." The wolf scoffs. "But I see where you're coming from."

"Yeah..." Esmerelda steps down, onto the flat of the ground. Rolfe rests his hand on her shoulder as they begin to walk once more.

Without notice Rolfe's eyes blank. They have been all day. All day he hasn't been able to stop thinking.

Gasps and panting comes from the broom closet in the Showbiz in Kansas City, short ears fisted and jammed between quaking fingers, entire body shaking so hard that it feels like an earthquake is going through his body.

It's stupid to panic like this. It's even stupider to do it in public. On top of that it's absolutely brainless to do it while he's supposed to be working.

But the stupidest of all?

The reason.

Somehow, someway, he saw past the bright lights of the stage. And this week had already been so stressful, so monotonous, so... blistering. So much so that when he had gotten on stage, he was already tempted to cry just seeing those big lights piercing into his sensitive eyes. Not even Earl could help him today, it's not like he didn't know what was happening, but you just couldn't do a thing when it gets like this.

It was fine, they were playing around, slinging jokes. Everything they do on a normal day.

And then a rogue cup hit the stage and soaked him down to the bone in sticky nasty sugary-- AWFUL coke.

It was THEN that the tears actually came, disguised in the mess as streams from the coke in his eyes. Of course, people laughed. Even the band laughed, Beach Bear laughed, Mitzi gasped and giggled. Fatz chuckled, hell Dook CACKLED like it was the funniest thing he saw, pounding his fist on the stool beneath him with roar like a witch.

Whether or not anybody asked him if he was alright, Rolfe didn't hear anything but the laughs. Weakly and with an ache in his throat audible he had requested for the curtain on his stage to be closed. Being the only one close enough to hear, Dook had near immediately stuck a hand to his rouge lips, ears slid back in a way Rolfe knew he was running himself over thinking about something stupid. Regardless of that Rolfe had slid behind the gap in the stage without the curtain to cover it, swiftly taking himself away before the tears could start leaving him a gasping fool.

He doesn't know what happened afterwards. Now he's got himself stuck into this stupid small closet where he deserves to be in the dark and the cold, locked inside because of ANOTHER stupid thing he did. It's nothing new, but he hasn't been stuck in a closet since he last saw his parents alive.

Earl is somewhere in here and distantly he can feel a hand on his back, but it's all for nought. Regardless, he can't slow his breathing, gasping and choking past the sorrow and anxiety, the sheer embarrassment of what happened tonight.

He won't forgive them, he's never going to forgive them. This was the single worst night of his night ever. It may be an exaggeration but he can't help it when those laughs play over and over again, hammering away at his skull and leaving an aching crater.

He's not worth anything to them. They all hate him anyway. He wasn't supposed to stay this long.

THEY DON'T WANT ME HERE.

Everything he does is---

Quick footsteps come by, running. Kids probably. But they shouldn't be back here. One of THEM can handle it, he's not going out there when he's like this. Pathetic.

"Rolfe?!"

His ears perk up. But he stays as he is. They can just go on without him, it's not like they havent before. It's not like there's entire showtapes with his absences.

"Rolfe??"

A door opens and closes quickly. It opens once again and then slams. The running starts again. He doesn't get why though, if they were so worried they could just call his phone. It's not like there's a reason to panic. Not a good one anyway.

"Rolfe???"

It's whined this time. Rolfe growls in his throat. It's clearly Dook, the biggest one he didn't want to see right now. It was the first times too, but he didnt care that much to process it.

"Rolfe, man!" Another whine. "I'm-- where are you??? I'm sorry, man. Rolfe! Come on!"

He sticks firmly where he is, the quakes unsubsiding.

A gasp, then whining, hard. Then a sniffle. Dook clears his throat, probably to wash away the laughter. "Rolfe??? Please!"

The footsteps rush down the hall. "Rolfe?!"

From the very end of the hall, a knock comes, but not on the door. "stupid!" Dook gasps. Then some sniveling. Not from Rolfe. He rushes down that hall and into the dining hall, uncaring of the panic that could be caused if one of them is seen in distress.

Dook returns with heavier steps. Another door opens and then it's slammed shut pretty hard. Rolfe jumps, tucking himself into his arms for the next wave of unwilling tears. Stupid, stupid, "Stupid--!"

Again, the running starts.

The doorknob jiggles and the door flies open. With a jolt, Rolfe tucks himself further into the broom closet, the mop inside tipping and falling to the floor with a booming clatter. Dook's silouette looms above, to laugh, probably.

A choked gasp. Slick boots squeak on the floor and Rolfe looks up to catch him running off to the rest of the band.

But he doesn't.

Dook slams to his knees and clutches aroud him tight, gasping and whining like he's crying too. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" He whines out desperately. "I thought you left-- I thought you left and you weren'-- I though'-- I didn'-- I shouldn' have laughed, Rolfe, I'm sorry!"  Dook's claws dig into his shoulder, bare of gloves. He shakes harder than Rolfe is even now. The wolf shuffles back, overwhelmed. Dook leans back, pushing the mop out, swinging the door shut to encase them in darkness.

Trapped.

Rolfe's leg heels back and shoves into the other man's chest, kicking him back into the wall. "You don't CARE! Just leave me alone! Get out!"

Dook gasps, grunting from the impact. Probably did that too hard, but getting laughed at hurt worse. The spaniel rubs at the mark, but he rests his hand on the other's foot. "I do! I care, Rolfe! Do ya not see me now??? I love all of you! I didn't want to hurt you!"

"SURE you do! And I'm sure you laugh at your mother when she cries too!" Rolfe's foot jolts away from the other. "Just leave me alone! It's embarrassing enough to be seen with me, now you're crying like a pathetic puppy over nothing."

"It's not nothing, man!" Dook wipes across his cheeks in the crack of light from the door. "You ran off! Of course I'm gonna run afta' you! I don't care if it's pathetic! I just wanted to see you were okay!"

"I'm fine!" Rolfe snaps. "You can leave now! I'll be back in twenty minutes. Just keep the show going!"

"It IS going, Rolfe!" Dook slaps his hand against the door to try to gesture that way. "That kid started crying and it spawned a chain reaction. Everybody's out there tryna get them to calm down. An' you know Beach Bear don't come within a FOOT of babies but he's over there lookin cut-- lookin' cute fo' this little baby but Rolfe! I came out here lookin' fo' you! I'm sorry, man. That's not somethin' I shoulda laughed at. Now I'm not even gonna try ta say I wasn't laughing. But it was stupid. I don't laugh to hurt none. I don't wanna hurt ya guys. Y'all are my family, Rolfe." Dook whines low. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys. I just wouldn't be alive. Keel over or somethin-- but." He waves his hands out, sniffling away the remnants. "I love y'all. You, Rolfe. I love you, too. I didn't mean ta make ya cry, or hurt, or anything! You're like my brother, man." Dook gasps and whines hard out of nowhere. "You remind me so much of him! You're like him, and my uncle, and-- it's been so long-- But you're all the family I have, man. You and the band, my folks. That's all I am." Dook's hands hold to his chest, a golden ring glinting in the light. "I don't know what I'd do if ya left and--" He sniffles. "I couln't stop thinkin' you were gonna leave mad, and- and-- get in a crash or something! DIE!" Dook huffs out a breath. "I didn't want to hurt you, man. Can--" He holds his arms out. They lower soon after, instead crossing them over his chest. "No, I'm sorry."

"Oh just please shut up." Rolfe leans forward, wrapping his arms over Dook's shoulders just to get him to stop blubbering. Dook's arms wrap around his back, thick and pudgy, like nobody in his family was. Without notice of it, Rolfe softens, resting his head on the other's shoulder. Dook lets out a surprise of a wet gasp, leaning into him harder. The wolf sighs, patting him lightly. "It's alright."

"I should be tellin' you that." Dook's arms hold him tighter. Rolfe slumps, relaxing into the crush, whether Dook knows or not that he's grabbing him too tight, it's nice. All the hugs he got were years ago, and never like this. He huffs, not out of malice, but just to do it. Dook's arms begin to slip away. Rolfe grabs and digs his nails into the man's soft underarm. "keep it there." He growls. The spaniel  jumps, quick to follow his command. "Oh-- kay." He remains there with his arms settled, jaw set.

Rolfe snuggles into it as much as he's allowed, relishing in one of the touches he went without for most of his life. Dook sets his back against the wall. The wolf falls forward against it, slipping to the side and falling into the man's lap, cushiony like his own brother's lap when he was young. Dook lets out the smallest high-pitched laugh. It can slide.

They sit for a moment. Dook clears his throat, claws itching at his neck. Rolfe growls, once again, his nails dig in. Dook gasps."Put it back."

"Alright but--" And he does as he's told. "Uh, Rolfe--?" "No." The wolf's head shakes. He shuffles in the man's lap, trying to get comfortable against his shockingly bony thigh. He shifts down. Onto the dog's thigh.

Rolfe jolts back, eyes wide and his mouth dropped. Dook covers his face immediately. Rolfe points down. Dook shakes his head. "Are you---?"

"Rolfe, please, fo' the love of god, shut yer mouth! Don't tell them! Especially Beach Bear!" The spaniel groans, rubbing over his face. Rolfe shifts to attempt to get up. Both of them flush at the result. "Stop movin'!" Dook shouts out, hands flung. Rolfe slides at least away from-- that. "That-- was that because of me?"

Dook whines more. "No! But ya can't just tell me shit like that an' start-- diggin' ya claws in mah arms man, I got chicks doin' that all the time!" He excuses, eyes to the door to avoid Rolfe's stare. "So it was?" The wolf cringes back. "Does it matter?! Wll you PLEASE just shut up and get outta mah lap, Rolfe???"

"Gladly." Rolfe pushes his hand against the spaniel's thigh, using it as a support to lift up. He starts to rise, setting his feet under him. The fat and muscle beneath slip against the bone, Rolfe's hand slips. "YA--AGH--!" Dook yowls out, but Rolfe is still in the process of getting up and just further smashes his poor precious jewels against the closet's tile.

Rolfe shoots up and backs up to the other wall, brushing his hand down his slacks like it's dirty. "Egh!"

"Ahh-ah!" Dook cries out gently, hands down to cup where it's hurting. "That's the quickest I've ever lost a hard-on for sure--! Ooh--!" His head thunks against the wall. "Ya might needta tell them I'll be a minute--"

"Yeah I'll tell them right after I wash my hands!" Rolfe snatches the door knob. Dook holds up his hand. "Ooh-- jus'-- fuck!" he whines. "Jus' tell 'em ya kicked me fo' tryna hug ya if they ask what happened--" He grunts out. His hand goes right back to trying to feel if he's popped one or something. Nausea starts to rise into his stomach. Dook groans. "Actually I dunno if I'mma be able to drum fo' a bit--" He hisses when he fondles one with just a bit too much pressure, gagging lightly. "Urp--! Ooooh-- no I can't--"

The lines of Rolfe's neck go taught. "I'd rather them not think that I hurt you out of anger. I'll tell them something."

"Cool!" Dook holds up a lone thumb.

Rolfe opens, and slides away from the door. Beach Bear jolts, three little girls all circled around him and pulling on his legs. He immediately groans. "Oh thank GOD! Rolfe where the-- why are you in the broom closet!? Where's Dook???" He starts, clearly panicked and probably overwhelmed. Rolfe jams the door shut with a rattle. "Finding spare clothes. I was trying to see if there was a stain remover. There's SOME way that we get the coke stains out of the carpet."

"Oh! Yeah, that makes sense!" Beach Bear points to each little girl with clear levels of energy. "They won't leave!"

Rolfe hums. "Yes, I'm sure." He reaches into his pocket, pulling a small sheet. He bends down and peels a sticker off of the paper, sticking it to one girl, then the other, and then the last girl. "There! Very pretty. Run along now."

"Yay!" One of them takes off. The other two jump and run after her, squealing all the while. Both of them watch the girls go. The polar bear rubs over his face, drawing his gaze to Rolfe. Pretty quickly it averts.

Beach Bear clears his throat with his eyes down the hall, fingers snapping. Rolfe looks down to it and then the polar bear points to the wolf's waist. "You might wanna do something about that."

Rolfe follows the point. With a short squeak he adjusts the front of the seamless fuzzed shorts he has on to keep the illusion of pantlessness. He can thank Disney for that choice. He clears his throat. "That was from the hug, not the-- y'know."

"The hug??" Beach Bear's eyebrows knit together. "uhh--" Rolfe rolls his hand into the air. "The hug of life, my island-friend! Life itself!"

Behind them, the closet door pushes open, and Dook hisses at the bright bit of light, legs staggered and a hand pressed to his thigh, near uh. The hurting spot. His eyes turn up. Both of the other men are looking at him. Dook straightens up with a flush, and a wince, saluting with two fingers and leaning on the doorframe with an arm above his head, the other on his hip. "Whazzup?"

Beach Bear's head tilts with incredulousness. "Why are YOU in the closet?"

"Stain remover!" Dook smiles back with all his teeth. Beach Bear looks between both of them. Eyebrow up. He sweeps his golden curls back, blinking pretty hard to himself. "Yeah. Alright." He points to the spaniel. "We're talking later."

"It wuddn't like that." Dook's stature drops to the floor immediately, dead serious, Rolfe tenses just from the whiplash of mood. "Can I jus'-- can we just cut the show, I'm not gunna be able to get behind those drums."

"What???" Beach Bear jolts. "Why not?? Did something happen?? We still have an hour left of the show!"

Dook shrugs sheepishly. "I kinda got mah balls crushed."

Beach Bear just simply stares at him. Then turns that to Rolfe. He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath. He holds his hands up. "You know what? It's none of my business what you two do. Just don't lie to me, man."

"No, Beach Bear, really I did!" Dook starts forward. Beach Bear turns, hand flicking back. "Nah. I get it. I'll tell Billy Bob to cut the show."

"Beach Bear!" Dook calls out, darting to him. Halfway through that dart though he groans, eye pinched. "Man! Come on! I got a busted nut here!"

"We're cutting it, Dook!" Beach Bear calls from beyond the hall. Dook falls to the end of the hall, going past it with a horrid limp. "Jus' listen ta me, Beach!"

"Just cut it out."

Rolfe rubs at his neck.

Egh.

With that, he turns around, actually going to go find some clothes now.

That's not much of his issue to fix, as his involvement will only make things worse.

Now to find where Earl went after he dropped him...

Rolfe's eyes turn up, centering in on the small funeral home before them. The moment doesn't matter anymore. It never did in the first place. Well. To Rolfe, it did. But surely it was nothing special to Dook.

Regardless of that, it hurts. Hurts to think about it, hurts to relive it.

With a sigh, he makes his way to the building, fingers rubbing over his neck lightly.

...

The inside of the funeral home is far nicer than it was outside, but it feels, worse. Suffocating. Stained glass beams in, casting refractions of light across the ruby carpet. Rolfe pulls the door shut, the click of the knob echoing in the room. Billy Bob turns his head, paws set atop the window sill. His paw wipes across his cheeks, lips wobbling. "Hey, Rolfe."

"Billy Bob." The wolf nods. He comes forward. Earl grunts. "Hey."

"Earl." Billy Bob nods to him. His wet irises drift to the carpet, searching for the right words. He sighs instead, his claws scratching against his chest. "I don't know what to say."

"It's alright." Rolfe steps closer. His paw squeezes the other's shoulder. "Are you holding up?"

"A little." Billy Bob sniffles, tears edging at his eyelids. "It's hard. And Looney Bird's been crazy since it all happened, it's just so..." The grizzly whines in his throat. "I can't take it, Rolfe. I can't take all this. Not now. Not ever." His tears are wiped away by a silver-toned finger, sweeping away his sorrow. "I know. It'll be alright."

"I don't know how you can be so fine through all of this." Billy Bob's lips waver and sway. "I feel like I'm about to fall apart here, now."

Rolfe hums. "I know. I don't know what to do, really." The wolf sighs, his dark eyes scoping the carpet for imperfections. "We'll always be together, in spirit."

A sob cuts through the silence. Billy Bob jumps, wrapping around him as he shakes. Rolfe holds him as he cries, leaning his head to his own.

Shocking himself, his own eyes well, dripping down his cheeks silently, running down onto his suit jacket. Earl rests against his neck, rubbing his nape with his gloved paw.

A light opens up into the hall, the door cracking open and squealing on it's rusted hinges. Grunts and squeaks come, Mitzi struggles as she pushes at the heavy door, throwing her shoulder against it, attempting to jam it open with pure muscle and willpower. Beach Bear's paw becomes visible, shoving the door open hard against the carpet blocking it. It bangs against the wall, bouncing back with a rattle. Beach Bear steps in past Mitzi, sick of the cold. "Whoops." He rubs a finger over the wood, peeking past the solid door. A hiss sucks past his teeth. "Ooh. I hope that was there already." His palm caresses his neck.

Fatz moves away from the outdoors, pulling Mitzi aside with a guiding hand to then swing the door shut, leaning away from it to pull it all the way. It clicks. Rolfe steps away from the grizzly bear, Billy Bob shuffling likewise so he can rub at his eyes. Rolfe's thumb runs along his jawline, then over his temple, aching. "I'm sure this is all as stressful for all of you as it is for me."

"Of course." Fatz taps his fingers along his chin. "I can't see how any of y'all dyin' could be anythin' but stressful, and full a' turmoil."

Fingers twitter on the back of his suit jacket. Beach Bear nods along, eyes fogged and crossed. "Those're some big words for you, monkey-man." His paw lifts, brushing along the underside of his nose. Fatz grunts to those words. The polar bear sucks in a breath that wobbles lightly. "Yeah it's stressful. Turmoil's a good way to put it. Hell. The boiling core of the Earth personified into an event." The man's shoulder's tilt so so. "It's like... it happened so fast." He rubs over his neck, his hand then holding out. "I thought it was all gonna be alright." His face suddenly scrunches. Beach Bear sets his head in his hands, sweeps back the long furs growing in. A deep breath. "Am I the only one stuck thinking about his face?"

"No." MItzi lifts her paw, lax. "All day. But I've been thinking about how we first got Dook in the band more." She scratches at the side of her lip with her pinkie. Beach Bear lightens up in the eyes a little, even if they are unfocused. They shift, full attention on Mitzi even though it already was. "How's it go?"

"He never told you?" The rodent fluffs the bottom of her dress, cinching it in her nails. Fatz reaches over, smoothing down a particularly bunched part of the emerald ruffles while she twists it up. "Yeah, BB. He didn't? I culd'a sworn he'd talk about that."

"I dunno." The polar bear lifts his hands. Rolfe scoffs, Earl shakes his head. "It wuddn't much." The puppet-like man speaks. "Found him how you'd expect. I wuddn't there though. Rolfe was."

Fatz lifts his wrist, peering across the surface of a shining watch. "Eh, we got time ta go over it I think. Might help with all the sadness."

"Okay." Mitzi rubs her fingertips over her scalp, fixing the two buns on the sides of her head. Done up like that for a reason.

...

It's just a few weeks before Mitzi's birthday, 1979, just days before New Years. Her and her mother sit in a kitchen chair. Missy holds her in her lap as she picks and pricks through Mitzi's unruly blonde curls, puffy and perky, sticking up in the air harshly. Her mothers sucks at her teeth, tsking lightly. "Honey, your hair is all kinds of mess. Oh dear, why don't you pick up a brush once in a while?" She asks gently, brushing her hand down her daughter's arm. Mitzi shrugs big and proud. "I don't know! I brush it in the moring and I come back home and it's--!" She flings her hands out. ""FWOOF! Everywhere!" Her paws turn to the sky. "Why????"

Snickers come from the kitchen table. Beach Bear slaps his hand down on the table, barely avoiding Dingo's paw atop the table. Dingo draws it back with a look. Beach Bear hums and haws. "Oh it's the same old, same old shit with you, Booger. Never got that hair brushed. Yer lookin' fer lice."

"Beach!" Queenie whirls around from the stove, depositing her paws over the small rodent's ears. "She's only eleven! And if you dare speak of lice in this household, I'll find a way to have it make its way to you next!" Her finger waggles, tipped sharply. Rolfe shakes his head. "If I may." He holds up a finger. Fatz nods to him from across the kitchen table. "Shoot." Billy Bob hums along. "Go right ahead, Rolfe! You don't even gotta ask!"

The wolf nods, hands folding as he leans back in this kitchen chair, legs crossed with an ankle over his knee. "Mitzi." The man beckons her attention with a finger. Mitzi brightens further, straightening in her chair. "Yeah?!"

"The brush you use, is it that one that Mizzy has now?" Rolfe circles the brush in his vision with the sharp tip of his nail. Mitzi looks up suddenly, her mother pulls her hands free from the thickets of curls, revealing the brush. Mitzi nods boldly. "Yes! It is!"

The wolf nods to himself. "Then that's why. Your hair is so curly that it's most likely textured hair. People of certain decents can often have similarly thick and yarn-like hair. You could look into using a pick comp, or perhaps even a brush for poodles." Rolfe hums, sitting up to extract a cup off of the table to sip from. It steams with an aroma of flowery cinnamon. Dingo leans over, nose twitching somewhat near the cup in his hands. Rolfe smirks to him. The dog perks up. "Sounds about right, I'd say. I've got a poodle in the family with hair like that."

"Well why didn'tcha speak up?" Fatz pries lightly, tapping along a whiskey glass. Beach Bear scoffs. "Ain't got brains ta do it."

Dingo rolls his eyes, lifting his hat, sweeping back the brunette swatches beneath the brim of his flat-cap. "Sure, sure, Beach Bear. Like you have the capacity to think of anything past floozies and the beach, eh?" It's fixed back on.

"There just ain't nuthin' more important." Beach Bear leans back, the chair creaking like it's about to snap, and thats not unlikely, there's already a chair missing from the table from being snapped in two under his emmense weight from his height. "Don't listen to 'em, Booger. They're talkin' nuthin' but nonsense. I stopped brushin' mah hair ages ago and I don't get issues." He drags his fingers through dull blonde tresses, pulling through the small tangles. "Keeps it up and you'll be rockin' with some tote-ally gnarly dreads, gurl."

"That's horrible advice." Rolfe's brows raise to show lines across his forehead. "Why don't you tell her to stick her face in acid while you're at it?"

"Go on ahead." Beach Bear turns to the little girl. "People can't control you. You control them, Boog. Rememba' that."

"Alright, alright, enough with the unwelcome advice." Missy snaps on two different bands around her hair, working them into two litte buns on the sides of her head, under her ears. Missy smiles to herself. "We saw it in a movie this weekend." She pokes at the little swirls. They bounce right back. She pulls her fingers through her own curls, sighing to herself. Queenie's hand lands on each of the rodent's shoulders, rubbing. "Your hair is beautiful,, hun. It's alright if it doesn't spring right back up after everything you've all been through."

"Yes, but I'd like to focus on other things." She smiles sweetly to the other woman. "Where did you pick for us to go?"

Queenie holds her hand out to Mitzi. "She decided a little while ago. Where did you say you wanted to go, cheese?"

"I'm not cheese!" Mitzi giggles heavily. "I wanna go walk around town!" She hollers, hands up and shaking. Missy draws back to look to her... well it's complicated between her and Queenie. "Go around town? It's really late, isn't it?" The taller rodent's head turns to the window. Sure enough, stars twinkle back at her. Queenie nods, a small sigh as she takes the other woman's hand. "Yes, it is dark. But it's only five. Winter blues."

"How could I forget? Thank you, Queen." Missy places a kiss atop the other's hand. Beach Bear groans, a hand slapping loudly over his eyes. "I'm gonna be sick."

"Rude." Dingo whacks his shoulder. Rolfe straightens up in his seat, inspecting the polar bear. "What is it? Don't tell me you're sick!"

"All this queer stuff." Beach Bear pulls from the recesses of the chair, the wood creaking and crying. Billy Bob jolts as if struck. Fatz's hand slaps over his chest. "Well I never!" The polar bear's head shakes with a twitch in his lip. "I'm gon' wait outside, catch me when ya head out."

Missy takes her head back, hand over her heart. Queenie's hands go to her hips. "Well!"

Beach Bear snrks back, a dark smile on his lips. "Yeah, go ahead and chew on that. I'm gonna go start the car." "You better go start that damn car if you know what's good for you!" Fatz stands up to follow him, anger clear on hi face. Dingo stands up in his chair, a hand going to the gorillas chest, face taught and intent clear. "Fatz, please, not now. We can do this later."

The polar bear exits, leaning under the kitchen doorway with a hand pressed to the top. All of them remain quiet until the front door swings shut quite loudly.

The pianist sighs, expression pinched. "I know. I know." HIs hands lift up, then drop hard. "I know." He spins, returning to his pervious seat.

Rolfe rubs across the back of his neck. Fatz clears his throat, wetting it with the scotch he's poured hours ago. It's more ice than it is alcohol now. He rubs over his jawline. "I gotta apologize fo' his behaviour, y'all. I know y'all ain't like that. Not that I care!" His hands shoot up defensively. "I jus'. Ya get what I mean, right?"

"Yes, Fatz." Missy rubs across the bridge of her nose, eyes glazed down at the kitchen tile. Billy Bob shakes his head. "Well that was ruder than hell! Pardon my language." He weakens a bit at that. "Whether y'all are friends or in love, why, I don't see a reason for him having an opinion in that. Matter of fact, if he don't like it, he can just look on away!" The grizzly shakes his head. "I don't know what's been goin' on wit' him lately."

Fatz groans. "Oh, it's prolly him and Chiffon gettin' inta it again, I knows it. He can't keep his head straight, but it's worse wheneva' this kinda thing comes around. Not the queer thing, the whole just. Romance thing. All of it. I don' see why him and Chiff are togetha' when they at like they hate each'otha's guts. And matter of fact while we're on that topic, I'm not grossed out by none uh that stuff. The queer stuff. The heart chooses what it wants."

"That's right." Billy Bob points across the table. Rolfe nods, eyes closed, busy taking in the aroma of the tea, soothing his newly forming headache. "Exactly. No choice in the matter."

A bit of silence washes over the room, blanketing it in an uncertain tone.

Mitzi's feet shift back and forth, dangling from the seat of the chair. Her buck-teeth worry at her lip.

"Is he leaving too?" The rodent's hands twist up and up, into a tight ball. "I'm sorry."

"No, no no no, dear. No." Queenie leans in, wrapping her arms around her adoptive daughter. "It's alright, hun. He left on his own. It never is and will never be your fault for what happened or anything that happens after."

"Okay." She nods tightly, lips wobbling harshly. Rolfe snarls deeply, heavy into his cup, eyes pinched and clearly trying to not let Mitzi's sadness fuel his rage. Dingo rests a hand on his arm. The wolf jolts, smoothing a hand down his chest. The spaniel besides him growls lightly, soothing. Rolfe's arms cross tightly. "I don't need your pity."

"My mistake." Dingo rubs over the back of his neck, scratching at the flush up his spine. Rolfe shakes his head. "You've said nothig to what just happened."

"I did, but not much." Dingo raises his hands. "I'm sahrry. I've just gotten used to him being like this. It'll blow over when we all go out. This's been the sixth time I've told him he's done something far too rude to be alrght. I'm just trying to keep everything on good terms before I have to go back." Rolfe nods, bated in his anger. "Far too many times now."

Billy Bob sighs, head shaking. "That ain't right."

"I know." Dingo stands, brushing at his tail. "But I'm not sure of what good it would do now. I'd really rather not leave on bad terms with any of you all." He swipes his hair back. "I'll go and talk to him, though. It can't hurt to reiterate it."

Fatz sighs. "If ya want to. I'd reckon we should go befo' it gets even later. Somebody better call Mini down befo' we start headin out and she forgets what day it is listenin' to those boys." He rises, pushing his chair in. He takes and walks his glass over to the sink, depositing it into the empty silver basin. Fatz sighs. "Oh, if my baby was here right now."

"I'll go get her." Missy stands, extracting herself from behind Mitzi in the chair. The other rodent gets up wordlessly, hands knotting the tassles of her little brown skirt. Fatz rests his hand on Missy's shoulder. The woman sighs. Fatz rubs her delicately. "I'm sorry about all that, again."

"You shouldn't have to apologize for him." Missy shakes her head, but pats his arm regardless. "Thank you, Fatz."

"You're welcome, of course I'd do it any day." Fatz nods. "Thank you, again." The mother takes her leave, venturing past the doorway, Mitzi in tow. Dingo turns from the doorway, spinning to follow the two.

Billy Bob lifts from his chair, pushing it gently to the table's surface. "I should get Looney Bird too. I forgot he was out there in the truck."

"Frozen???" Fatz's brows pinch. The man shrugs, a heartfelt sigh sinking his chest. "Yeah,, most likely. He wanted to stay in for a bit and I wouldn't be surprised if he fell right asleep. Drunken bird." Billy bob smiles to himself, stepping around the kitchen table. He pats Fatz's shoulder as he passes. "You coming?"

"Of course."

...

"Ooh! Mom! MOM!" Mitzi points up at a big, illuminated red sign, glittering in the deep of the night and flashing on and off, advertizing some kind of something in that building as they walk past. Both Missy and Queenie turn their heads, following the line of Mitzi's pointing figure. Queenie giggles, Missy cringes. "Oh honey, that's a bar. You're not old enough for those yet." She pets her child's head, beckoning her along with a soft push. Mitzi harrumphs, arms crossed at her chest. Queenie's head shakes. "Hun, when you're of age we'll take you in. But until then you'll have to make do with apple juice and grape juice. It's similar in taste, you know." Queenie smiles, tapping her on the nose. Mitzi's eyes brighten. "I LOVE grape juice! Can we go get grape juice??"

"They don't have any, hun. I'll get you some when we go out to eat on your actual birthda--" Beach Bear chuckles from the front of the group, not too far from them in their condensed walking pile. "Well why DON'T we pop on in? It ain't illegality to bring a kid inta a bar."

"It's not?!" Mitzi shrieks, jumping up and down on her toes. Missy's eyes roll into the back of her head. "Beach, no. We're not bringing her into a bar for her birthday."

"I wanna go! Mom, moms, I wanna go!!" Mitzi's hands shake furiouly at her chest. Queenie smiles to her. "Hun you won't have any fun in there, it's just a bunch of adults, no kids. Don't you wanna go somewhere else for your birthday? I could bring the car around and we could go to the mall---" Queenie suddenly raises up, rubbing at the back of her head gently. Mini's nose twitched hard. Queenie rubs over her shoulder but her hand is left empty when Mini jerks back. "Or we could go to one of the restaurants around here. There's sure to be a park or a place we can go where you'll have fun." The fox simply takes her hand back. Missy comes forth to offer Mini the same, though with better results.

"I can have fun in a bar!! Like on Cheers!" MItzi squeals, clearly dead set on the idea. Mini scoffs, arms crossed. She twists away, and sticks next to Rolfe, sharing a similar disposition. "I never got to go to a bar for my birthday! I'm the one who's fifteen!"

"We're not going in the bar, Mini, hun. When you all are older we'll discuss this more." Rolfe pats her on the head. "Yes, honey, when you two are older maybe." Missy offers. Mini steps even closer to to the wolf, though she frowns deeply. "It's not fair." "I understand dear, but we're not going in, I assure you." Queenie says. Mini huffs heavily, just about forcing herself into the front of Rolfe. He holds a hand out, stopping the two from coming closer with a grimace, as he definitely does not want to step between two mothers and their child, but he can tell from here what being overwhelmed looks like. The two straighten, Missy with her hands to her chest and Queenie steps back entirely, fully red.

Fatz holds up his hand. "Hold on! Hold on now, y'all!" He claps them together. Every eye turns to him. "We ain't goin' in the bar. We got plenty of fun out here, now, y'all hear? Cheers is filmed in front of a live studio audience and that bar is not. It is VERY different from a real-life bar. Real bars are dangerous. People get stabbed with forks. We ain't goin' in. Got it?" His hands remain above his head.

"Yeah... I don't wanna get stabbbed." Mitzi's entire disposition crumbles. Mini grumbles. "Yes." Rolfe's hand lifts to rest atop her head.

Beach Bear rolls his eyes. "Well mos' of you are boring. I'm goin' in tha bar. Catch ya in thirty." He turns to push past them. "Beach!" Dingo's hand wraps around his wrist, jerking him forward more than it stops the other. The polar bear growls to himself before he even meets the other's ivy gaze. "Let go uh' me."

Dingo's hands fly up along with his ears. "Alright! Beach Bear, what's gotten inta you?? We're here for Mitzi's birthday! Not some bar. Doesn't this matter to you?"

"Eh." Beach Bear hums, consideration in his eyes. "Well, fo' Booger, yeah. But it ain't so fun wanderin' around doin' nothin' bein' sober ta boot." He shrugs.

"Beach Bear." Fatz starts. The polar bear rolls his eyes. "Oh don't even start with me, monkey-man."

The gorilla stares, dead. "You wanna repeat that?"

Dingo steps back from it all, hands up and ears slid back. His eyes turn to Rolfe, big and pleading.

Rolfe growls and stomps right into the fray of things, depositing himself between the two men. "Knock it off. I'm not gonna tell you all again. This. Is. Not. About. You. It's Mitzi's birthday." The wolf snarls low, a finger stabbing into the polar bear's chest. "Fix your act. Mitzi wanted you here. Do it for her rather than yourself."

Beach Bear's eyes narrow down at him. Rolfe pushes him along gently, walking past the polar bear, claws brushing through his arm fur as they leave the other. "Come on no--!"

Rolfe falls to the ground with a scrape, cushioned only by his hands. He snarls lightly to the sidewalk on his hands and knees, glaring back behind himself with a fury barely controlled, teeth bared. Beach Bear scoffs. "What? Can't keep on your feet?"

Rolfe stands and brushes himself off, eyes dark. Fatz's grip digs into the polar bear's arm, tight. "Yer on thin ice now. Cut the shit."

Beach Bear stares back. Fatz stares harder. Mitzi shuffles closer to her mothers, a hand coming to rest on each of her shoulders. Mini suddenly breaks from the back of the group, her stomps loud and clear. She stops dead at their feet. "Keep walking before I start knocking heads together! I'm done! GO!" Mini throws her hands forward. "Get walking!"

"I never heard a better idea! Thank you, Min! I apologize." Fatz continues, eyes sticking the other man's glare. "Of course, thank you, Mini, dear. I apologize for that." Rolfe moves past the polar bear, rubbing his palms gently. Mini's arms remain crossed, cinched next to Rolfe's hip. "We should stop by a water fountain if we find one. The germs are bound to set into my wounds soon." He continues.

Billy Bob comes up, jogging to follow Rolfe. "Are you scraped?"

"Yes." Rolfe hums, offering his palms to the grizzly. Missy and Queenie continue to follow, eyes to eachother. Then Mini. Then to Mitzi. The smallest of the rodents frowns deep, trudging along with the rest of the group. Mini stops and then joins them as the group walks ahead, just inches away from snarling herself. Queenie sighs. "I'm sorry, my dears."

"I'm used to it." Mini huffs. Mitzi shrugs.

...

Just an hour or so later the whole group comes from a small, local store, some with a few things in hand and others without. Mitzi clutches a tiny little handmade worry doll in her hands now, as does her sister. As they walk the two of them duke it out, play-fighting with the two cloth dolls in each of their hands. Mini giggles along with her sister, her mood uplifted by the trip inside. They separate and then swap the dolls soon, simply inspecting eachother's small crafted object. Queenie smiles, and Missy hands over to her a sweater, soft and fluffy, one that she's gotten from the same exact store. "I think you'd look cuter in it then me right now." Her grin says it all. Queenie takes the sweater with a small shake of her head. "You told me you bought this for you."

"Maybe I changed my mind." Missy follows along. Queenie pulls it over her head, her ears popping out of the neck of the yarn-knit sweater. "Thank you, hun. You're too kind." "You're the kind one!" Missy presses her fingers to her arm in what is probably the weakest push on Earth. Queenie wraps her arm around the other's shoulders, pulling her in closer. "I try. But you are far more kind, Miss Fox."

Billy Bob walks side by side with Rolfe, fumbling with a small box in his paws. He grunts, trying to slide his nail under the thin bit of tape securing it closed. Fatz reaches between them and takes the box from his hands, sliding his thumb into the groove and ripping it open. "Oops."

Billy Bob smacks down the words. "Oh it's alright. I just needed it open. OH!" The Grizzly bear jolts as he turns. "We forgot to get water! Y'all mind if I pop back in?"

Beach Bear groans, primed to share more complaints, surely, but Rolfe waves his hand before any can come. "I looked, Billy Bob, there didn't seem to be an INCH of water in the place. Not even bottled! What can you expect from an aromatherapy shop?"

"Aromatherapy shops sell clothes?" Billy Bob's brow cocks. Rolfe shrugs. "Dolls too. It may be a cultural shop as well. Store's nowadays can't focus on any one thing."

"It's stoopid." Beach Bear shakes his head. "It stunk like hell in there and there's NO way I'm goin' back. My nose-trils are BURNIN'." He rubs his palm into his snout wetly, sniffling. "For once I agree with you on the smell. Very strong." Rolfe shrugs, picking through the sized bandages. "Can't we jus' hit up a restaurant or something?" Beach Bear whines.

Missy shakes her head behind him. "No. We're going to a restaurant on her ACTUAL birthday. Today we're doing what she wants to celebrate while we have everyone here. Well, except Wolf-Man. Poor dear couldn't come with how swamped he is in all those papers." Rolfe's ears shift back. "It would've been nice to see him." Missy pats over his back. "Dingo, your flight isn't until the morning, right?" She questions. Dingo ponders aloud. "Agh, no. Everything got all switched around, sorry to tell you so late in the day. I have to leave at eight at night now. I'm so sorry." His head shaking and apology go more to Mitzi. She lifts her head from her battle to smile. "It's okay! Why are you saying sorry though?"

"I have to leave sooner than I'd like." He doesn't even have to bend down to ruffle her hair lightly, cautious of the buns. "I have two or so hours with you and then I'll have to leave to catch my flight. I'll be going on a plane back to Liverpool. I'll make sure to call every once in a while, though the long distance calls are hell on my bank account." The man laughs, ears bouncing and dancing. "But we have time before then. So let's enjoy it, shall we, darling? A dance?" Dingo takes her by the hand, dancing with her along with sidewalk in a spin. "Yes, I will!" Mitzi jumps and giggles along, twirling with him across the concrete. Beach Bear groans.

Rolfe rolls his eyes at the noise, thankful to hear no words. "I only ask that we stop at a place with a restroom or water feature of sorts. I'm sure there's bacteria already wiggling into my wounds as we speak."

"EW." Mini rubs at her own palms. Rolfe hums. "I apologize, but it's the facts." "Yeah." Mini squeaks.

Beach Bear takes in a breath suddenly, a long, deep breath. His hands come to his nose, beckoning the scent closer. "They got lobster around here."

"Lobster hopefully means uncontaminated fresh water out of a chilled pitcher." The wolf tilts with a squint, and waves a hand quick with it. "Lukewarm. Carry on. Follow the scent, bloodhound."

"Wuldn't it be bear-hound?" Beach Bear throws out a hand, a dumb smile across his face. Rolfe shakes his head. "Of course you would say something like that."

"I'm lettin' you get away with that one. I'm hungry." The polar bear gruffs back. Rolfe shrugs. "Surely. Follow along."

...

Beach Bear stops dead in front of a... stand. A food truck. They're right at one of the many parks in Louisiana, down in New Orleans. And now they're at a food truck. Rolfe growls deeply, arms cinched and a foot out to tap. His arms fling out. "LOBSTER AT A FOOD TRUCK?!?!"

"I got it wrong, it's crawfish." The polar bear shrugs, rifling through his pockets. Rolfe's nails pinch into the bridge of his nose. "If Wolf-Man was here I swear..." He groans quietly, out of earshot. "Who sells crawfish at a food truck anyway????"

Fatz steps up with an explanation. "Everybody here sell crawfish. It's everywhere. If ya got a net, ya got crawfish, and ya got a source of income. My Pappy had a food truck back in the day. 'Course it wasn't no official thing and they shut it down. Had that goooooooood cooking though. MMH!" The gorilla rolls his shoulders. "Why don't we check if they got water? I reckon they got a sink in there for dishes or sumthin'."

Rolfe groans, but even he can't think of anywhere else they could go. it's not like he's been to New Orleans often, other than to go up on stage in the clubs occasionally. "Alright. If I get sepsis it's not my fault." He jabs a pointed look at the causer of his injuries. "Could you please ask them if they have just a glass of water? I'll give you the change when you come back. That smell is AWFUL." Beach Bear shrugs, pulling free a couple loose bills from his wallet, then pocketing the square. "Ya got in tha way. I'll ask 'em ta spit in it just like ya llke it." He turns, adventuring to the near abandoned food truck, absolutely nobody around it. The worker turns tired eyes to Beach Bear as he approaches.

Rolfe hums, eyes down to the ground. Queenie and Missy are a good distance away from them, still in earshot but also still close enough to remain visible under the streetlights as they play around with the kids in the grass. Dingo plays along, running away from Mitzi as she comes closer with a big smile. Billy Bob stands with Rolfe, the bandage needed still in his hands. Fatz keeps himself busy by checking over his nails, swiping a thumb across the small cracks at the tips. He sighs.

The gorilla turns without a word, but huffs a grunt, going closer to where Mitzi and the others are playing. Billy Bob looks up as he goes. Rolfe tilts his head towards the fun. "If you want to go over there, I can handle myself." He holds his hand out for the bandages. Billy Bob cringes. "Oh... I don't wanna leave ya all alone, Rolfe."

"I'm alright." The wolf smiles. "I just need a moment to clear my head alone if that's alright."

"Well of course!" Billy Bob sets a hand on his chest, waggling the package around in the air like a fan. "Whooh! Had me concerned ya didn't want my company! I'm kiddin', Rolfe!" A hand slaps down on Rolfe's back, making him hunch slightly. Billy Bob chuckles, the package held out. Rolfe takes it. "Well alright, I'll be over there if you need any more bandages."

"Alright, Billy Bob." Rolfe nods to him, lifting a paw as a simple goodbye, weak since they're soon to regroup.

Beach Bear comes back from the truck with a carboard dish of something in hs hands, probably the afforementioned crawfish, and nothing else. Rolfe searches him over, an eyebrow cocked. Beach Bear comes up to stand next to him, simply just enjoying what he's bought. Rolfe clears his throat. Beach Bear shrugs. "Oh I forgot, thass on me. They ain't too busy though." He points the other along. Rolfe shakes his head. "I'd say something, but I can't be too mad when I didn't hand you the change first." The wolf grumbles, reaching for his own wallet. He hisses as the scrapes catch on the thread of his vest, rough and scratchy. Beach Bear merely snickers. Rolfe's eyes narrow at him. "Maybe I SHOULD make you go back up there. You are the one who pushed me after all."

Beach Bear cocks his head. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn'. Still doesn't mean I owe you shit." The polar bear shrugs. Rolfe's eyes roll. "I expected no other response from you. Stay out of trouble."

"Trouble's mah middle name, sweet cheeks." Beach Bear picks up something out of the soupy mess in the dish, lifting it up to plop it in his mouth. Rolfe turns from him with a cocked brow and with a flick of his bushy tail when his eyes follow where he's going, picking through the layers of his wallet for a singular bill or anything close enough, just a bit too confused with that nickname to be throughly angered. He peeks behind himself as he stands in front of the foodtruck. It's not THAT big, is it? His tail flicks back and forth to help his sight.

The worker clears her throat. "Did you wanna, uh...?" Rolfe jumps, flushing bright red. "Yes! I'm so sorry, do you have any kind of cup? Maybe a sink? Could I get just a PLAIN glass of wa..."

"Beach Bear!" Billy Bob calls out suddenly. The tallest of the group turns only a little. "Hanh?!"

"Come on over here, Mitzi wants to play with you too!" He beckons. Mitzi's hands fly into the air. "Come on, Beach Bear!! Pick me up!"

"I gots food in mah hands, Booger!" He calls back. Mitzi's hands lower. "Oh."

Beach Bear shrugs. There's nothing else interesting for him over here anyway. He turns and goes to the rest of the group, bare feet patting on the grass softly. Mitzi gasps, bouncing in place. "Beach Bear! Beach Bear, Beach Bear! Come on! Just set it down for a second!"

"It's gun' get cold!" The polar bear groans. Mitzi's head shakes. "You whine too much. Whiner!"

Queenie and Missy simply look at eachother, unwilling to correct the rude behaviour for someone who's been quite rude this evening. Beach Bear cocks his head back and forth, cracking his neck. "Oh I'm the whiner? Yer gonna be whinin' when I get over there, girl!" Mitzi shrieks piercing in the night air and bolts to her feet, loud enough so that Dingo slaps his hands over his ears, chuckling even though it hurts. "Mitz dearie, It's a might bit too late fa' oooll that love! Mah ears'll melt from the inside out!" He reaches for her weakly, though with no intent to grab. Mitzi squeals and sprints away from him, tumbling to her knees and scrambling on all fours towards the food truck. Missy jumps to her feet. "Oh, Mitzi Mitzi, come back hun, not so far!" She tumbles to her daughter, feet cracking the piles of salt to pieces across the pavement, stumbling in the process. Her arms come out and Queenie stands, going to try to catch her daughter. "Wait, sis, too far!" The shortest of the rodents proves to be faster as she patters across the grass, arms out to catch her sister.

Thick grey arms wrap around both of them and they squeal, yelping when they're bounced on the circular platform, then hefted up and onto each of Beach Bear's thick dreaded shoulders. Mitzi's nails claw into the matted furs, squeaking and crying out, kicking her feet as she dangles, barely even off balance. "Aaaaaah!!!" Mini shrieks and pushes off of the elder man's shoulder, sticking her knee onto his chest and jamming her palm into the side of his face. "Put me down!" "SHit! Ophay! Ophay! Gib' me a second, gof ccarphboar' here!" Beach Bear finangles with the both of them, a hand on Mini's spine and the other wrapped around Mitzi like she's a barrel, who jumps and sloshes. "Beach Bear stop moooo-vvv-iii-nnn-gg!!" "Let me go! Put me down!" Mini wiggles and presses her foot to the polar bear's massively furred chest, her knee digging into his wobbling belly and slipping even further. The polar bear grunts from the force. Mini continues to cry and shove. "Hold on I got her give me a second!" Billy Bob shouts out, trying to sit up off of the ground. "Mini waff it I'm fryin'!" Beach Bear leans with her to try to compensate, digging his claws into her coat. Mini squeals louder.

"Oh for god's sake I got her you oaf!" Rolfe is finally able to make his way over with bandaged hand and grabs Mini around the waist, raising her into the air kicking and squeaking to then drop her to the ground like a stone, accidentally of course, she is a fifteen year old girlwho is just naturally heavy. Mini bounces up to her full height from her crouch, expression twisted and her arms fisted at her dress, smoothing it down her leggings, then crossing her arms at Rolfe's side, glowering at the polar bear red at the face. The wolf snarls with his teeth wide on display, ears slicked to his skull and jowls tense. Beach Bear's hand clamps around his snout. "Whooh! Bad breath, doggy! You wan' get put down snappin' like that when I got a kid?"

"WHAT?!" Mitzi's arms push into the polar bear's shoulder, teetering as she moves. "What?!? Put DOWN?!?! What's happening?!?!?"

"Whoa whoa whoa we ain't doin' nuthin' to no one, Beach Bear! Hold on!" Billy Bob throws himself into the fray, pushing the two back from their close proximity. "If there wuddn't kidz here, Rolfe." Beach Bear sticks where he's at, huffing and puffing like he's working something louder up. Rolfe goes without issue, eyes squinted in dark slits. "Come on now, stop!" Queenie's unaffected by the snarling and threats, appearing at their sides and snatching Mitzi by her ankles, expertly sliding her down as she squeals and catching her beneath her armpits, manuevering quickly back to the tree as Queenie moves past her. "We don't need to fight anymore tonight! I'm fine!" Mini squeaks out, fists taught. Dingo takes Mitzi by her hand as she's offered to him. Missy jumps to gather her next daughter and Queenie snags Mini's arm for her, walking her away from the fighting. Mini grumbles darkly beneath her breath, eyes turned to the grass.

Fatz throws his arms out as he approaches, even later than Billy Bob was on the ground, purely exhasperated. "Fo' tha love of GOD, can we all PLEASE act like we got some sense! Yer making fools out of very nice people!" That arm points out the golden family in the park. Mitzi's chest heaves. Missy has her hands on Mini's shoulder's while she glowers and Dingo's trying to keep Mitzi from crying, unfortunately. Beach Bear sets his hand on his chin, pushing and cracking his neck with a pop, tongue stuck between his teeth. "Mmh. Why don'tcha stop scarin' them kids, Rolfey?"

Rolfe's chest sinks deep with rumbling. "You better watch youself around them." "Come ON now, you two!" Fatz wavers his stuck arms. "We do birthdays fo' a LIVIN' and when it comes to the one kid we take care 'uh y'all can't put it aside fo' the NIGHT?!" He snaps. Rolfe steps back, eyes centered on Fatz with his hands on his hips. "I apologize, I do! But I can't STAND around this moron! We would've had no issues leaving him without an invite! We were already down a member anyway!"

"Ain't like yer part of this band, ya GEEK!" The polar bear prods his shoulder. Rolfe slaps his hand back. "You keep you hands off of me."  Beach Bear jolts forward, towering over the wolf with a guttarl yowl that echos across the treetops.

Fatz jumps forward to separate them and Mitzi stomps to her feet, her pretty little boots with the long tassels on them jumping to her knees. "I'M GOING HOME! I WANT IT TO BE NEW YEARS RIGHT NOW BY MYSELF! I'M HAVING MY OWN BIRTHDAY ALONE! MINI COME ON!" She turns and bolts straight out of Dingo's hands while he's trying to grab her, his ears flipped just as high as his eyelids. "Hey stop!!" Missy flips around to grab her daughter, just inches out of reach. "Mitzi stop!" She sprints, falling onto each limb instantly.

"MITZI!" Mini rasps, throwing herself away from her mother to run straight after. Queenie snatches her by the wrist, dragging her into her arms, tossing her head around frantically for a guardian. Mini claws at her hands aggresively. Rolfe jumps to the rescue and bolts as soon as he saw Mitzi run, coming into Queenie's eyesight when he runs exactly like Missy does for the road. For her credit Mitzi throws her head side from side but she doesn't stop and the car coming towards her suddenly brakes as she sprints across the road, pushing forwards off of it's back wheels by inches. The small girl runs across the sidewalk they had come from, hurrying down that same turn they took. Just maybe ten seconds later Rolfe, and then Missy both scramble down that way, yipping and hollering "Mitzi!!!" the whole way. Soon, both Mini and Queenie take after in a similar fashion.

Fatz shakes his head, hand clapping on his outer thigh. "Well that's PERFECT!" He turns and starts into a stomp, bare feet gripping the grass each step. Beach Bear throws his hands up. "She'll be fine! I reckon I don't blame her!"

"Just HUSH, now, alright?" Billy Bob's claws slice through the air. "We ain't gonna get nowhere like that! I don't wanna hear a DAMN thing from YOU! I'm gonna try to meet her back further towards the house and grab my truck to pull 'er 'round. Fatz?" He turns, the lives of his mouth deep, Billy Bob clasps his hands together. "You know she don't like the dark that much, keep to the lighted streets. She said she wus goin' home-- oh that poor sweet THING!" Billy Bob huffs. He spins on his heel, picking through the pockets of his coveralls. A hand throws behind his shoulder. "Keep together! I'm comin' back around with the truck!"

"Alright, Billy, I heard you tha first time!" Fatz sweeps his hand across his brow, flicking it to the ground aggressively. Billy Bob ventures then makes his way to the street, finding journey the same way everybody else did.

Dingo fixes his cap on straight, waving his fingers along. "Come on now. Beach Bear, Fatz. I saw her lookin' in one of the shop windows as we were passing. It's likely she's ducked into the first place she's recognized by now. " He clicks his tongue. "Oh, I've made this a mess."

"We can't keep blamin' ourselves for things we didn' do." Fatz claps a hand on his shoulder. Dingo shakes his head. "I would really rather just find Mitzi than worry about that."

Beach Bear finds his way over, somehow. "That's rioght. Kids are bulletproof, she'll be on her way home wrapped up in a lil' bow." He shrugs. Fatz sweeps a pointed look back behind his shoulder. Beach Bear huffs, swinging his paw forward. "Well let's GO! The night's naht gettin' any younga!"

"I don't know why I put up with you." Dingo growls under his breath.

...

"Wait, wait, hold on!" Beach Bear, current time, shorter and whiter Beach Bear, swings his arms out and around. "What???"

"What? What's the-- what's the matter, Beach Bear?" Mitzi drops her dress, instead crossing her arm straight across her chest to scratch at a pesky itch on her shoulder. Fatz's eyes roll. "I can guess."

"He never?? What???" Beach Bear's head drops into his hands for a moment. When his head comes back up it's more pinched than before. "I'm just now realizing he barely ever talked about you guys to me?? I NEVER heard anything like that happening. He's so chill! What the hell happened?!" His paw flings to the window outside, where the youngest can SEE the other still mingling about with all the members of Dook's family, followed along by a shorter gorilla who's trying to grab his attention and failing. Beach Bear huffs, simply at a loss. "I know he left you guys kinda unexpectedly, but. I thought he--" His arms cross over his chest, blanketed by a hawaiian shirt and a suit jacket with cigarette burns in it, the tag removed but obviously from a thrift store. "I thought he was fine with me, like. Just being me? And your mom's being who they wanna be. I never caught that vibe. And all the-- the fighting! That doesn't sound like either of you guys at ALL!"

Terry's shoulders raise while taught, air hissing through his teeth. "Uhhh... not gonna lie, you DID NOT catch that vibe, yo. He is the whole vibe."

"I don't-- I don't know??" Beach Bear's head shakes unnaturally in a twitch. His head finds shelter in his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm cutting you off. You can keep going."

"Do you WANT me to, Beach Bear?" Mitzi runs her finger along the swirl of her bun. "It's okay, like I can stop."

"No, no." He waves that hand up. "Go ahead. I know there's more cuz everyone's still quiet."

"Sorry." Billy Bob grimaces. "Yeah there is."

...

Short gasped sobs and the sounds of a heaving chest serve to bring more sound to the sidewalk than there usually is at this hour, only seven o'clock or so. But she doesn't know any idea what the time is, nor does she care. She's just trying to get home, running across the sidewalks of a barely familiar town, city,, even she doesn't know that one! Her bun fell apart almost as soon as she ran across the street and now she can't hear the voices of the people searching for her. She should've just stayed where she was.

But now she has nowehere to go. Regardless of what's going to happen now, she can't stop. There's so many strangers around and if she stops running for a second some strange man might snatch her up! Mitzi sprints past the shadow in an alley, a man smoking a cigarette against the brick cove. Ash falls as she ushers away, heart stuttering at the thought of a hand on her shoulder.

She should've stayed with her mom, with Queenie, with Mini, with Missy. Sure everybody was fighting, but it's obvious why. They just can't stand to be around her. That's why Mickey left and that's why everybody else is going to leave too. Her little family she just realized she had is going to break apart too.

Her footsteps slap and echo through the night sky, the sidewalks lit by rounded bulbs, but with no light to offer her. Mitzi continues on, now coming face to face with a new decision. This road doesn't continue, it just stops. She has no idea where she's going. She stands, staring at the sparsely lit trees beyond. She's almost certain that a face stares back.

Mitzi runs away with a shriek, barreling past the sign marking the alleyway next to this building as "No Trespassing", tossing herself into the darkness before she can process the brightness draining from the cove. It becomes even colder in here, and more lifeless. She stops suddenly, paws to her chest, peeking back behind herself.

A black figure.

The scream pierces her own lungs, tearing her throat to shreds. Mitzi drops to her hands and knees and throws herself through the alleyway, slamming into a trashcan with a metallic clang and a crick in her ankle, jumping out of the darkness soon, taking to the sidewalk to barrel away from whatever it is she saw, crying the whole way. Her feet hurt and her hands hurt especially, slamming against the hard concrete with every foot she goes forward. Her eyes are wet and blurry and she can't barely see where she's going, following the bright streetlights that mark her way home like the bright stars of the night.

Somebody jumps with a bit of fright when she scrambles past, stepping back. Mitzi squeaks and stumbles away from the foot, clutching her crushed fingers on the sidewalk. She turns her head up to find the sight when something red comes into her vision and "WHACK!" she's slapped across the face with something hard and plastic. Mitzi jumps and clutches her face, the tears falling faster and even harder with the shock of pain. "Oh!" The woman gasps, bending down, slumbling over herself, then pressing her hand to the ground. With the free hand she brushes Mitzi's hair back. "Ohhhhh... poor baby. Where the hell did YOU come from?" She slurrs drunkenly, brushing her fleshy hand across Mitzi's head. "Ohhhhhh you're a mouse. That's groooooooooovvy..."

Mitzi resigns herself to sobbing on the ground like the kid she is, lost and confused and hurt by her family's actions. The woman smacks her lips idly. "Mmh. I know where you should be. Come on, I'll save ya." The woman's thick coils of long black hair come off of the ground wet and crystallized, swept back against her head with ruby red nails. A sparkling, glamourous cherry jumpsuit hugs every delicate caramel curve she has, exposing star-shaped cuts on her hips. Mitzi's shoulders bounce, but she lifts up her head, gasping wetly. The woman holds out a hand, adorned with a violent violet fishnet glove. "Take my hand, darling~! You're for the wolves out here! There's a party inside waiting just for you, I'lllllll make it okay!" Her hand throws into the air, marked with a giant cackle. "Come on, come on, the dancing's fun!"

"Is it okay?" Mitzi sniffles, brushing her hand along her eyes. The purple sparkles run away from the tears to the safety on her palm. The woman nods heavily, swaying side to side, her dark skin shining with orange sparkles across her face and down to her exposed chest. "Of course, dearie! You're much worse off out here. Come inside and I'll get you some juice or something or whatever it is kids drink now! We'll have fun!"

"Uhm..." Mitzi's head turns up and down the road, the cold wind blowing across the empty asphalt, a chill in the air. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Of course not, dear. I'm not a stranger if you know my name!" The woman suddenly squats, putting a hand down onto the stones making the sidewalk. "Woo!" She wobbles. Then she sticks a hand out. "My name's Chardonnay and Dynamo's my guy. I do like to play for a little pay, come and play before the time flies by! Now what have you got?!"

Mitzi holds up her arms. "I'm Mitzi! I like to play! I don't pay for it though." She sniffles. Chardonnay swings her hand down. "Ain't no thing! Not all fun comes with a price." She shivers grandly, arms coming up in a cinch by her open bosom. "Ooh! I'd say it's gettin' colder than a hog left after slaughter. Come in, hun? I'd worry too much ta leave ya here, cold."

"Uhm... okay." Mitzi takes herself up off of the sidewalk with an offered hand from the glamorous woman, her purse hanging off her arm, glittering while Mitzi uses her to stand. "Do you have grape juice?"

"I'd say we might, but I'd be lying if we did." The woman chuckles. "But I don't know, we can ask Dynamo. He ain't lookin' of age yet." She twists around on her gigantic platforms, sticking her clawed hand out behind herself. Mitzi takes her all-flash hand, turning it around and around to see the glitters beneath the polish. The woman giggles. "Alright! Stick close to me now. It's wild in there!"

"Okay!" Mitzi brghtens exponentially, rubbing away the remnants of the tears down her face. Chardonnay turns and pushes the doors open, and booming black speakers yell in their ears. "ARE YOU READY?!"

"WHAT?!" Mitzi shouts back. Chardonnay smiles big and bright. "JUST FOLLOW ME!"

They come inside, and the door shuts with a loud bang.

The wind whips down the sidewalk.

...

Fatz rolls his eyes. "God, we thought you'd been kiddnapped the second ya ran across the street." The gorilla groans into his hands. Rolfe rubs over his eye. "Yes, I thought you'd have been picked up by the nearest car rolling by knowing the kind of people in that area of town." The wolf sighs heavily. "I do regret instigating in the park."

Billy Bob rubs his neck. "We were all so young, I can't see why we did most things we did back then." He shrugs. Beach Bear hums. "Yeah, I mean. If Mitzi was turning eleven or twelve at that time, I would've been like seventeen, eighteen. I was doing some stupid shit back then. Jesus, I'm glad you walked straight into a lady of the night, girl. That's about the only person I trust on the streets besides a few homeless peeps I hung around with. How the hell does the story end up with you guys finding Dook?" He looks between all of them. They all grimace. Fatz shrugs. "I can't remember that far."

Mitzi clears her throat.

...

The lights and the music in the building flicker and boom, rainbows of colors across the dark floor and glitter and confetti strewn along like trash. Mitzi gasps, eyes widening to the sight of what has to be the best party she's ever seen past this second set of glass doors. Chardonnay talks to the man above out of Mitzi's earshot, pointing a finger down at her. In moments the woman begins to guide Mitzi along, towards the doors. Chardonnay pushes them open and the music BLASTS like hell, the lights blinding, viscious. Mitzi steps along to follow ahead, tripping across the lines of tinsel and various glass cups. Chardonnay turns her eyes down to the rodent, speaking something Mitzi can't hear. The grip on her hand tightens, and they enter into another room, one filled to the brim with so many different brightly colored people inside that it makes her eyes hurt even more. Chardonnay weaves them through all of these people, Mitzi with her hand gripped tight to the woman's as she watches everybody's legs jump and move.

There's a bar where they're headed, and many chairs. Chardonnay lets her hand go, rifling through her purse.  She abandons the task soon after, waving her hand. "Just have fun until I go get him! Don't follow anyone strange into the bathroom!" Chardonnay turns and disappears just like that, leaving Mitzi all alone right in the fray of things. Mitzi jumps and her head turns around and around, trying to find the woman where she just went. But she's gone.

Left with nothing else to do, Mitzi hurries over to the bar as her place of domain, jumping at one of the stools lined up against it. She jumps and jumps, and she just can't reach it. Suddenly hands slip under her armpits and hefts her up, depositing her on the backless seat. She wobbles, turning in the chair quickly and squeaking at the face that sticks right into her vision, a man with dark facial hair around his chiseled chin and a cigarette in his mouth. "You look too young ta be in here alone." He gruffs. Mitzi coughs, wavering away the smoke that trails lazily from the white stick. "My mom went to the bathroom." She lies easily, shoulder's high and cupping her cheeks. The man nods. "Yeah. Sure. Whatchu doin' here all alone?"

"Uhm. Nothing." She grips the end of her skirt, smoothing it over her legs. The guy leans back BARELY. "Really now? Nothing? You know I saw you come in with Chardonnay. What's that about?"

"I don't want to dance with you." Mitzi keeps her hands balled in her lap, her winter coat puffy and protecting, at least, it is enough. "You don't? Well ain't that rude?" He leans closer. The words spin from her mouth easily, heart jumping in her chest, overwhelmed. "I'm waiting for Charddy-nay to come back."

"So you're with her?" The man takes his cigaratte, flicks it. Ash falls into Mitzi's lap. She brushes it away quickly, lest the stranger do it himself, leaning away in her seat. The man comes closer. "Why don't I just wait until she comes back and ask her?"

Mitzi shrugs, heartbeat fast in her chest. "Why?"

"Why? To dance, girl! You'll see." The man crosses his feet at the ankles and leans against the bar, an elbow to the surface. The bartender keeps to the other side, chatting idly with a person in front of him. Mitzi shuffles where she is, black adorned legs taught together. This night just won't get any worse. Mitzi fights the urge to get up, terrified she'd be grabbed when she's trying to jump down. She's stuck, frozen.

The man clicks his tongue, eyes coming to her, up and down her even. "How long you been with Chardonnay?"

Mitzi stays quiet. The man chuckles. "Oh, not a talker?"

"Not for you." She grumbles, scooting back in this seat. The guy comes closer, of course. "Well ain't that rude?"

A few people break off from the bigger chunk of people dancing, coming around the side of the bar. Mitzi eyes one of them, a woman in pretty teal pants. She smiles to Mitzi, even though Mitzi doesn't smile to her. The woman rests a hand on Mitzi's chair, reaching forth to tap the bartender on the shoulder. He turns, eyes flicking to Mitzi for the briefest second and they're gone before she can muster up the words to say anything at all.

The man huffs. "Well if she ain't gonna come around why don't I bring ya to her? She wanders far too much these days."

Mitzi tenses. "I'm okay. She told me to stay here cuz she's in the bathroom."

"OH well she's in the bathroom??? Perfect! We'll meet her there." The man grabs her by the arm, coming closer to pull her to him. Mitzi pushes at his chest. "I wanna wait for Charddy-nay here!" She kicks, trying to claw free from the man. He just grabs her leg and settles her around him, an arm around her back while she's hefted against him, his hand on her tight-covered leg. "I don't wanna go!" Mitzi's nails dig into his coat. "That's alright, I'll bring ya to her and we won't have to wait, now." He starts to walk. "I'm not dancing with you!" Mitzi squeals, jamming her teeth into his arm. It dents the man's brown fluffy coat. He chuckles. "Oh that's pathetic."

They walk and walk, passing multiple people. "I don't wanna go with you!" Mitzi struggles while her heart pounds, shoving at the guy's face while she's IN HIS ARMS. The man with the facial hair just laughs. "I know, I know! Hold on now, I know you wanna see her."

"Let me go!" Mitzi reaches up and starts dragging her nails down his face, the ends blunt yeah, but long. The man takes his hand off of her leg to grab her hand, a sickly smile on his face. "Oh that's enough now, you won't have any fight left."

"NO!" She takes her hand back and whacks him in the eye with her pinched nails, going straight for it with it's dark color. "Ugh!" The man reels back, rubbing over his eyelid. Mitzi whirls around and reaches for the nearest person while they're stopped, taking a hold of the black cloth hanging from a masked figure and yanking it HARD. The person yowls out and grabs the appendage, whirling around. The man holding Mitzi stands, eyes coming to the costumed person besides them, mask covering their face entirely blank. "What's that supposed--"

The costumed person reels back with a grunt of effort and that fist slams into the rando's face, knocking him off balance and he slams to the floor with a crack of bone, clutching his eyesocket and the back of his head. "Aghhhh! FUCK! Oooh FUCK!"

Mitzi scrambles out of the man's limp arms and clings to the costumed person's side, barely catching sight of them before deeming them womanly and way safer than whoever this random man is for this unidentifiable figure. "I don't know him, I don't know him! I'm lost! I wanna go home! I wanna go HOME!" Mitzi cries, yanking on the plastic armour in her hands. "THAT'S NOT MY DAD! THAT'S NOT MY DAD THAT'S NOT MY DAD!!!" She continues to wail. "HELP ME!!" The person in the costume jumps and says something muffled and washed away under the plastic mask, grabbing her hand and whirling around like a tornado, ushering back the way that Mitzi had come from in the first place. Mitzi runs along with them, tripping and stumbling with the haste that goes on.

The two of them slam through the back door, and the person in the costume yanks up the mask to show a snout, babbling on about something Mitzi barely hears past the blood pounding in her ears. The person in the costume bends down and picks her up under her knees and she shrieks like she's being murdered, kicking and flailing and teeth bared to snap down anywhere she can reach. Those arms fling up and away from her, words frantic and apologetic. Mitzi drops to and battens down on the ground, hands over the top of her head and sobbing out.

She's there for far too long, crying and panicking, face wet and nose dripping.

In actuality she's only there for thirty minutes or so, on the wet and cold ground, just crying. She snivels as she lifts her head, the area they're in is icy and dark, and there's a lot of cars. The person in the costume gently sets and holds her shoulder.

Moments go by with Mitzi sniveling and trying to catch her breath. The person rubs over her arm, hands gloved and wide.

She stands, shoving her skirt down as far as she can get it with it still being on correctly. The person in the costume huffs. "Jesus. Are ya alright?"

"I'm FINE!" Mitzi shrieks angrily, arms crossed tight over her chest. The person next to her lifts their hands. "Okay! That's chill too! I'm sahrry."

Mitzi huffs. "Okay." Her eyes turn to the street. The light flickers.

The costumed person stands, brushing down their rear that's been touching the wet ground. "Uh. Are ya lost or something?"

Mitzi remains silent. Decidedly, this person is a man. And a man is who she was just grabbed by. The person hums to themself.

They clap their hands. "Alright, well. I think we should probably go to the police station or somethin'. That guy ain't gonna be out long, if he was." The dark-suited man digs into his pocket, bringing forth his keys. Mitzi jolts. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay." They hold up the keys with their defensive hands, then stuff them back into the unmarked pocket. "We don't gotta go nowhere. But I'd feel awful leavin' ya all alone. Where's yer parents?"

Mitzi looks down to the ground. "My dad's not here. My moms brought me to the park. Everybody started fighting." The rodent sucks in a breath. "Everybody keeps fighting when I'm around."

"Ohhh... damn." The person crosses their arms. "I'm sahrry. I don't really know what to say ta that. But that's awful." Their head shakes, the mask on their face expressionless. Mitzi studies it. Her expression lifts a little. "Hey... you were in that one movie I saw!" She squeaks. The person brightens up just like that. "What-- really?! You think that was me?! You seen it?!" They point to their chest. Mitzi nods, but then she shakes her head, pointing to her only remaining bun. "Yeah! I've seen it! That's what my hair is! And... Well... no. I don't think that was you. But you're dressed like it! Darth Vader wasn't fat!" She waves to them rather blatantly. The person's arms drop. "Oh yeah? Well Leia wasn't four-foot nuthin', toots." Those hands slap on their wide hips. Mitzi does the same. "Uh! So what? I could still be her!"

"And I could still be Darth Vader." The person calls it like it is. They wave their hand out. "Why can't Vader be fat? And I'm not fat!" He huffs, arms across his chest. Mitzi copies him again. "But HE wasn't fat! And he had a sword!"

"It's a lightsaber!" The person shouts, hand reaching behind himself. With a flick the saber is revealed. Mitzi jolts. "And I jus' didn't have it out in there! What were you doin' in a shady-butt disco like this anyway???"

"A lady brought me in!" Mitzi gruffs back, quickly regaining her mojo. "What were YOU doing in there?!"

"What LADY?!" They start, wavering around the colored stick. "And I got much more reason ta be in a disco than you! How old even ARE you?!" The man points back with the saber. Mitzi harrumphs. "Charddy-nay! And I'm eleven, thank you! It's my birthday!" She states proudly. The person's disposition falls just like that, pressing their palm to the tip of the stick and sheathing it inside itself. "It's yer goddamn birthday??? Sweet lord above, that's one messed up present ta get at eleven years ol'."

Mitzi pauses.

"Yeah..." She rubs her knuckles. "I don't know my way home."

"Do you know yer address?" The person shrugs. "I know this town like the back of my hand. I could get ya there. Or wherever you said yer parents were. The park?" they try. Mitzi nods. "Yeah, the park. We were walking around. And then they started fighting. And then Beach Bear pushed Rolfe. And we went to the park. I ran away when everybody started fighting again." She shrugs. The costumed man hums. "Damn, I'm sahrry. You were with mo' people? What they look like? Ya think they're lookin' fo' you?"  He offers. Mitzi holds up her hands, counting off her fingers. "I don't know! My mom and my sister is a mouse, my other mom is a fox. Their friends are a wolf, another wolf, a bear, a white bear, a gorilla, a dog, and a bird and a puppet, but they're not here." The rodent's hand drifts as she looks at the other, just searching. They turn, looking behind themselves. "Huh?"

"You didn't tell me how old you were. Or what you look like. Or what your name is or when your birthday is. Who are you?" The rodent narrows accusatory eyes. The person takes a hold of the chin of their mask, pulling it up to the top of their head. Big brown, long fur just as curly as Mitzi's hair at the bottoms of their ears, elongating them, and those floppy ears frame their tanned face down to their shoulders, a rounded snout peeks free with some bright white teeth past the lips. "Dook. Twenty. December seventh. Do ya need a better look or can ya see from there?" She asks. Mitzi shakes her head. "No I can see. You look like the dog in our band. But you're a lot taller."

"I get that a lot. Mixed dawgs look like a lotta other breeds." Dook shrugs, looking past Mitzi and down towards the street. "Should we try ta find yer parents or do ya wanna just stay here? Do ya maybe got a phone number? There's a phone inside." She offers with a quirk of a shoulder.

"I'm not going back inside." Mitzi stares towards the dingy back door. Dook flicks her hand. "Ain't no thing. Ya didn't tell me yer name, by the way." She comes closer to her so they can walk together. "Mitzi!" The rodent smiles lightly. "We know eachother's names now! And I don't feel so scared!" She hums. Dook cocks her head. "Well, that's good! I didn't think I'd be scary neither. I'm not the kinda guy to pull things like that so you ain't gotta worry. Most I might do is hold yer hand if we gotta cross the street. IF you still wanna go find that phone."

Mitzi holds her hands together. "I think I know the number. But they're not at the house. They're looking for me." She scratches the nape of her neck. "I shouldn't have run away." She muses. Dook hums. "i mean. Prolly naht. But I've run away a couple of times when it got going like that." She take a few steps, testing. Mitzi follows along, and she begins to walk with the rodent. "Mah family's pretty chill, but they can get loud. Loud gets me antsy. Antsy makes me mad and then I get so mad I start cryin' and then I start runnin' tryin' ta hide." Dook shrugs, toeing her way to the sidewalk, then venturing down it. "It's awful they started fightin' on yer birthday. I feel that junk. It always happens on the worst days." The spaniel goes along past the club, Mitzi watches it, her eyes trained on the inside. Chardonnay is talking to the man up front, looking worried. Mitzi follows along with Dook.

The spaniel grunts. "Anyway. There should be a phone down in one of these buildings here." Dook goes along with the flow of things, ducking past a couple as they come towards them. Mitzi speeds up and grabs onto the cape trailing lazily behind her, holding to the fabric. She cocks her head. "Why are you in a costume? It's not Halloween anymore."

Dook chuckles, head shaking. "I just got off work." The spaniel looks into the window of a store that they pass. "If it wuddn't yer birthday today maybe I coulda popped up fo' it." She offers, a shoulder bouncing. Mitzi gasps. "My birthday is on New Years! You could come if I ask my mom!" She bounds closer, walking more at his side. "Ayy, there ya go!" Dook laughs, pointing to her. "I got a flexible schedule so I can go on down."

"Yeah!" Mitzi lifts up her hands. "You could entertain the whole restaurant!" She hollers. Dook's eyebrows bounce. "Oh! Well, I'm not sure a restaurant'd like me runnin' around with a lightsaber, but I'd be happy ta do it before, maybe." She shrugs. Mitzi shakes her head back. "They wouldn't! It's not fancy. My mom said so!"

"Ah..." Dook's tongue clicks. "We'd have ta see. Here," She points up ahead. "If they're open we'll pop in and check." The spaniel speeds up. Mitzi tottles along.

Around the corner, a grey figure comes. Rolfe speeds around the corner, eyes searching beyond them at the street. Missy steps into sight as well, her eyes brightening like a thousand suns. Rolfe turns at her gasp, whirling around after. "Mitzi!" He shouts, pounding to her side. Missy beats him to it and snatches her daughter up, clutching her to her chest. Rolfe's hands set on her shoulders, searching her face. "Good gravy how are you so far from the park?!" "Oh my god, honey! Why would you run away like that?!" Missy cries.

The rodent squirms. "I'm sorry." Her hand rubs across her face, where the tears are already starting to well. "Everybody started fighting and i got so upset and I ran away and this sparkly lady brought me into a bar and she left me alone-- and--" Her voice goes squeaky and taught. "This man came really close to me and he stunk bad, and he was hairy, and he didn't listen when I told him my mom would be back from the bathroom soon and he knew I was lying and he picked me up and touched my leg and tried to take me to the woman who brought me in in the bathroom. He tried to carry me away and I started biting and kicking him and he didn't stop when I told him to and I slapped him in the eye and he stopped so I pulled on her ear--" Mitzi stabs her finger towards the spaniel currently just watching this all unfold with the mask slipping down over her snout. "And she punched him really hard and she pulled me away and we started talking and she's a boy too but she helped me get away from him and we were talking outside and we started walking and-- and-- we ran into you!" She sticks her hands out to Dook. "We ran into you guys and I'm happy we can go home or keep walking and have my birthday and eat cake and watch movies together and I want Dook to come be Darth Vader!!!" She squeals, bouncing in her mother's arms. Missy holds up her hand, shaking it. "Ahh! That was a lot hold on! I'm happy you're safe too!" She settles her daughter on her hip. Mitzi squirms, kicking her legs. Missy sets her down on the ground, holding her head. "A strange man tried to carry you away?!"

"Is he still there?" Rolfe snarls, coming up to settle a hand on Dook's shoulder. The spaniel nods, pulling up the drifting mask on her... his face. "Oh yeah! He should be! I knocked his ass to the ground cuz I been havin' people tuggin' on mah ears all night! I'm not even joking, if I'd've known he was tryna pull shit like that too I would've kept going and probably sent him to the hospital!" The spaniel shakes his head. "He's about ye' high ye' big." He motions to show the measurements. "Tacky ass suit jacket and facial hair that doesn't grow past a stubble, smells like nicotine, looks kinda like that pilot on the bean cans. He been here since three pm. You won't miss him." Dook pats the hand on his shoulder. Rolfe smirks and pats him back. "That's the kind of info not everybody offers up immediately and you did it without asking. Thanks for watching the kid."

"No problem." Dook's eyes follow Rolfe as he goes off, undeniably going for the club just down the street or so. Missy sighs, full of exhasperation. "Okay! I'm so sorry honey. This is my fault. We'll make it up to you, I promise." She stands up straight, rifling through her pockets. She slaps her hands down on her hips. "And I have no idea where my purse is. Fantastic. Well, we're lost now too." She rubs over her eye. "I just wanna go home, get a nice bath, drink a little wine. I'm done. Today's just been the absolute worst."

Mitzi sets her hands on her hips. "Tell me about it!"

Missy lets out the smallest laugh, her hands falling from her face. "Oh honey, you should be telling me about it. Or more likely, the police. Oh... I'm just so done with today. Mitzi honey, are you okay? Really?"

"Yeah!" She nods chipper. "I'm excited for my birthday! Can we go to that store I saw on the way back?"

Missy rubs her entire face. "Honey I'll take you anywhere you want after the day you had. I'm so sorry that happened to you." She sniffles, face scruncing. But she sucks in a breath. "God, I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."

"Mom, It's okay." Mitzi shrugs. "I just wanna go to that store! Maybe we can get... I don't know... a cheesecake on the way?" She tries hopefully, eyes turned up to her mother's soft grey hue.

"Of course." Missy huffs, a smile creeping across her lips. "Anything."

Dook smiles along, head turning back behind himself. The wolf is coming back now, a paper clutched in his hands. "Whazz that?" Dook offers up. Rolfe holds up the sheet. "The phone number for the club and from the specific employee who was talking to a woman at the front who was looking for Mitzi. I told them both what happened and our address so the police will be coming by when they do. I got a bit of information out of them too. I'd rather not deal with the tipped scale that often is the justice system, but it's what we have now." The wolf folds and tucks the sheet into his vest, then clears his throat. "I'd imagine we'll be leaving to regroup with the others now. Thank you so much for what you've done. I shudder to think of what would have come out of this had you not been right there." The comedian shivers. Dook shrugs. "Hey, I'm just glad nobody got hurt. I didn''t mind talking. I wasn't doing much anyway in that dead-disco."

"You were in a disco?" The wolf cringes. "In that?" He points.

"Laugh it up, Robbin' hood." The spaniel huffs. "I do birthdays, and otha' stuff. I do Elvis," He starts counting off on his fingers. "Tha' Beatles, Singular, I do Vader." He gestures to his whole costume. "Obviously. I do impressions, Marvin the Martian, Taz, can't do Bugs Bunny to save my life." He starts counting off on his other hand as well. "Goofy. I can do a bit of Clarabell if ya give me a bit to work on it. Mortimer. I can juggle!" He holds up his hands fingers spread. "I can do balloon animals, if ya want a dog or a flower I guess. I've got my license so I can do pickup deliveries and stuff like that. I've worked on cars befo' but nothing professional. I can sing well enough, I can do a liiiiiitle on acoustic guitar." He shakes his hand back and forth. "But I been bangin' around on anythin' I could get that looks like drums my whol' life and I been in marchin' band, and behind a proper set once in a while. I wuz in marching band fo' four years all the way up until senior year cuz my grades started slippin'. Then uh..." He rubs his neck. "I flunked outta school and didn't have the guts ta go back in at twenty years old."

Dook scratches at the back of his neck. Rolfe nods him along.

"Uh, anyway." He starts, clearing away the tightness in his throat. "Y'all get back home safe. Evidently we got few stragglers makin' it unsafe for y'all kind folks. It ain't right. If ya need the help I can guide ya home, but I mean. Y'all live here."

"We don't, actually." Missy hums. "My uhm, friend? Good friend. She's in a band. Kind of?" She turns to Rolfe. The wolf nods. "Yes, well. We're in the process of finding new members and rebranding and such because of it. Work conflict and issues with visas and such." "Oh sick!" Dook calls. "Right. But the pianist, Fatz. He's the one we're staying with right this moment because he lives down here. We came down for Mitzi's birthday since their drummer has to leave the band for London. Fatz's around here also looking for Mitzi." She takes her daughter by the hand. "But really, I can't thank you enough. Is there anything I could do? Obviously you saved her from what would have been,," She holds her hands out, taking in a deep breath. "THE worst situation I could possibly imagine."

Mitzi holds her arm up. "He can come with us! She helped me find you guys, I think she can help us find the rest of them!"

"He, honey." Missy shakes her head. "And I don't think he would want to."

"Honestly I don' mind being called one thing or the other." Dook holds up his hands. "Kids call me all sorts a things and I been considerin' dabblin' in doin' Snow White and Sleepin' Beauty 'n all seein' as I get mistaken fo' it from the back too much. I get tapped and I turn around and those guys walk away lookin' like they just seen a ghost." He shrugs. "But nah, I really don't mind ta help. What park didja come from? I'll be able ta narrow it down frum there." He points around their general surroundings in a circle.

"I have no idea." Missy huffs, her hand gesturing towards her left. "The big polar bear, he sniffed out a food truck and we came here looking for water for his scraped hands." Missy points to the wolf, who rolls his eyes. "Also done by him." "Yeah, and we weren't exactly looking. We didn't anticipate having to look for Mitzi."

"I'm sorry." The rodent offers. Missy shakes her head. "I don't blame you, but I would really rather you not run away next time. I'm sorry you felt the need to run off." She turns it back around. Rolfe huffs. "Well, with Beach Bear on their side, there's no way they're having any luck headed in the proper direction. But with Fatz, I'm not so sure."

"Beach Bear's a cool name." Dook tilts a shoulder off-handedly. "Eh, well, if you were coming from that one place with the playground in it, they're probably headed this way too. Just start headed back where ya came and ya should all meet up." He pulls a hand behind him and adjusts his cape. "Didja want me to come with or naht? I don't mind it either way. I ain't got jack to do and if she wants me to follow y'all along I really don't mind to."

Missy shrugs, and Rolfe offers a simple hand. "If you'd like to. I trust Mitzi's favoring of people far more than I trust my own. But I have no idea the plan from here. If Mitzi wants to keep going, then we'll keep going. If not, then we'll head home. It's what she decides. And when we get back to Mini." "Right, and?" Missy turns to her daughter. Mitzi bounces on her toes. "We can do some more! As long as we don't fight." She darkens a bit. Missy nods, brows pinched. "Of course not, honey. If they wanna start fighting we'll just leave them to it and play with your friend." She decides, already primed to keep walking. Dook shrugs. "Well I'm not going back in the club, and I'd be happy ta keep y'all company fo' the time being. I jus' been a free spirit since I left school."

"It's settled." Rolfe claps his hands together, thoroughly done with the back and forth bit. "Let's find them before they go home." He turns and takes himself down the corner they came from probably twenty minutes ago, eyes shut, ears perked.

There's a small whack and a short "Umph!" from behind the corner. Rolfe backs up and the rest of the band miraculously walks from that same exact place, Beach Bear first, then Fatz and then Mini. The shortest of them gasps, running to her sister. "Mitzi! What'd you go and do that for???" Missy backs away as the polar bear comes closer, a hand on either kid's shoulder with a crick at her nose. Beach Bear snorts. "Yep. There's Booger, like I said." Fatz pushes past him. "Oh shut it, I don't wanna listen to it anymore."

"Where's Queenie and Billy Bob?" Missy turns, scoping the whole of them. Queenie appears from the corner, her hand above her head. "Here. I was checking the other street."

Fatz points towards the building across the street, in it's direction. "Went back home ta get the truck and start lookin' fo' Mitzi like that." He then takes that finger and sweeps it over. "Who the hell is that?"

Dook holds up his hands. "Man what'd I do???"

"I actually don't know his name." Missy points her hand to him. "But he took Mitzi out of the disco he was in after some man tried to walk away with her."  She huffs greatly. Dook raises his hand. "People call me Dynamo. Dook LaRue, that's mah real name. I wuzz jus' hangin' out dancin' and I felt a tug on mah ear, and it's been happening all night, so I whirled around and socked the guy. I didn't know Mitzi was in his arms 'till he fell and she started screamin' 'bout how he wassn't her dad, an' she was lost and wanted ta go home and all this help stuff, so I ran her outside and was tryna get her to talk and I tried ta pick her up so I could bring 'er to the cops or sumthin' but she started screamin' and screamin'." He shakes his head. "The poor thing said she came in wit' Chardonnay of all people. And y'know, I don't wanna sit and air people's business cuz I might as well come out and say I ain't been doing the most legal things in that disco, but she just so happens to be a lady of the night if ya catch my drift. Me 'n her were scopin' out Johns 'n the such and when she left I thought she wuzz goin' home, not comin' right back in wit' a kid."

Rolfe's eyes squint towards Fatz, curious of that little detail. The gorilla remains dumbfounded. "WHAT?! Is he still there?!" The man cries out, hands sliding up his arms, rolling up his sweater sleeves. Missy sets a hand on his shoulder. "Rolfe had them call the cops, they'll meet us at the house. For right now though, we were just gonna go pick up a cheesecake and figure things out. Mitzi still wants to do some things after all that. Speaking of which, where's Dingo?" She looks between all of their feet. Beach Bear throws up his hands. "Ah, he had to go back and fuck with all the shit it takes ta figure out what's goin' on with a flight and all that. Somebody's gotta call 'em and tell 'em we found the little snot rocket runnin' around."

All of them stare at him. Beach Bear shrugs. "It was between that or Booger on the loose."

"Truly, fo' the rest of this trip, I don't want to hear a WORD come outta those lips." Fatz shakes his head. "Ya had everybody runnin' off and gettin' hurt and all you have to say is a joke??" He huffs. Beach Bear's eyes roll. "Oh all yin worry too much, she's fine!" He waves his hand to her. Mitzi looks up at him from the arms of her sister, let's just say far from happy. Queenie holds her bare-skin palm up from the back of the group, already heavy eyebags like the weight of a thousand suns. "Can we all please just find a place to rest? We've had far enough excitement to go around for the time being."

"Amen to that, sister." Fatz turns on his heel, going past the corner. "Back to the park! If we're gonna keep going I'm sittin' down first."

Dook holds up his hand. "Am I still coming with or am I staying here? cuz if I'm not going then I'm probably just gon' go back and figure out what the hell Chardonnay was thinkin' when she brought a kid into a disco like that one." His thumb jabs towards that direction

Missy shrugs, hands slapping down on her thighs. "If you wanna come go ahead, the more the merrier. I agreed before." She offers. Mitzi jumps right up. "Come with us! We can have fun! We're going to the bakery and then who knows what?! Come on, woman!" She jumps forward, grabbing Dook by his hand. All eyes turn to him, the choice is his. Dook rubs his neck, a dark blush across his cheeks. "Oh, if y'all don't mind me too. I wouldn't wanna intrude."

"Ah, who cares?" Beach Bear huffs, slapping down Dook's hand off his neck to fix his own atop his shoulder. "I need the eyecandy to go with this gang of losers. Booger excluded." He snickers. Mitzi doesn't do anything with that exclusion, pointedly keeping her eyes on Dook. Mini harumphs. The spaniel's soon-lifted fingers tap along the other side of his neck, furs raising. "Oh, well, if it's like that then I don't see the issue in me coming. I wouldn't wanna keep y'all bored without me."

"Nah yer comin' with us. LEZ GO!" Beach Bear's hand digs onto his shoulder and then he's yanked along, falling into the polar bear from the force. He chuckles, face red. "Oh I'm sorry." He pushes his hands into the great big bountiful belly cushioning his fall. "Don't be apologizin' now." Beach Bear insists, dragging him in closer, hand sweeping up Dook's arm. "But I like ta hear it when somethin' a little different's happening." The man leans in. Dook flushes somehow deeper, so clearly bashful with the proximity. "Oh okay,, maybe."

Missy glares back at the larger of the two, taking the lull in actions to pull her daughters along. "Come with us, now. We'll discuss what the plan is at the park, if it isn't too late by then." She begins to walk. Queenie groups in with the three, swinging her arm over Missy's shoulder. They turn to eachother as they go, starting conversation, though hushed. Fatz walks ahead of them, a slight bit far, but not much seeing his slow gait. Rolfe sighs and turns to continue. "I hope it isn't too late. I've got plans after nine."

Beach Bear shrugs as they all leave, feet planted, eyes turning down to the spaniel that he's got wrapped up in one arm. Dook sits there in that stupid costume, so stupidly sappy and wagging like he's getting married. The polar bear scoffs. "You got that dumb-eyed, womanly puppy-dog thing goin' on." He points all over the man's figure. Dook shrugs. "Yeah? You got that annoying surfer-type thang all over you." Dook waves all up and down him, leaning back against a trunk of an arm to see the whole of this man. Beach Bear shoves him closer with a hum. "That wrong?"

"Mmh..." Dook looks to the ground behind his head, back bent in an arch over the limb, tail thwacking the cape draped over his shoulders, wavering it everywhere. "No. But you got a whole lotta nerve tryna get me ta sleep with ya right after I tell ya my buddy's a prostitute."

"Yer not one?" Beach Bear leans in closer. "Cuz ya got tha body uv' a goddamn woman from here. 'cept fo' the tits." Even closer does he come. "Maybe ya got a bit uh' tit there." He prods, wiggling the fat. Dook shivers gently, his hand coming over the bear's. "Thank ya, kindly. But I ain't no queer."

"That's cool, I ain't either." Beach Bear's hand wanders, closer to his belly, then his hip. "How long are ya stickin' around?"

Dook hums with a shake in his voice, well aware of the touch. "Mmh... I dunno. I guess when everybody goes home." He scratches along his chin, gently, fingers slowing. "I don' mind ta stay, if you'd want me to stick around a little longer. Long as you don' mention nuthin' ta nobody." He shrugs. "If ya give me a ride back down here I got room in my van. But yer so big I dunno how ya'd fit in it."

"Ain't the only thing that's big. Let's jus' meet up wit' em and chat it up. Walk in front of me." Dook jumps from a certain squeeze. He flushes, eyes connected and faced with the very clear lust from an older, and still very attractive, tall man. "I can do that."

"Go on." Beach Bear pushes him on, simultaneously snatching the cape from around his neck and pulling it off, icy eyes full of interest. Dook stumbles ahead, teeth pinched over his lips. This's a very... familiar, but new kind of feeling. He walks on regardless, ever vigilant of the eyes on his backside. When he turns the corner he catches sight of the rest of this tall man's band, and follows it like a rope is tied to his wrist, guiding himself into what would end up being the rest of his life.

...

Beach Bear sets his head into his hands. Fatz rubs across his neck. "Y'know I'd say I wuz lyin' if I said I remembered all that. Woof."

Rolfe grumbles, cracking his neck. "Yes, and I myself kick myself nearly every day that I get for not pummeling that man to a crisp when I had the chance. I try not to let my anger get ahead of me, but given the system it's unlikely I would've been persecuted for such actions at that time. Unless I take the anthro-ness of myself into account." His tail flips around while he's got a finger to his lips, eyes searching the carpet. Earl groans. "Eitha' way he shoulda been pummeled."

Billy Bob whines "Oh, Mitzi you poor dear. I had nearly forgotten all about what happened that night! I'm so sorry."

Terry lifts up his claws. "Yeah, jesus girl, I send my regards. Damn."

Mitzi's paw rubs across her wrist. "No... It's okay. It happened so long ago." She worries her lip in her teeth. "It's been so long that I've gotten used to that it happened. I did everything I could. Now when I think of that, I just think about when Dook and I ran all the way from there outside. I only knew that whoever it was that I grabbed helped me and I was gonna be okay, I was so scared of that man, but I never even considered that Dook would hurt me then." She rubs over her neck. "I was just so happy to be away."

"God, yeah, Mitzi..." Beach Bear sweeps his fur back when he lifts his head. "Fuck. I'm sorry, that's just. Completely fucked up. God. That was just." He holds his paws up, eyes closed. "A lot. Damn. I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Mitzi's shoulder lifts momentarily. "I'm sorry too."

"No, girl, you are so far beyond fine." Beach Bear huffs to himself. "I'm so sorry that shit happened. God, I can't stand guys like that." His face scrunches, arms crossing over his chest. "Slinking around like a predator. It's crazy how well I can imagine all that. There's just-- fuck, I'm sorry--" He laughs suddenly. "DOOK was a PIMP?!"

"That's what I was sitting here thinkin'!" Fatz throws out an arm. Beach Bear cackles. "What the hell, why didn't he ever tell me how you guys all met?? Sure it was a fucked up situation but there's so much more past that??? Sorry Mitzi, cuz I'm not tryna downplay that at all." He holds his hand out to her. "It's okay." Mitzi shrugs, a small smile across her lips. "It was a really interesting night for me. I'm glad I ran away and found Dook. And my birthday after that was great." Her fingers caress the necklace over her collar bone. "He was a kids party entertainer????" Beach wiggles out his hands. "That makes SO much sense! I don't know how it got to him being a pimp too???"

Rolfe holds up his arms, then drops them. "Oh, who knows at this point? It's Dook. I wouldn't be shocked if I walked through these doors and he was sitting on a piano sipping wine like he hasn't been dead for a whole month. I'd frankly rather that be the case."

Billy Bob rubs over his eye. "I'd say I want that too."

Mitzi rubs her hands together. "I do too."

Beach Bear just sighs heavily. "I've been dreaming that I wake up and do shit around my house except Dook's just casually wandering around and talking to me 'n doing stuff. ust watching T.V. on the couch, messing around in the fridge. The other day I had a dream so vividly that he was holding one of my fish in his palms like a tadole and Bruce loved him so much. That's the fish Dook always liked to watch cuz he's so crazy." The polar bear rubs over his eyes. "Like almost every night I'm stuck dreaming about him and I can't take it anymore. I'm so tired. I just... I want to forget." He sucks in a breath. "I want to move on and forget that he was ever in my life. I miss him so much that I'm strating to hate him, but I don't hate him." Beach Bear whines under his breath. "You know?"

"No." But Mitzi nods lightly. "Sometimes I'll see something out of the corner of my eye and I think he's sitting there."

"I been imaginin' whenever they were comin' up and building that rocket fo' the past five years." Billy Bob shrugs casually. Everybody turns to him. "Oh. Yeah." Fatz rubs across his neck. "I damn near forgot about that."

"Well I didn't!" The grizzly bear crosses his arms, kicking at the carpet. "I can't be too mad, given the fact that he's dead, but--" He throws up his hands. "I can be a LITTLE angry that my trust got poo'ed on like that!"

"That's fair as hell." Terry throws his claw up. "I'd be pissed off if Beach Bear built a goddamn rocket in my yard too!" He points to the man. Beach Bear holds up his hands. "Yeah, I'm sorry to shit on the dead and all but Dook didn't bother to tell ANY of us that he was building a fucking rocket? What was he going to do whenever it was finished?! Is THAT the real reason he never agreed to like a proper date or something?!" His hands shake and waver. He throws them up, then straight down. "And I KNOW it's getting fucking tiring for you all to hear about me bitch about trying to get in his pants! I'M FUCKING SICK OF IT TOO!" He suddenly shouts LOUD. Mitzi jolts back. The polar bear straightens up, taking a deep breath that he lets flow from his lungs. "I got myself so fucking stuck on him that I'm not even sure if I DID love him!" Beach Bear sticks his hands to his chest. "THIRTEEN YEARS!" He shouts. "And I never stopped to wonder what it actually was that made me fall in love???" The polar bear squeaks out a noise of incredulousness, paws out towards the carpet, an unwilling participant. "It just happened???? And then for YEARS I couldn't get him out of my head!" His paws slap onto his skull. "And now that he's gone it's WORSE?! I'm so goddamn confused all the time! WHY DO I WANT HIM?!"

The band remains silent. Beach Bear keeps his eyes to the carpet, fingers sweeping all through the barely peeking bits of hair. "No, I'm sorry. I keep doing this shit."

Fatz waves his hand. "Nah, really? Start talkin', Beach Bear, get that out." He nods as he talks. "You been lookin' like and smellin' like a walkin' corpse every time I see ya and if any time is good, It's prolly now, before the service." Billy Bob nods along to that. "Yeah, I think we picked now ta start talkin' about all this and I think it's good to get all together and talk now that we've had the time ta think about this seperately. Beach Bear, whatchu got goin' on in that head? Clearly it was gettin' bad enough for yew to be choppin' yer hair off and gettin' hurt and all." Billy Bob points to the bandage wrapped around Beach Bear's hand. Every single other member of the band latches onto that. Mitzi's eyebrows jump. "Yeah, Beach Bear! What happened there? Those look pretty thick!"

Terry tenses up just a bit, grimacing. Beach Bear's lips go taught, rubbing his hands together over the bandages. "Oh I don't know, maybe that's a little bit too much."

Rolfe jumps to continue. "No, no, really. We should really just get the worse of it out with. I've been tearing myself apart thinking about how awful I was to him." He holds his hand out for Beach Bear to fill the silence. The polar bear shakes his head. "No really, I couldn't."

"I told my story." Mitzi pries. "God, Mitzi!" Beach Bear's lip finds its way between his teeth. "I know, I know! Ah, I'm sorry, it's too much too soon right now! It's not great!"

"Well, Beach Bear, are ya sure?" The grizzly of the group offers up. "And I mean it, it can be the grittiest, hardest, nastiest--"

"I punched a mirror and I tried to molested him, is that enough?! Please?! Can we drop it?!" Beach Bear throws his arm out. Mitzi jumps back hard. "WHAT?!" The lobster raises his hands, eyes low. "Well I mean it technically wouldn't count because you were on drugs--" "I tried to, man. And I'm sorry! I'm sorry I keep cutting you off too but I really wasn't THAT messed up on painkillers, dawg!" Beach Bear sighs. "And I feel fucking horrible and I should be in jail but Terry's too nice to call me in. It's been pretty fucking rough for both of us, Terry more. Right??"  Panicked blues turn to dark bark mahogany. "Eh?? I've dealt with people trying to kill me for dope, that was bad, but I've been with worse!" He shrugs tight, claws up. "Like, obviously I didn't like it but-- I can't do much about it. It already happened," "You can!" Beach Bear holds his fingers to his chest. "Really, tell me what's up, cuz-- God, I'm sorry, man."

Terry shrugs hard, eyes flitty. "I would just really rather not talk about this RIGHT now, brah." Beach Bear lips pull back with a wince. "Oooh... that's my fault. Fuck." Fatz claps his hands together. "Fantastic, I shoulda just let ya be." "Yeah I'm sorry." Terry rubs his neck, his lips in a grimace. Beach Bear waves his hand, claws coming to his neck. "That's not for you to apologize, that's me." The gorilla clears his throat, waving it away. "No, no, I meant Beach Bear, but you too. Neither of ya, ya ain't gotta apologize. I was forcin'. And uh, sorry Ter. For all that. Jesus, Beach Bear. The hell kinda thing ta say is that??" He rubs his neck. "Right. I'm gonna try ta find Esmerelda."

The door to the funeral home opens.

Fatz throws up his hands. "Or she'll come right in! Perfect!"

Dingo's hand pulls in, knocking at the door. "Oh uh. Hullo. Is this an open-invite?"

Beach Bear flicks his hand out. "Yeah go right on ahead. We're just talking about stupid stuff."

Billy Bob crosses his arms. "Well I didn't think it was stupid--" "Shit-- I'm sorry, I meant what I was saying with the mirror and what I did, not-- You're fine man, just come in. Sorry, Terry." He looks to him. The lobster shrugs tightly, claws out and flopped. "it's chill!"

"Oh,, alright." Dingo comes in past the door, leaving it open a crack. That crack is filled when dark claws set on the door and push it open farther, making way for the eldest of the polar bears to squeeze on in. The biggest bear chuckles. "Well whatter all uh' you doin' in here? This's the lobby!"

Everybody stops and stares. Beach Bear rubs his neck. "Uh, just talking. Kinda like, mentally reavaluating everything that happened." The shorter and brightest wavers his hands about. The eldest's head tips upward. "Ah. I getchu. Yeah. Dingo's just comin' in cuz he's gotta piss."

"Beach Bear, really now?" Dingo scoffs. The polar bear holds up his hands. "Them's the truths." "Alright, well, there's things that can go unmentioned, ." The spaniel pushes open the door behind Rolfe, pushing it shut gently until it clicks.

Silence.

The two Beach Bear's lock eyes. The smaller of the two clears his throat. "So uh, what've you been up to since we split up like twenty minutes ago?" He offers. The taller snrks. "Ah, naht so much. Been wanderin' mostly waitin' fo' this thang ta get goin'. Been lookin' fo' Chiff. Fatz?" He turns to the other. Fatz's arms cross across his jacketed chest. "Well I don't know where she is, I ain't talked to her recently. Ain't got any idea why she'd want a thing to do with Dook after the whole mess they had. Matter of fact I don' know why YOU want anything to do wit' her either."

Beach Bear rolls his shoulders. "I ain't seen her in a bit, what would you know about what I want?" The polar bear snarks, arms with fingers folded raising above his head, stretching. His belly wobbles when he lets his muscles relax. "Mmh."

Earl's arms cross atop the wolf's shoulder. "You look like the spitting image of relaxed." The puppet leans over, resting his elbow on Rolfe's head. The polar bear hums. "Oh, well as fine as I can be at a dead-hole like this." He shrugs, using a claw to rub at his teeth. "I see ya still got that stupid puppet too," He points with the same exact pinkie nail. "Ain't that a weird thing ta bring into a funeral?" His claws fwish through his thickly furred chest.

"Haven't you seen the things that Dook does?" Rolfe questions, malice only directed toward him, eyes squinted at the other man. The biggest Beach Bear groans. "You're askin' ME if I saw it? I'd be blinder than shit if I didn't see that stupid-ass spacesuit from eigh-teeeen miles away." He flicks his hand out. "Jus' means that I can recognize stupid when I see it."

"Are you really gonna call him stupid at his funeral?" The smallest polar bear speaks grimly, nub-ears slicked down. Mitzi's neck muscles string out, taught. The tallest cocks his head. "Outside of it too. I always did. Little dog was always walkin' around lovin' that shit." The polar bear waves his hand around at his hip. "Beach Bear!" Mitzi's jaw drops, eyebrows pinched. Billy Bob sucks on his teeth. "Oooh."

Rolfe steps up, the lines of his snout like trenches. He waves his hand low. "I shouldn't have to tell you to shut your mouth on a day like this."

"Then don'-Tuh." The polar bear leans in close, T popped. He waves a hand, peeking past the wolf's shoulder. "I'm sorry you gotta see all that, Bern."

"It's Beach Bear." The polar bear sneers, arms cinching. The eldest clicks his tongue. "Well I just so happen to also be named Beach Bear. We gotta call one of us something different." He lifts up his hands. "And I only ever called you Bern-up. Whatchu want me callin' you?" A cock of his head tilts dirty blonde, flat curls.

"Um. I don't know, not that?" The smallest holds up a hand, nose twitching from the hard stench of something harder than pot. But not alcohol. Something different. "There's different ways to say Beach Bear or just Beach. You could literally just call me Beachy. Or Beach. Or BB." He waves to Fatz. "Or, I don't know, Roquefert? Bruce? ANYthing but what I've clearly told you I don't wanna be called."

"Uhhhh..." The tallest hums. "Uh. Yeah. I don' know. I'll get to it." He waves away the conversation, eyes shifting, disinterested. Terry scoffs. "Dude, really?"

"What? Who a' you? Sebatch-chen?" The polar bear points down at the shelled man. "You're kidding, right? Also that's kinda racist." The smallest of the Beach Bear's jaw drops and Terry holds out his claws. "We JUST met???"

"Oh." The polar bear slaps his face. "Right. Whatchu need?"

"Uh, yeah, what's your problem?" Terry blurts out right at the forefront. The tallest of them all rears back. The rest of the band do the same, eyes on the lobster. "Dang, Terry." Beach Bear whistles, pleasently shocked. "What's YOUR problem, eh?" The silver of them smirks.

Beach Bear holds out his paw in front of Terry when he steps forward, like an option of safety, maybe. But Terry can feel it's almost like a barrier. The lobster shakes his head with his eyes narrowed, claw coming to pinch the other and drag it away; turning dark bark to then see, gesturing broadly up the man's dramatic pear-shape. "I'm just a little confused why YOU don't seem to care at ALL about the person you're at the funeral of??" The elder arctic bear, his eyebrow begins to raise with the corner of his lip. "You're in probably the same exact thing you wear everyday based on my Beach Bear and you don't even look like you tried to brush your hair, your nails are NOT trimmed, you DON'T look like you showered, you're standing there like this is just another normal day waiting in line at the grocery store looking unkempt as fuck at the funeral of what had seemed to be your most-liked member of the band. Do you really care that little for him? What the hell happened between you two?" Terry looks him up and down, eyes squinted and brimming like tears with judgement. "Who do you really think you are? Are you happy seeing people miserable? Is that why you're here? Cuz clearly you've shown you have no interest or grief for the man who very well could have been sitting in that casket in there." His claw points to the door behind him, slow, calculated.

After what is probably the tensest moment of Beach Bear sitting there that ever could have come out of this evening other than the clearly marked moment of silence, the polar bear just holds up his hands.

"Fuck. So you really had a problem with me, huh?" He snorts. "Yeah I kind of do, dawg." Terry spits, a near exact copy of Beach Bear's defensive stance, but arms crossed with rage more, claws snapped on the squishy bits of his arms. The eldest polar bear blinks, head shaking with such a sickly smile across his cheeks. "Woah. Well If ya got anything else ta work yourself up about, I got all day, since you seem ta think you know how I feel about everythin'." He shrugs, sticking his hands into his pockets. His shoulders bounce again. "Really, shoot. Ya think I'm dirty? I got a lotta other people waitin' ta tell me that. You just laid eyes on this and yer actin' like ya know everything about lil' ol me. Ya think I don't care? Well do ya think I care about you tellin' me everythin' everybody's told me AND more?"

"Not particularly, no. That's your issue. You don't care." Terry's eyes remain narrowed. Beach Bear shrugs. "Well if anybody else has something they wanna say, why don'tcha make it easier and throw that out while I'm standin' here? Huh? Really pile it on." His hands roll, circling in a tube. Everybody stares, Mitzi with her wobbling pout, Rolfe with his arms crossed. The smallest Beach Bear just stands there, frown tight and hands clenched as his arms are crossed, guarded. Fatz's brow cocks up. "If ya really want it, then go ahead and look in the mirror at yerself."

Beach Bear throws his head back with a snapping cackle. "HA! OH! OH that's a good one! I heard it before though!" He points. "Any more?!" Mitzi scoots back, closer to Fatz. A dark skinned and haired hand drags her to his side. Rolfe snarls deep. The biggest polar bear guffaws. "Oh, y'all are like cubs! Only one of ya had tha balls ta try to fuck wit' me fo' real. THAT'S why I liked Dook. Ya fuck around wit' him enough and he actually snaps and hits ya back. 'Course he also got knocked back from it every SINGLE time."

The sounds of teeth clicking and huffing starts somewhere through the room. The tallest of them all snaps to it in an instant, a blatant and brazen smile slapped across his jowls. "You're champin' over there?!?! I'm pissin' ya off, Bernie?!" The sound increases, marked bolder with a deep hiss baring teeth. Terry jolts and sets his hand on the other's shoulder, more than concerned. The rest of the band begin to group further together, shuffling closer to the member most distressed. The eldest polar bear churrs back, a sultry tone from his chest. Beach Bear yowls to that noise, lips drawn back to show off measly but thick fangs with claws out and clenched like daggers. Everybody but the two of them scrunch, not talking, but mentally it's clear they're all on the same page. Pissed. "Oh, that's rich." The tallest continues to churr. "You're like a little puppy, Bernadee-Chickadee! Woof, woof!" He barks cheeily, leaning in closer each time. "Why don'tchu give me a little bit 'uh that like he did?"

The smallest polar bear shoots out with a roar, hand swinging just meters from the other's blonde curls. Terry holds him back BARELY, arms wrapped around his waist and struggling. The eldest of the two laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world, leaning back, wiping under his eye like there's tears to shed. "Oh! Oh! That's hilarious! Yer still as weak as a girl! HAHA!!!"

"FUCKER I'LL RIP YOU APART!" Beach Bear snaps forward with a wretched cry, stopped by Terry once again. He claws fruitlessly, attempts clear and bold. Unbated are his yowls, deep and wild and centered wholely on one man only. The silver bear rolls his eyes. "Eh, I'm bored fuckin' wit' you." He turns, a paw going to the door outside. Fatz's hand slaps down on his wrist tight, eyes dark. "If you so much as breathe near one of my band again, I'm gunna tear you inside out. One more time and I'll make it a whole scene."

The polar bear leans forward, depositing a kiss on the other's forehead. Fatz's arm shoots forward and wraps around his neck. "Kinky." The surfer grins, teal eyes wide and unbothered. "What's the problem, buddy?"

"You." Roughly, Fatz shoves him back. "Get out. I betta not see you again." The polar bear steps back, not even bothering to rub his throat. The door is open simple like that. "That's what I thought. Too pussy ta try ta teach me sumthin'. Keep that going."

"Oh I will," Fatz stalks forward, sleeves rolling with the help of his tense fingers. The tallest steps into and then past the doorframe, blowing a kiss into the tense air. "Wish I could stay! But I got otha' people ta talk to more worth my time." "FUCK YOU--"

The door slips and slams shut, pulled to with a forceful hand.

Beach Bear rips from Terry's grip, turning on his heel and shoving the door open behind him, swinging it back and kicking it slammed against the godforsaken carpet. Mitzi jumps.

Terry holds up his claws. "I'm sorry, jesus christ."

"Don't even apologize. He ain't ever gonna change." Fatz huffs, angrily pulling and wringing the handkercheif from his pocket. "OOH! I just can't STAND seein' his stupid sorry face! He needta go back wherever the hell it is he came from afta' he abandoned us and leave well enough alone!" Fatz whips the handkercheif, holding it out and folding it back how it was. Mitzi stays silent of all. Rolfe huffs. "You can't tell me enough. I can't see why he bothered to come."

"To see people miserable." Terry snaps. "I can tell everything about him just by looking at his ass. And they way he acts???" The lobster growls to himself. "I'm gonna go find Beach Bear before he starts hurting himself trying to figure out why he's angry this time." Terry shoves the doors open, taking better care to shut them quietly. Billy Bob's arms stay crossed over his jacket. "I guess I shouldn't have expected him ta act civil on a day like this."

"No ya can't, Billy Bob." The gorilla's head shakes, side to side, ever so slowly. "No you can't."

Mitzi's hands fold at her thighs.

...

Beach Bear finds himself in the enterance of the funeral home, chest huffing and puffing, nostrils flared, though nothing else on his face can show just how angry he is than the craterous line drawn deep at the side of his snout. Various doorways open up the hallway, all lit up by the sun outside and clearly antique with the smell. Beach Bear picks to just go forward, sure that he'll find SOMETHING to keep himself from tearing apart the very walls that the building is built with. His footsteps rock the whole building it feels like, creaking and loud, booming like he's stomping. He rubs his hands over his ears, massaging. He can't get mad, can't get mad. Everytime he gets mad he doesn't know what to do with himself and whenever he doesn't know what to do with himself he starts getting antsy and his will to control himself dwindles and dwindles until he starts hurting himself and yelling and saying shit he really doesnt mean, and that could also turn into him trying to molest or hell full on raping somebody because he couldn't figure out what the fuck to do and just usually ends up resorting to trying to satiate the lust that's suddenly come to a head, encasing all of his anger in a brainless lust that leaves him so empty and alone that he tries to force himself on the first person possible. Terry case-in-point. Azalea sort of case-in-point. Sure with her she actually wanted to do it and she was the one pissing him off and that lead into that whole mindless relationship, but it's not like that shit is common.

Beach Bear drags his hands down his face as he goes, feet just taking him away from it all. But his brain is unfortunately in his head, on his shoulders, connected to his body, so he wont ever find relief from that. It's just-- EVERYTHING that he thought about this ONE guy has proved to be entirely wrong??? And it was the absolute singular individual that Beach Bear has trusted unconditionally for these past thirteen years-- well that's a lie because he trusts Dook and the band but-- The other Beach Bear, he trusted him every step of the way to just be a great guy even when Beach didn't see him or know where he was. What happened? Was there ever a different personality??

It's heating up lower down and Beach Bear growls, sinking his claws into his leg. Every time he doesn't want it to happen, it happens. Story of his goddamn life.

...

"A couple days from now. Uhhhh... January Fourth. Yeah. Meet me at Sarah's. That little one we went ta, next ta Country Mart. I know it's far. I can pick ya up, or ya can drive."

Beach Bear squeezes his hand. "Okay." A breath. "I'll drive. Is it a date?"

"I guess we'll find out." Dook's shoulders lift and drop. His head begins to turn after a moment, his blues moving behind his shoulder. Beach Bear smiles back at the grin stretched across, his lips soft and covered with honey. Dook's smile burns brighter. He turns around, stepping cautiously. Beach Bear kneels before him, wrapping him up into his arms. Beach Bear sways the two of them there, head tucked to the other's shoulder past the giant collar. Dook nuzzles his head in the same spot on the other man. He remains with his arms down for a moment, but soon, he embraces the other, settling his own around the other man.

They stand, in Dook's case, and kneel in Beach's.

For a few moments, all they do is breathe. Just breathe.

Beach Bear lets him go, though their hands take a bit to leave eachother. Beach Bear shakes his head. "I'm just happy you're trying. I never thought you'd say yes."

"I've been wantin' to at least try since you first confessed." The spaniel admits like it's the easiest and most simple thing in the world.

"Why didn't you say anything?!" Beach Bear scoffs, head shaking with such fondness. "Day after day I've been waiting for some kind of chance. I'm not even mad. I just can't wait until the day I get to see your beautiful face again."

"Me too." Dook smiles bright and big, so beautiful as always. "Why don'tcha wear somethin' pretty? Doll yaself up. Not in a dress." He chuckles. "Maybe I'll do that."

"Okay. Yeah I will. Bowtie and all." The polar bear sucks in a breath, fanning at his eyes dramatically. "I'm gonna cry and it's all your fault."

"Oh Beachy-keen I'm tryin' not to." Dook sniffles. "Stahp it. I gotta put this all up."

"Okay." Beach Bear rises to his feet, slipping off of the stage to place his feet on the carpet. "Okay. I love you. EIther way that it ends up going, I still love you."

"I love you too."

...

"Please don't leave me hangin'."

"I won't. I swear on it." The spaniel promises.

"Okay," Beach Bear's head dips once more.

"Okay."

...

That day would mark the last time they saw eachother, the very last time that Beach Bear saw Dook's face before he shot into space, dying in the cold vacuum with nobody and nothing around him, dying with the dream that he held so dear to his heart.

Dying with Beach Bear's will to go on.

The polar bear's face scrunches so minute, tears welling in his eyes, bitter, biting. Teeth sink into pink skin, digging into his lip. Why did he have to go the way he did? So brutally and so cold. So undeserving. It should've been him up there, Beach Bear, rotting away with his mistakes and problems. Away from everybody he's hurt.

Beach Bear's feet take him to a cut in the halls, the hall stops dead where they are. He whirls around to just go back, palms wiping down his eyes, turning to the doors beside him. One of them opens, creaking open in a crack. Beach Bear steps back, but he's too close to fall out of their sight. Dingo comes from the door's arc, eyes immediate to snap onto Beach Bear's. "Oh! I'm sorry, was I keepin' you long? I wus jus' taking tha time to fix mah hair." He pulls free from the door. His expression turns to that of concern. "Are you alright?" Beach Bear full on just whimpers at the sight. "I'm sorry I'm teetering on the edge of kissing the first person I see and you look far too much like Dook for me to control myself." Beach Bear takes himself right up to and past Dingo to the door, even reaching out for him with a clenched paw. "Fuckin' hell you're kinda really cute too--" Tears roll and the polar bear takes and swings the door shut, the frame rattling inset into the wall. Dingo looks down the hall with his eyebrows pinched, rubbing his wet hands down his slacks. Ooooookay then?

He takes the quickest moment to turn and knock on the door, ear up and primed. "Are you sure you're alright?" He calls, listening in, but not too-too deeply. Beach Bear sucks in a very audible breath. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay. If you see a lobster can you just tell him I'll be back in a minute? It's fine if you don't, but y'know. If you catch him." The polar bear shivers inside, voice low like he's closer to the floor, and Dingo would happen to know what that sounds like. The spaniel hums, eyebrows drawn in. Sure, he doesn't know this man, but he's a part of the same band he was, the connection is there, if little. This is the same guy that's played with his cousin for over a decade. "Okay. I'll tell him if I see him around. Terry, right?"

"Yeah!" Beach Bear hums deep, like a little noise of force? Maybe pulling on something? And yes it's the bathroom of course, but he went in seconds ago and now he's talking from the ground, Dingo can't help but wonder what's happening. "You can't miss him," The bear continues, something sliding up against the door. A short whine falls past the wood. Dingo's ear flings and drops. Beach Bear clears his throat, voice a little high. "Sorry."

"It's alright." Dingo's brow lifts. Whatever it is, it's not his issue. Still, it's not without worry that he lets it go. "I'll tell him you'll be a hair bit of a moment. I'm sorry to continue to bother you, but is Beach Bear still out there? I told him to wait in the lobby so I could bring him to meet Uncle Mortimer." The dog questions. Beach Bear huffs. "No I'm sure he's doing something else less boring than giving a fuck about what I care about."

"Ohh." Dingo purses his lips. The other Beach Bear grunts. "Yeah I know, I'm sorry, that could've come out better, I'm just mad." The polar bear grumbles, a knock coming onto the wood. WIth the proximity of his voice, Dingo's sure he's sitting up against the door. The spaniel sucks in a breath, eye squinted in a wince. "Oh. Well, that's alright to be mad. I know Beach Bear. I'll have a chat with him about keeping it in for the funeral. I know it's difficult for him to keep himself within his bounds." The spaniel sighs. "I'm sorry there's been a mess of things, and when you seemed so excited to see him again. I'm sorry, uhm. Beach-o."

"It's okay." The polar bear swallows thickly, a shuddering breath coming past the wood. "Yeah it's alright. I know. I know it all." His arm drops to his thigh with a clap. Beach Bear sucks in a breath. "I know." His exhale wavers.

The end of Dingo's tail makes its way into his hands, playing with the strands pluming the very tip.

"Okay." The spaniel hums. "Well, if ya need me, you're welcome to talk."

Beach Bear huffs, voice pinched. "I'm sorry man, I don't know if I can. With the trackrecord I have and the rate this is going I'm gonna end up trying to kiss you because you look like Dook, or worse. I know it sounds weird. But everybody else knows, so..." Another audible clap. "That's how that's been going."

"Oh." Dingo's fingers twitter to his neck. "Well um. I'm flattered, really."

Beach Bear hums behind the wood. "You don't have to cater to my feelings. I'm just telling you outright instead of having to lie to your face cuz you don't seem like you'd take too kindly to being told to fuck off or something."

"Well it has happened once or twice." Dingo's finger brushes his lip. "I'm sorry, I'm prattling on. I'll leave you be." He turns on his heel. Beach Bear sighs. "Thank you, Dingo, sorry to hold you up."

"No, it's alright. I hope you feel better soon. I know that me and Beach Bear will be having a wee bit of a talk soon. It's one thing to be grieving, it's another to let it hurt others. This has been happening for far too long."

The polar bear grunts. "Yeah, good luck with all that."

"Thank you. You too." Dingo twists and ventures away from the two doors, hand tucked together at his waist. Beach Bear hums behind the door to his response.

Oh,, this day.

Footsteps tromp and Dingo's taken away from this experience, paws folded, nails rubbing. He makes it to the doors of the lobby, when--

The door ahead busts open, the entrance marked with a face of blue, dark with anger and impaled with such a deep tiredness. Dingo's ears lift despite this, difficult for him to know how the lobster emotes with his near-stone cold face. "Oh! Terry! Beach Bear said he'd be a--" "Yeah I know, brah. Bathroom?"

"Well,,, yes?" A single naked brow draws to the ceiling. Bare two toed feet slap down on the carpet, though the lobster clicks a claw at him. "Cool."

"Uhm!" Dingo turns, a finger raised in the lone. "I believe he's busy--!" Terry shakes his head as he stalks past. "Nah I know why he's in there, he ain't goin' to the bathroom. BEACH BEAR!" "...yeah!?" Terry sweeps his antannae further behind his head. "Open up! We're talking. Now."

Silence.

"...Oh... kay..."

Tanned fingers make their way to a fuzzed and curly neck, tangling in the strands. Dingo turns on his heel and he goes straight to the doors, opening it up, turning once again, and pulling it shut.

The rest of The Rock-afire Explosion meet his eyes. Dingo's ears bounce to the highest peak. Hands twisted, his lips go taught.

"Oh. Where did he go?"

Mitzi points to the door, face wet and blushed beyond belief. Fatz drags her in closer as she sniffles. The spaniel's heart melts. "Mitzi dear, what did he do?"

Merely, she shakes her head, a sob breaking past, her snout tucking into the gorilla's coat. Billy Bob steps into it, holding the rodent tight. Fatz growls. "Actin' like a right cock is what happened. He ain't changed a damn bit."

Dingo's nose whistles with a deep breath. The drummer lets out a sigh, his snout hardening, chartreuse irises dark as he stalks past. "That's it. I'm done. I'm going to find him and tell him what for." Dingo's hand claps against the door, doing nothing. The spaniel jogs back and jumps into the door with the might of his shoulder, busting it open and leaving him on the ground. Hands push at the ground easily, Dingo rises, swipes off his knees, and he's off, stomping down the stairs with a vengeance. "Sorry, Mitzi!" He calls back, hand near his snout. "BEACH BEAR!!"

Mitzi sobs harder.

Rolfe sets his hand in her hair, soothing across her scalp.

That's two polar bears on his list now.

...

Terry's claw slams into the door, knob twisted and taught. Beach Bear yelps from the subsequent thump on the back of his head, shifting away from the door rising to his feet, trying to gather himself and uh,, get his hands where they're supposed to be. The door swings open regardless and the waistband of his shorts snap, his arms folding. Terry scoffs, coming into the small room and swinging the door closed, staring up at the polar bear before him with such a lack of respect. "Really? You came in here to jack off?"

Beach Bear rears back, hurt in his eyes. "I-- NO?? What??? What's up, man??"

Terry's head cocks hard. "Oh you wanna ask ME what's up? How about the fact that you just TOLD YOUR BAND MY BUSINESS?!" The lobster shouts, hand clacking into the door. "YOU PUT ME ON THE SPOT, TRIED TO LUNGE AT HIM-- And then CAME IN HERE TO GET OFF?!" Little white ears shift back instantly, legs cinched, pink flesh lips twisted. "I-I'm sorry--?""

"No. FUCK that. Fuck that, Beach Bear. Fuck all of that." Terry scoffs. He shakes his head, just so utterly dumbfounded by it all. "The fuck is the matter with you? Like seriously, WHAT is WRONG with you?!"

The polar bear just stares, pupils miniscule. Terry's arm swings out. "You had plenty oppourtunity to just walk away and you just let them keep pressuring you! You didn't even have to say what happened between us! That is MY business because YOU decided to LICK ME!" His claw jabs into his own chest, brutal and clicking. "I'M the one who should be upset right now! I get it, you're going through a lot!" His hand waves up and down the polar bear. "The guy you love just died, you're trying to figure out work and shit, that guy is a FUCKING DICK and you're clearly not in the best mental state-- but to do THAT?!" Terry huffs, leaning over with the force of his exasperation. "To lick me, and THEN TELL YOUR BAND?! And then on top of it you come in here acting like a WHORE?!" The lobser cries. "WHY?! Why are you like this?!"

"I-I don't know! I know I'm a whore--! I know I'm awful---  I---" Beach Bear raises his hands weakly, pupils shrunk to hell. "There's been so much going on--! And I-I-I don't know anymore---! I'm sorry! It felt right! There's so much shit going on--! I don't kno--!"

"Beach Bear." Terry raises a brow, mahogany dark. The polar bear stops instantly, hands tucking to his snout. A claw pushes into his chest, then down, shoving him onto the lip of the tub. Beach Bear sits regardless as soon as he was motioned to, his paws shaking and tight, blue eyes a bit crooked. The lobster's eyes roll without his control. "You're fucking fine, Beach Bear. Look at me right."

The polar bear nods anyway, blues correcting, wet and turned to the floor. Terry grasps his hands and slides them off of his snout, holding them in his grip. "I'm done. I'm done with the pity crying. I'm just done. You're gunna listen, brah, or you're gonna lose everyone you have left."

Beach Bear's head bobs, frown evident, a roll of tears down his face. He doesn't bother to move his hands, but they shake and shiver. Terry's shelled brow lifts. "Talk."

"I'm s-sorry--!"

"*WHACK*"

Beach Bear rears back, hands slipping over his face, legs taught together. All he does is shake. The lobster grips his chin, dragging him from the hold. Cold ice eyes stare back jagged with far more fear than he ever anticipated, but it does nothing to soothe his anger. "Ya gotta calm down, and listen for once. You've been acting like a total goddamn dick since this happened and it's not just me," Beach Bear gasps wetly, eyes squeezing shut with a flinch. Terry huffs. "Are you even listening?? You’re not even looking at me straight!"

"Yes, Terry!" Beach Bear wails out. A claw shoves over his mouth. "No. I told you I'm done with the crying. It's over. You can cry when you're in the service."

The polar bear hums, his trembling paw slid over Terry's wrist unmoving, squeezing away the tears. His eyes well, though blinked away. "You didn't even bother to realize that the WHOLE reason Mitzi,, Mitzi who YOU know BETTER THAN ME!" Terry stabs a claw into his chest. "The whole reason she got upset in her story in the first place was because YOU ALL started fighting. She got ASSAULTED and you tell her you did THAT?! And I get you were sticking up for Dook, you got mad at the other Beach Bear. But Dook is DEAD. He doesn't matter right now. He can't emote PERIOD. MITZI CAN, and DOES. I shouldn't have to tell YOU that. I haven't even met her until now! That's some fucking bullshit, Beach Bear." Terry's arms fold over his chest. "Bullshit. Have you even bothered to ask anybody else about how they feel? You KNOW you weren't the only one who loved Dook." His lips turn to a sneer. "You're gonna stop acting selfish, and get out there, and apologize to Mitzi and the rest of them. I don't even want one, man! I shouldn't have to tell you to go do the right shit. Now you're gonna stop crying, and go. Got it?"

Beach Bear nods quickly, swaying fur and all. Terry snrks. "GOT IT?!" He snaps, echoing like a snapped tree.

"Yes, I got it, M-m- ma'a--!" The polar bear squeaks out, hands gripping the fur on his thighs tight, tense. "Terry."

Terry steps back, claw swinging to the door. "Go."

"Thank you--!" Beach Bear jumps up and nearly slams himself into the door to get it open, scurrying from where he's been cornered in the bathroom out into the hall, where he runs quite obviously, shaking the building on its foundation.

Terry huffs with a roll of his eyes, the mahogany turning to the mirror above the sink.

With a claw, he adjusts his cravat, settling the silky baby blue straight and flat against his chest.

A head shakes in the mirror.

"Damn."

...

Just as soon as Dingo has thrown himself past the door, the entire band jumps as the building rattles and the door past the lobby just about slams into the wall, bouncing back with a rattling laugh of a clown. Dark hands all cling into Mitzi. Billy Bob, Fatz, Rolfe (Though peachy), all their paws remain on her, and tight while she cries. But she's not the only one. Beach Bear's chest is heaving throughout it all but no sounds nor sniffles do mark that he's actually crying. Nothing. Beach Bear throws himself to her, slamming to his knees and burying his face into her big stack of golden curls, babbling nothing upon nothing of senseless words she can't even make out normally, much less while she's sobbing. In an instant she spirals and clings, dropping even lower into the polar bear. Beach Bear gasps and whines, digging claws into his neck to bate the raucicity of his sounds. "I'm sorry-- I'm sorry-- I'm so fuck-- I'm--" A breath jams down his lungs. "I'm horrible, I'm sorry-- You don't deserve to put up with me-- I can't live without you guys!" Beach Bear merely whines, cradling the mouse in her arms like she was his own. Fatz and Billy Bob lean further in, their hands slipping to Beach's back as well, drawing him tighter into the squeeze. "It's alright, BB. I know. We know..." Fatz rubs across each of their heads, drawing patterns into matching curls. Beach Bear flinches away, gasping harsh and wet at the touch. The hand lifts but Beach Bear sticks his scalp into it, all but forcing him to continue. He nuzzles his fingertips, soothing across the pounding heads of his youngest bandmates. "Y'all ain't gotta say a thing."

"I do!" Beach Bear snorts back what is probably a disturbing amount of snot. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand, also disturbing, gasping like a fool. "I've been such a bitch!" He croons to the air, throat cinched. The tears roll, but aren't bothered. "Every CHANCE I GET I've been such an awful bitch-- I-I--" A whine pierces through his lips. Beach Bear full on whacks himself, right over the forehead with a balled fist. It stings well enough to shut him up. Billy Bob's frown twists deeper. "Beach Bear--" "I'm sorry! I know it doesn't matter what I say anymore but I am! I've been so fucking selfish since all of this happened! To you guys, to Terry especially--! All I've done is blow up and get angry over fucking nothing this whole year! I know he's D-DEAD,, but. That's not an excuse!" He throws his hands up lamely, before he tucks himself back into Mitzi, who shivers still, one hand fisted and pulling his hair. "You guys deserve so much fuckin' better-- Ya shoulda just went with those auditions and left me there-- I'm sorry I've been such an asshole." He sniffles, tucking his wet eyes into Mitzi's shoulder. She gasps and pants, still at a similar level as when Beach Bear left. "I'm sorry, Mitzi. I'm sorry I told you that and I'm sorry that fuckin' happened to you. I'm so happy you're here with us now."

"I don't want you to go too..." A wet gasp shocks Mitzi's system. She wipes at the free-falling tears, swiping away the wet that continues to fall. "I don't care if you fight! That made sense! You're not Bernie-- Bernadette! It's pretty but it's not you!" The rodent shivers with a squeak. "I don't wanna be called Booger anymore."

Beach Bear nods profusely. "I'm not gonna call you that. Thank you. Thank you." His voice squawks. "I don't ever wanna be called that again." He leans into her, rubbing his paw across her back. Fatz's hand sets down heavy, but like a nice weight on his shoulder. It's squeezed, soothed with a rub. "I ain't ever gon' call y'all that and ya can count on it. I'm sorry I didn't say nuthin' when it happened. I shoulda broke his nose as soon as he opened his mouth." "Me too. Not the nose, but. Tellin' 'im off." Billy Bob raises his paw. It settles over Mitzi's shoulder, right across Rolfe's arm swung the opposite way. "I'm sahrry I didn' say anythin' at all. It ain't right. I gotta remember I don't hafta keep my mouth shut aroun' him no more. Ain't like we don't already got a great guitarist, hell, a better one right here! Even if we're all a little loopy right now.." Billy draws them both closer, and in turn, the whole band. "I love ya guys. We don't gotta let nobody get us down. Why, this is our time ta grieve for our friend." He nods to himself. "If he wants ta act like the prick here, then I'd say, he'll get his ass kicked! And I'll make sure of it!" The grizzly bear waggles his finger. Rolfe nods, his head resting against the bear's arm. "Of course, Billy. I offer my services as well."

A hiss pierces past the huddle. "If he says one more thing about you guys I really will rip him to shreds."

"And I have no doubt that you all will." The gorilla nods. Mitzi shrugs. "I just wanna find Helena."

"Helena's here??" Beach Bear pulls back, searching the rodent's face. Mitzi nods, expression quirked oddly. The rest of the members behind her all share looks. "Henny???" Fatz begins. Beach Bear snaps his fingers in multiples. "Yeah. We've been over this. She's just Helen's granddaughter. We don't have any reason to hate her." To that Mitzi lightens a bit, looking to the rest of them.

Billy Bob shrugs. "Well of course! She can't be much older than Mitzi and I don't hate anybody workin' over there." His paws raise. Rolfe and Fatz share odd looks with him. The grizzly's paws slap on his hips. "Well I don't see anything wrong with that."

Beach Bear hums. "Yeah. I mean. I don't care for Chuck's way of business but. We're all people."

Rolfe sighs. "I guess I can be civil for now." He rubs across his neck, claws snagging on his skin. Earl groans. "More musicians. Perfect."

The whole band jumps. Rolfe's eyebrows turn in, centered on the man on his shoulder. "Earl, now why didn't you say anything before???"

The puppet's arms raise. Looney tries desperately to continue to become a statue in the dark corner of the room. "I was watchin' the show. I didn't think all the blubberin' applied ta me." He rubs over his chin, where a tiny bit of fuzzed scruff comes through. "That and I didn' wanna interrupt what cha'll were sayin'." He offers. A hum comes from Rolfe. "Ah. Well isn't that rather noble of you."

"Do you not consider yourself a musician..?" Beach Bear pries, eyebrow raised to the skies. Earl raises his gloved hands up. "Eh."

A snap and a crack echos in the lobby. Every single one of them freezes, eyes shot to the oak doors.

Out steps Terry, claws pinched against his tie and shimmying it side to side. His eyes swish back and forth without the aid of his head, then settle on the whole band gathered nearly on the floor. "Ah."

Beach Bear turns away, trying and failing to hide the creeping shiver turning his lips down. Terry clicks his claws together like a pair of castanets at his hip, closer to where Beach Bear's ear would be now. The polar bear's ears rear back hard. Fatz's brow pops into the air.

Terry sighs. "Beach Bear, dude, look at me."

The arctic man's head turns. Terry's claw flicks and something hits him on the snout. He flinches back with a less than acceptable gasp. Terry sucks on his teeth. "Sorry I scared the shit out of you. Did you really call me Ma'am? what the hell did--?"

"Nah I needed all that. What was that??" Beach Bear's eyes comb the ground. "I need somebody to fix me straight now that Dook's in space and can't slap me." Fatz bends down and collects the little wrapped up ball of ceran wrap on the ground. Terry hums. "Oh yeah."

Inbetween two thick, well manicured fingers, the ball is brought to a dark bronze eyes. Fatz scoffs, dropping the ball into the polar bear's lap. "Of course it's pot." "Ooh shit really??" Beach Bear takes the ball, turning it over in his hands. Terry snickers. "Yeah. Pot. If you ever start telling people my business like that again I'm gonna start charging you for my scraps."

Billy Bob cringes, but Beach Bear does even harder. "Yeah. No that's fair. I know I keep saying it but I really mean it. That was fucked up to do and I'm sorry. Like really, truly sorry. Are you okay?"

The lobster pauses. His eyes turn to the corner of the room.

Terry shrugs. "I don't know. That was... scary. In the moment. Like obviously, you're eight feet tall, more than a hundred pounds heavier than me got me cornered at the door trying to lick me-- but it's... But I forgave you. And I forgive you now for acting like an asshole. So. We're on good terms. As long as you don't keep wafting my business around or try to get me to sleep with you again." "Got it. You really don't have to worry about that, man." Beach Bear points at him, stuffing the ball into his pocket. Earl lifts up his hand. "You got any scraps left fo' the spectators?"

"Sure do freaky bro, and I got some you can take right now free of charge. Yo I got a question though! Beach Bear, you're gonna hate me." Terry looks to the other. Beach Bear cringes, but waves him on. Rolfe's forehead wrinkles crease while Earl just shrugs. "Shoot."

"Are you an alien??? I brought it up once and-- it didn't go well--" Terry looks to the polar bear on the ground. Beach Bear nods. "Well I waved around your business so-- I kinda got mad and locked myself in the bathroom and punched my mirror." He holds up his hand.

"Oh." Mitzi cringes, swiping away at her eyes. Rolfe snrks. "Ugh. I hope you got all the glass out."

"I think?" Beach Bear looks over his paw. Terry waves his claws in the air. "Hold on, hold on! I didn't get my answer." He points to Earl. "Alien, yes or no."

"Yes." Earl sticks it out like it is right in the air, pointer finger drawn. Beach Bear's entire face drops. Billy Bob gasps. Fatz's head rears back and Mitzi doesn't do anything at all. Rolfe's entire face matches the complexion of Billy Bob's tan lines hiding beneath his fur. Terry claps his claws together. "I fucking knew it."

Beach Bear stands up without a word, grabs Terry by the arm, AND Earl, and he begins to drag them, hell he drags Earl straight off of Rolfe's shoulder. The wolf gapes, Reaching out. "You can't just take--"

"Rolfe." Beach Bear holds up the puppet, settling him onto his own shoulder. "I'm getting answers."

Earl laughs out loud, kicking his feet in the air. "YOU REALLY THOUGHT AHAHAHAHA--!!"

Beach Bear's eyes blow wide, frown deep. "You FUCKING BITCH!" He jams his paw across his shoulder, ridding it of the trash. Earl thumps on the ground without a single wince. He turns, and points right down at the puppet. "FUCK you. Seriously. That's it." He holds up his paws. "I gotta stop getting mad so you're lucky." "You lied, no scraps."

"No!!" Earl cries from the ground. Terry snorts. "That's what you did." He shrugs. "I'm kidding I'll give you shit. But hey, if you're not an alien, what are you? No offense. But you're clearly not in the history books."

Earl shrugs right back. "Find out and I'll give ya a prize."

"What's the prize?" Terry shoots back.

"Mayo."

"Oh, EARL! With the MAYO AGAIN?!" Rolfe shrieks. The man on the floor cackles as if electrocuted.

Beach Bear slaps his hands together, eyes darting around the room. "Oh wait yeah, I just remembered, did you guys see where Dingo went?"

Quiet. Mitzi points to the door. "To talk to the worst Beach Bear." The polar bear's head rears back. "Oh okay. Damn, I'm still not good though?"

"No." Mitzi hums, shoulders wiggling. "You're not perfect. But you're my brother. In spirit." She lifts her hands. "But I can't say you're a good person after doing that to Terry. I'm not a good person. But I wouldn't do that to Helen. But that just makes you lower on the "bad" scale." She holds up her fingers in quotes. "Having bad in you doesn't mean that you're not good too."

...Beach Bear looks to the carpet, eyes wide. Fatz hums like he's had a realization. "I think you're a good person, MItzi." The polar bear lifts up his hand weakly. "That's a really solid way to put that too. I get it, and that's fine. That's not something that people can or should brush past. You're real in tune with your emotions."

Mitzi allows a small smile to grace her sodden cheeks.

"Thank you, Beach Bear."

"Ain't no thing."

Chapter Text

Cold. Harsh heavy breathing. The heat of one’s breath basks across chilled stone, frantic. Wetness drips down tattered and broken skin in an unbroken line, slashing across jagged lines and rolling over boiled flesh.

Although his arms clutch deeply, unwitting to let go, he’s already let go of the one thing most important now.

Consciousness.

Glass twinkles in even-level ears, full navy eyes opening to a dark, but color filled void. In the midst of the darkness, his soul awakens. A glistening blue figure is what he is now, floating, materializing in the deep of space.

He twists. Behind him, his tail. It wiggles, flexing in ways it normally cannot; restricted by the limits of bone.

Bone doesn’t matter here. Nor does blood, flesh. Matter itself.

There’s nothing here.

It’s just him.

Has it always been him?

He twists and turns and turns.

Nothing.

The glow of the figure dims. Where did they all go? The people he knows to be with him.

He’s scared.

The figure curls in the chill of the void. His hands place atop his head, tucking his snout to his knees.

Where does he go now?

The void doesn’t answer.

Brilliant glass twitters against itself, ringing in perfect ears like the chime of a church bell. The sounds of a bell tolling do begin, rattling his chest like marching band drums.

Of course he has to lift his head. But at the same time he frets. What if it’s something he doesn’t wanna see?

Regardless, his eyes return to the tragedy of lost color.

An orb, or two, floating as free as he. White. The two orbs are conjoined, like that of a siamese twin.

It draws him closer, a physical pull that he resists out of his own confusion. That sphere of light shifts, stretching. He pushes against the cold dot with his paws.

His finger remains missing.

Soon, the further he draws dark navy eyes across the gleam of his skin, the more it shatters. Thick, zig-zagging lines shoot up his skin like a carving blade, his flesh begins to boil and bubble. He jerks, turning accusatory eyes to this innocent looking orb.

What remains in its place is another being. Multiple eyes and multiple appendages.

Dook physically shifts back, clutching his burning wrist. His lips move, mouthing words he himself doesn’t hear nor understand.

The figure steps across nothing, placing three feet uneven as he goes. Dook tries, but he can’t force himself back any further.

Hands place over his cheeks, and this time a noise breaks from his lips. It’s not one that he meant. It’s not even one that he felt.

A sultry moan of his own voice projects from his throat like a VHS recording, projecting from his stomach to pierce his tongue with lies. Despite every wish he has, he leans into the hands, even as they hurt him, burning his skin to crisp.

Just like that, the hands are gone. But he’s left with a deep sense of longing regardless.

Then in an instant, thick palms slap over his hips, kneading what used to be soft skin. Dook keens instead of growling, pushing into the touch no matter the panicked feelings in his heart.

His arms lay over the necks sprouting from the figure’s twin-chests, aching like high heaven to touch.

Lips smudge over his stomach and he didn’t even tell this person to do it. Harsh bites mark up the fat of his belly, pinching to the point of bleeding, thick, dark blood rolling down his ethereal thighs. Blood smudges against those two faces, one unbothered, the other. Bludgeoned.

At this point, he expects how he reacts, pushing closer into his own madness. A stiffening on his end, of his body’s own will. Even with it being there, Dook refuses to let that tell him what he is, what he wants.

Then there's warmth. He shoves at the head. All he does is reveal spider-y eyes to his own. Blood shot. Red.

For the first time since this orb popped up, he’s able to make a sound on his own. A bitter, sobbed moan.

“I don’ wanna keep doin’ this anymo’.”

Silence.

Dook’s hands press to his eyes, palms met with dual textures.

Even still the warmth remains, all where he doesn’t want it to be, where he doesn’t need it.

He needs it in his heart. Around his shoulders, holding him when he needs it. Able to pick him up off the ground and dust him off, and tell him it’s all gonna be okay.

Slick noises greet his ears, along with a sensation he can’t put in his heart to be happy about. It’s strong.

“Ss-s—“

The words die upon the tip of his tongue.

“Baby, s-sss—“

Why won’t they come out?

“St-tah—“

His lips shut.

He knows why.

Again, they open, drawing in a deep breath. It pushes out into a groan, deep in his chest.

He doesn’t wanna keep doing this.

It feels… good… kind of…

He should be thankful for what he’s been given.

That somebody decided to take pity on him and do what they wanted to him.

It doesn’t matter if his feelings get caught in the crossfire if that’s not what they wanted in the first place.

It’s not his choice.

A pop. The warmth dies away, leaving only a wet chill. Without much movement, Dook tucks himself between his thighs, simply pushing a finger down the length, thighs cinched.

That was easy.

His mouth breaks apart, opening with a fire in his lungs.

“I toldja to stop doing th—“

“You’ve told me nothing.”

The figure floats to his stature, spit smeared over bloodied lips.

“You done told me nothing while i’m down there, so don’t act like yer sufferin’ now.”

“I wasn’t even awake—“

“A part of you shore was.”

“That doesn’t mean ya can—“

Fingers snap across four different palms, the voice unmatching of the figure. Even without adornments on the wrists, when he snaps, it sounds as though golden bangles click together, ringing.

Dook’s face twists with rage. The figure smiles with a full row of sharp pearls, dripping fuschia poison. “Oh, yer mad ain’tcha? Puppy want a bone? Hen ain’t here ta be able to tell me what to do. Yer mine tonight.”

“Get the hell away from me.” Dook’s snout twitches mad, marred with lines of broken flesh. The figure merely snickers, deepening his anger. “Like you really want that.” Thick hands press between and shove his thighs apart. All that’s left of any arousal shows as a flop of receded muscle.

“Hah! Yer tiny when yer soft.” Multiple hands lift to thin glowing shoulders, drawing down absolutely nothing on dual-chests. Still, the effect starts up a snarl.

“I’m gon’ tell ya one more damn time ta get the hell away frum me or yer gonna hafta call the cops to bring ya to the hospital.” His finger lifts. A harsh giggle snaps across the void. “You wouldn’t dare. I’ll tell them everythin’, darlin’. Ya think they’ll believe you over me ‘n him? Yer a mutt, boy.” The figure throws up a hand. “Ain’t nothin’ they’ll believe frum yo—“

“*WHACK*”

“Oh my god!” The voice whines.

“I can do a whole lot more than that, Chiffon!” Dook shrieks, hand whipped out to the sky. “Test me! If I wake up like this one more time I swear ta everythin’—!!“

“HE HIT ME!”

“SSHH—-“ Dook shifts back, ears low. “Shush! What the hell are you talking about, you— I—“

“HE HIT ME! HE’S BEATING ME CALL THE COPS PLEASE!! PLEASE HELP! HELP!!” She shrieks, arms to the sky. Like God’s gonna help. Nope.

“You’d shut yer goddamn mouth if you knew what’s good for ya.” He stalks ahead, finger pointed down, accusatory. “YOU were tha one who started DOING shit to me when I’m SLEEPING! When I defend myself it’s a problem?” He drawls, each footstep louder than the next. Chiffon jutters back, her jewel adorned hands slapping on the hardwood floor. “Get away frum me.”

“YOU WANNA PULL THAT NOW CHIFFON?!” Dook’s voice works into a yell without his permission, echoing across the walls. “It’s been almost every FUCKING *BOOM* DAY I wake up to this now!” That word is marked with a harsh stomp. “The amoun’ uh times I keep wakin’ up ta this or you on me without ya askin’,, pisses me off like you wouldn’t fuckin’ know, girl. Cuz I don’t do this shit. I’m up to fuckin’ here wit’ it.” Dook lifts his hand above his head. “It’s gettin’ to be too damn much fo’ my likin’.” He reaches forth, drawing an object closer that he can’t make out what it is. He didn’t even know what it was when this happened.

“I won’t do it again, I swear! Just leave me alone! Leave me alone! DOOK! STOP! I’m scared! You don’ act like this!!” Chiffon doubles down, sitting up now that she’s been forced to the wall. Dook’s head shakes, long ears shifting over the sideburns he used to have a lot thicker back when this happened. His sharp claw points. “I ASKED you… to leave me alone… You wanna act like I beat ya bloody,, and I’m no betta’ than Hen, well girl, I can show you I’m a lot woise than he is.” He flicks his wrist, throwing, twisting the item in the air. It thuds on the carpet, quickly snatched up with a bend.

He holds up a hand, the other balancing whatever this is in a palm. “One more time Chiff.” He points down at her, shaking his wrist. “Ya got one thing ya can say ta me and I’ll cut it out. Ya can do whateva ya want ta me. Just one word. That magic word. One little magic word and I’m free game. Anything.” His fingers point to his chest. “Just the one word, Chiff. One.”

Dark eyes stare back.

“I’ll let ya fuck me?” The woman shoots back, a sheepish, disgusting, worthless smile on her face. Pathetic. Useless. Dook stares, expression dropped, lips parted.

“Well didja want somethin’ different frum m—“

“*WHANG RING*”

“AUGH!”

“*WHANG WHANG WHANG WHANG*” “STOP!” “* WHANG WHANG WHANG*” “STOP!” “*WHANG*” “DOOK STOP!” WHANG WHANG WHAN—*“

The door bursts open.

It’s not Henry this time.

It’s Clooney.

“Come to me.”

Dook stands there panting, hovering over a figure thicker than his own, drops of scarlet over his face; a corded receiver in his hand dripping, visualized to be a phone by the distinct ringing he heard whenever he beat that thing into her face as hard and as long as he could. Until the door opened.

Clooney beckons him on, the galaxy a background through the open door.

“Leave it all. Come to me.”

Dook lifts, though his back remains turned. His eyes stay still upon the dual-figure.

“You’re broken.”

The spaniel’s shoulders shift towards him, pupils blown.

He stands. Waiting. Waiting for those words he knows like the back of his hand. The words he hears in his dreams, in the back of his head, when he’s lying in bed at night. Even when he’s with Beach Bear.

“Yer broken. I c’n fix that.”

“No.” Dook drops the phone, it clatters to the floor hard. Chiffon jolts, gasping wetly.

“I won’t.”

Clooney’s arms open to him, one of his heads a bloody, sunken mess.

“I can fix you.”

“I’m perfectly fine as I am.” Dook straightens further.

“I already have.”

His heart stops, as does he.

Clooney lifts his hand, gesturing behind his back.

Dook turns.

White, feathery appendages draw to his eye.

“I—“ The spaniel’s brows press together. “I’m dead?? What?”

“You’re reborn.”

Dook’s eyes snap open in the void.

Chirping and humming buzzes across rain laden tree tops, vibrating the petals as they dance. Magenta leaves flitter, dropping to the ground in a pile.

A quiet groan, short and light. A whine. Beneath a thick root, low to the forest floor, the being begins to awake, arms pulling to stretch.

Dook flops across the ground, the dirt surprisingly warm and rounded. His eyes blearily blink open, fluttering to ward off the harsh white of the sky.

He lifts, wobbling on his glutes. His lips smack, breaking the let in, and then out a vicious yawn.

That was an awful dream. He scratches— or well. He tried to scratch over his face where he can feel his sideburns growing back in. The tip of his snout twitches with his lip, hyper-aware of the hairs that lay there.

Oh dang wait??? Hairs on his snout??

With a hand, Dook pushes up the lip of his helmet, drawing his fingertips across his face. He flinches away, struck with pain. That’s right. He’s been up here long enough that his whiskers grew back in. That’d make it…

God, he has no idea how long it would take for them to grow back in. He’s been shaving them off since he hit puberty and got made fun of for looking too girly. And they WERE right. But. Hey, the long fur made him happy for a while.

He takes a deep breath in, then promptly chokes. Everything smells so strong. It’s like he can make out each individual scent from over a mile away. It’s crazy. This is probably how Lula feels.

Poor girl all alone on Earth. He’s sure that Teddy’s fed her though, especially given how she bays for Dook every morning when he leaves his and Teddy’s room.

With a sigh, Dook shifts, laying back on his support. Soft and malleable. He shoves the pillow on his back further under. A squeak arises, frantic, and then movement.

Dook jumps up, gasping hard in his throat. A gaggle of creatures lay in a circle, all clutching one another and each with eyes turned to him, dark and piercing.

Dook promptly backs up, stepping across the wet dirt. He only ever saw the two orange ones last night. He didn’t know there were more.

“!nimkiP” One flies from the pile, tossed forth by their cohorts. It drops to the ground on its face.

It remains there.

After a good minute, the creature stands. Then it stares.

Dook rubs his hands together idly, wishing he remembered where his gloves were, seeing as his palms are ice cold.

“Uh. Okie.” He turns, stepping over to, and continuing to walk with a wobble, towards the grass. An army of footsteps jingles behind him. He jumps, refusing to have his back turned. A myriad of eyes stare back.

He’s gonna die like this. They’re gonna swarm him and eat him, probably like that other thing was.

Although…

If these guys are at least a little friendly, kinda like the Ewoks and how they sold stuff, maybe they’ll be good to keep around. Numbers besides his own Number One to toss under the bus if things got rough.

Ohh, but they’re cute. They have a little civilization going on in these woods, and they clearly have been living here long enough to be scared of certain creatures.

Welp.

He points, counting each one. He counts off on his fingers, twists his hands around, and then flicks a hand at them. Whatever, looks like there’s ten of ‘em.

Dook snaps his fingers, whistling beneath the helmet. He sneers at the volume. Before he can even speak the small group jutters to him, encircling him in a little barrier of their own bodies.

Ohhh…

Well that’s gonna come in handy.

But there’s not a lot of them around to protect him, if they even would. But they seem to want to protect him with the way they circle. Or maybe… they’re scared. With the natural food chain, these guys seem to rank lowest from the creatures he’s seen, far too big for the Carrotmin to ward off from.

A growl echoes through the forest. The carrots all squeal. But it doesnt scare him. It only makes him blush. “Oh I’m sahrry. That was boomin’.” He rubs over his belly. “Uh. Y’all know where food is?”

The creatures all look to eachother. In moments, they swarm him, clutching around his legs. A nasty, scary kind of whispering starts by his calves, far too close between his legs to be comfortable.

He shivers. What an awful dream. It already begun with something he NEVER, EVER wanted. He never wanted Clooney of all people doing THAT to him. And sure, Clooney had some looks, for being an alien that is. Y’know. But he’s not really uh… not really into skinny guys. Short, skinny guys.

And besides, Clooney saved him. Immediately the infatuation was for a saviour, not a lover.

Still. It hurts to think of how he went out, and that dream didn’t help his brain either.

And the phone. God. He didn’t remember what he picked up that night. That night he beat Chiffon like a homewrecker. And he’s glad to be rid of her and Hen. But he’s still upset about how he let his rage get a hold of him, rage he didn't know he had until he got with those two.

But.

What’s the deal with the angel wings?

Is he—

Dook’s eyes blow wide to the ground.

He’s an angel now. He rose from the grave reborn, halo above his head. He died. And he’s alive again.

But can he really be an angel, seeing all that he’s done?

…it was just a dream. He’s not near holy enough to be an angel. He’s too full of sin, no matter how hard he tries to be rid of it. It’s always come back to him. The alcohol, the adultery, the…

The lust.

The lust he has for other men, the lust that brews for one in particular. It’s screwed him up, and for good it seems. Him and Beach Bear shouldn’t be together. But God, listen to his prayers, he wants to be. He longs for nothing more to be held by another man, loved and cherished by another man.

He’s disgusting for it. Sinned for it. He even cheated for it. As much as he’ll lie and tell Beach Bear what he wants the other to believe, there’s so many more things he’s never told him. One drunken night ruined everything for him. He could’ve had Lady, and god was she amazing. But he screwed everything right to hell, and he broke her heart too.

Even if he knows deep down that he didn’t love Lady with all of his heart, he still loved her as she was. She was an amazing, bright person. Of course she broke up with him. How could she not when Dook told her point blank that he slept with a guy in the back of his van the night they were supposed to go out?

And that’s another thing. He’s still lying to everybody. Even Beach Bear. Especially Beach Bear.

He’s been with far more men than he can count, one night flings he can’t barely remember in those nights he spent cuddling other guys. He’s a cheater and it’s been a mark on his heart for ages. Lady’s the only one who knows. Not Beach Bear. Not even Teddy. Cuz how could he tell his brother that?

He’s no angel. He’s a devil in disguise, and his features have finally told everybody what he is for certain. A no good, rotten, evil person down to the core.

He deserves to rot up here. And that’s what's going to happen.

The whispers break. Dook’s back twitches, itching beneath the skin. But he resists the urge to touch it. He doesn’t deserve the alleviation.

The pain in his back is a bitter reminder that his foot has gone entirely numb, cold to the touch for sure. However, he’s still able to walk, only on his toes on that foot. It’s becoming a mindless habit now.

The carrotmin lift their heads. Dook reaches beneath and swipes along his eyes, expression lax. The group of creatures swarm him once more, pushing on the backs of his legs. “Getcha—!”

Dook’s arms swivel and he falls to the ground on his knees, his unpadded skin taking all of the force. He groans out, hunching over himself. God that hurt so much more than it usually does. It feels like he just fell onto a bundle of nerves.

He rises slowly, grunting, pressing his toes to the ground on his injured foot.

“Well shit! What’d I do???” He reaches behind himself, itching violently at his shoulder bone. The muscles jerk hard, the feeling cascading down his entire back. He gasps, back arching away. “Shit!”

The creatures all surround him, pushing him forth. This time his knees lock, tightening. He looks down at his knees like they offended him. Curious, he rubs across them.

He gags. Hard ridges. Ridges over his knees under the skin. His stomach twists like a spun up wet rag, tongue stuck out with the force. That’s not right that’s not right what’s wrong with his knees?!?!

The spaniel jerks at his space-suit, attempting to pull it past his calves. The band slips over, revealing the sight.

He gags harder, clutching his stomach. Tears well in his eyes. That’s not right why do his knees look like that?!

Hesitant as possible, his hand presses over the odd ridges.

His hand slots perfectly atop the lump. His thighs cinch. “Oh god.”

It looks like a hand. There’s no way it’s a hand. He has his hands right here where did Clooney find a hand to put in there—?!

Dook forces himself up, eyes to the forest. Just ignore it. It wasn’t hurting before so it’s not gonna hurt you—

There’s a hand in his knee.

He sobs, pressing his shaking hands to his whiskered snout. He’s got a goddamn hand in his knee what the hell is he supposed to do—???

His breath heaves and pants, lifting his shaking arms from his snout, pressing his palm to his other knee.

It feels exactly the same.

The tears break loose in a squeal, rolling down his face roughly. What is he gonna do? Is it gonna hurt him? Kill him? What is he supposed to be doing to fix this???

Does it need fixed?

OF COURSE IT DOES THERE’S A HAND. IN HIS KNEE. IN HIS KNEE! IN BOTH OF THEM!!!

Dook promptly flops on his ass, slapping his hands on every part of his body. He starts with his calves. Feels normal. He reaches for his foot since he forgot, the one that isn’t swollen badly. He digs his fingers into his peachy soles, rubbing into the muscle.

He drops his head back, just working at the muscle. It took until he got his fingers onto his foot to realize just how sore they are.

But he has to stop. He needs to check on everything else. Tears down his face, he takes his fingers up, avoiding his knee to rub over his thigh. It feels stronger. Like there’s double the amount of bone.

Okay. He can work with that. Stronger thighs means he can crush Beach Bear’s head between ‘em like he’s begged for the past five years.

God, that’d be nice.

Sinful. Sinful. He knocks the side of his head, cringing at how it makes everything spin and his stomach lurch. That’s not important now. It is kinda helping him get through this though.

…Regardless, he continues up his body. With a quick thought of “I prolly can’t feel this all through my jumpsuit.” He shoves his arms down his sleeves, feeling up his own body.

The thicker bone in his thigh works all the way up to his hips, connecting onto the sides of his pelvic bone. He rubs across his fur, feeling for where the bone connects.

His fingers slip into his own skin with a slice of short pain right from the pan, hot and ready.

His eyes just about roll into his head, body tilting momentarily.

Dook slowly retracts his fingers, stuck down to the first knuckle. They recede with a sound of nasty slick, like stickin’ em in a woman or— well shit. A man he guesses, with how Beach Bear’s track record goes.

He really has to stop thinkin’ about his best friend’s pussy when he’s got his fingers in his own on his hip.

Hip pussy.

He smacks his lips.

“Ew.” He bows his head with the force of that word. Well. He can’t do much about it. Might as well figure out what the hell else is wrong with him besides his hip pussy and his own soiled up brain.

Alright.

Regardless of how he feels about it, he lies back, forcing his fingers at the odd pocket. His fingers slide in easily, and it feels like he’s tickling the inside of his pelvis. He actually might be. He shifts around, feeling. And yeah, that’s the horn of his hip. It’s stuck behind the soft flesh. He pushes further, cringing at the feeling. The skin stretches to fit his hand with a painful stab.

“Shit.” Dook huffs through his nose. Is this even a good idea?

His thigh flexes when he touches the bone, as does his knee.

It’s an arm. He’s calling it it has to be an arm. But why? Did Clooney mess up when he put him back together? He never noticed this before.

Somehow he digs deep enough, and maneuvers around, grabbing his bone. He shivers hard, unable to get used to the feeling of grabbing at whatever this is.

With confidence barely twined with his soul, he pulls. The hand over his knee shifts, pulling away nastily. Dook’s hand jerks out, panting. Oh it’s so gross.

His hand pulls out from his jumpsuit, clutched in a fist. He opens it to the light. It’s absolutely wet, covered in a weird yellow-y slime. He grunts, wiping it down his jumpsuit. Ew.

Instead of that, he rolls his hips, attempting to shift the arm at least away from his knee. It rests there as a neutral point, unwilling to shift anywhere else.

“Alrigh’, forget it!” The spaniel jerks up with a twinge in his snout, honestly pissed off that he couldn’t do something with his OWN body to get comfortable. Bullshit. He stands, rubbing over the helmet, which he has once again forgotten about.

He also forgot about the blood spattered on the front.

He should… he should feel his broken nose a lot more than he does now, right?

Dook presses his hand into the helmet, reaching for his nose.

It’s possible it went numb? Maybe? But his nose didn't go numb last time.

He shucks the helmet off, setting it gently on the ground, bending his knees to keep the tube relaxed so the helmet stays where it is.

With a good sigh, he lifts his hands to his nose.

Faked himself out. He drops his hands momentarily.

He’s never gonna see anybody again if he doesn’t fix this. His nose is always gonna be crooked.

His face is already fucked up.

Welp.

“*CRACK*”

“*WHUMP*”

Dook’s body nearly hits the ground, eyes rolled into his head. His fall is only cushioned by a singular creature running to his rescue.

He totally just knocked himself out doing that, yeah.

The carrotmin all stare, as they have been, just watching him do his thing.

They all look to eachother.

They shrug, and they huddle close to the lax body of Dook, shoving their arms beneath him. They pick him up above their heads and start to move, leaning to counter his balance, and then taking off as they can, drawing him out from under the root with a bunch of “!peH !peH !peH”

A raindrop falls upon Dook’s bruised, although straightened nose. The helmet thunks as it’s dragged along. A straggler breaks free from the group, picking it up and shoving it onto it’s own head.

The helmet lights up with a beaming blue glow.

“!hoooO” The carrotmin stares in awe.

The helmet pulses with a blue light.

“Connect dome to User.”

“!nimkiP” It squeals. The helmet continues to pulse.

“Connection to User lost. Move closer to the User Ring to establish connection. Dome will not perform certain functions out of range of User Ring. Connection will be established when the User Ring is within three squares of distance.”

The carrotmin hums. It chokes as the tube connected to Dook runs taught, jerking it forward, the being dragged along behind the pack. It squeals.

It bounces and yelps as it hits multiple rocks, flying up into the air a short distance. It falls down atop a pile of leaves, the stack splaying out into the air.

When the confetti falls, it reveals the carrotmin atop the shell of fallen creature, sliding along the ground easily.

“!hooohoooW”

The sounds of smacking and clicking is what greets Dook when he awakens for the second time today, his head absolutely pounding, his back feeling like shit and his foot finally decided to join the band with its own screaming voice.

He doesn’t even bother to get up and look around, already knowing where he is. The smacking sound concerns him but the amount of collected smacks he’s hearing makes him think it’s the carrotmin.

Hey, maybe they found food.

Hey, maybe he should get up off the goddamn ground.

Dook giggles to himself, lifting his foot into the air, pupils two different sizes as he stares at the appendage. He sucks air in his teeth, snickering to the sound. The lump on his foot is black, the bite oozing a sickly green syrup.

“Ooooh God. God? Man? You there?” He reaches to the sky. “Whuz goin’ on up there? Why am I here? What lesson are ya tryin’ ta teach me here?”

His hand slaps down on his chest.

“Do I need ta do somethin’? Be more faithful? Y’know I tryta go to church, man. I got a lot goin’ on.” The spaniel slaps at his jumpsuit, shoving his arm down the sleeve, pulling free a little booklet, holding it to the gold of the sky.

“I still got my bible. I still read it. I still pray. I pray for everyone every day that I get. I know it’s been a minute. I know I should bow mah head, close my eyes when I do this stuff. But I need some kin’a sign. Any kinda sign ta tell me I’m doin’ somethin’ right— or- or that I need ta change, I’ll do it.” The bible is placed on his chest, right on his sternum. “I jus’ need to know I’m still in yer heart, God.”

The leaves blow above him.

“I jus’ wanna know why I’m here.”

The wind whistles, tossing his tattered ears over his snout. Not even the thick smell of sweetness can draw his eyes from the sky.

“?nimkiP”

An orange head pops into his vision, the little black flower atop its head bobbling like the trees. Dook holds up his hand, settling it atop the creature’s head. “Wassup lil’ man?”

“!dooF” It cries, jerking its hands and head up. Dook hums, brow raised. “You tryna say my name? That’s some creepy stuff, man. It’s Dook.”

“.kooD” The carrotmin looks down at him. Dook finally looks at it just to look at it funny. “Dook.”

“.kooD”

“Dook.” He pulls his pinched fingers across the air. “D-u-k—- no.“ He pauses, brows furrowed. D-o-o-k. Dook.” He points.

“!kooD” The creature shouts, shooting pain in his ears. Dook pants lightly, squeezing his eyes shut. He rolls his finger. “Gib’ me a second an’ Imma spell it out fo’ ya again, mah head’s split inta fourths.” He sets his hands atop his face, shading the fluorescent blue sun.

The creature seems to sigh, and ushers off. Dook flicks a hand in that direction. “Whateva’.”

A cacophony of aggravated sounds ring to his left.

“HOOF!” Dook clutches the object on his stomach, big and heavy. “Get it off or Imma upchuck—“

Glistening red like a crystal. Dook jolts up, regretting how it makes his head pound. He rests his head on the jeweled apple thing, wrapping his arms around it. “Oh, thank God, thank you!” He holds his hands clasped up to the sky. “I’m sorry for complaining, and also not saying amen. Amen!” His hands slap back down.

Multiple footsteps pound to his side, ushering to him. The carrotmin all swarm the fruit on top of him, ripping at the jeweled outside, stuffing pieces of the soft inside into a bag. Dook cocks his head as he scratches at the outside with a nail. It slides off. He turns his vision up to watch.

Dook rolls the fruit off of himself, halting their progress and a crack sounds. He stands quickly even as his head spins. All of the carrotmin stop.

One lies beneath the fruit. Dook’s jaw drops. He rolls the fruit back over. The carrotmin goes with it, half inside the fruit. It remains limp.

Dook comes forward, pulling it from the recesses of sugar. It’s eyes show nothing. Dook holds it in his arms, jaw still dropped, absolutely stunned.

The carrotmin pops with a wavering sigh, leaving a soul-like visual above where it was. Dook watches as it floats up to heaven.

He looks toward the other carrotmin, horrified. They stare at him.

“I swear I didn’ mean ta kill that guy.” He points to the fruit, and then where the soul went. “I’m sahrry. I don’… I don’ know what ta say? I can…” He points behind himself. “I can leave. I’m sahrry. Oh my god.” His hands brush over his face. His breath stutters from a jolt of pain.

Dook lifts his head in the silence. The carrotmin all look at each other. Then Dook. Then each other. Then Dook.

One of them picks up the apple, the others tie off the woven grass bag, tied by the tube to his helmet, which dangles from the end. He feels over his face. Oh.

“Uh. Yeah, Imma need that back.” He points toward the tube. The carrotmin look at each other. One comes toward him, pushing at his back. His muscles all spasm at once, he gasps, shot. “Huh—! God! Stop pushin’ me! I know! I’m sahrry!”

“?truH”

“I have no idea what yer sayin’.” Dook huffs. The carrotmin comes to his front to stare at him. It rolls its little white eyes, smacking its forehead. It struggles. “Truh— tr- H—hrut-? Hert? Hurt?” The creature points at him. “Kcab— bah- ck— back?”

“Oh.” Dook furrows his brow. “I dunno what it is. It’s—“
His expression drops. “I really hope it’s naht something else. Like.” He bends over, then pauses. He continues regardless of whether this is weird or not. He pulls up his pant leg, gesturing to his knee. The carrotmin shrugs. “.gel.”

“Gehl?” Dook huffs. “Are you—?” He snaps his fingers. “Yer talkin’ backwards like that Beatles record does! Ain’t cha?! That’s what you were sayin’ earlier! Kood! Tha’s me!”

“!kooD !uoy” The creature nods. Dook furrows his brow once more. “Oi?”

The creature stares deadpan. Dook holds up his hands. “Okay I know yer speakin’ backwards, i dunno what that means tho.”

“.hurB”

“I know tha’s probably an insult.” Dook crosses his arms. The carrotmin shrugs, then waves its hand at him, beckoning him along as it walks. Dook follows anyway, toeing across the stone beneath him. “Alright. Hey, I ain’t gonna complain. Jus’ spell it out fo’ me and I’ll work it out.” Dook pats at his side.

He spins around quickly. He runs over where he was by this big cliff, bending down and snatching the little booklet up. He kisses on its front, then wipes off his lips, spitting at the ground. “That’s nasty, ugh.”

The carrotmin holds up its hand. “!kooD”

“IIIII’m comin’, I’m comin’!” He spins around, then jogs up, flipping through the pages. He slows down soon, to try to keep his headache at the pain it’s at, not any worse. He walks up to the carrotmin, passing it to follow the others. The little orange guy catches up and sticks by his side, holding out its hand for the bible. Dook cringes. “I dunno. This’s the only one I got for a while.”

“.nimkiP” The carrotmin beckons.

Dook stares for a moment.

He has no idea what that means.

The carrot creature holds up a finger, pointing to itself and the bible, then holding up a finger in the air. Dook’s naked and singed brows bounce, familiar with the motioning from his best-bud. “Oh! Yeah. Jus’ don’ lose it. Hand me that back when yer done.”

“.nimkiP” The creature takes hold of the booklet, taking it from lax fingers. Dook watches as it flips through the pages.

The carrot stares confused for a moment, looking over the page. Then it points to a certain word. Ascension. Dook takes in a breath. “Yeah?” He asks hesitantly.

The creature then flips through the pages. It points to the word food. Dook looks at this thing like it’s crazy. “Yo what? Ascension food? Are you guys a damn cult? Like that Jim Jones guy?? I’m not down for joining a cult. Y’all know what that is right? Like those people who off themselves to reach like heaven and stuff? Please tell me yer not a cult.”

The carrotmin shakes its head. It flicks through the pages.

Daily bread. It swipes between those two words. Then it flicks around. It covers a few words to spell out the word ship in the letters. Then it spells out seed.

It points to itself to complete the sentence. Dook nods. He continues to nod.

“Imma be honest. I don’t get a damn thing yer sayin’. But if yer not gonna kill me I’m gonna keep followin’ ya. Are ya gonna kill me?” He cocks his head.

“.oN”

“Yeah I’ll take it.” The spaniel shrugs.

The longer they walk, the more uncomfortable Dook has become.

The scenery is gorgeous, dark stones laid in layers atop the clifftop they all walk. The sky is a brilliant yellow, the sun a bright sapphire. It’s cold this high up by the sky, drawing a shiver from Dook. The nine remaining carrotmin pad across the fluorescent grass, lugging that giant fruit above their heads.

Dook has no idea how long they’ve been walking. The sun was pretty low before. If the sun works like Earth’s does, it’s not long before noon. His stomach grumbles, so he wraps his arms around it, lugging along. The carrot beside him pats his arm, holding up a finger. “.nimkiP”

“Yeah, I know. When we get there we stop.”

The carrotmin wiggles its hand back and forth. Dook hums. “Oh like a little break and then we keep going?”

The little creature nods, the flower on its head bobbling. Dook looks between it and the others. Some have a bulb instead of a flower, and others have a leaf. Perhaps it’s a gender tell. But there’s three.

He shrugs. Maybe they have a between gender or something.

When they walk into a path into the forest, Dook takes his bible from his pocket, flicking through the pages. He’s already read a little bit of it on the walk, but he was waiting until they got somewhere where he could zone out. Somewhere where he couldn’t fall off of a cliff very easily.

It’s about his only entertainment out here and it’s not exactly a bad one. Good way to reconnect himself with spirtuality. The Lord knows he needs it.

He reaches back as he thumbs between the pages, rubbing over his spine. It lays further in now. More of Clooney’s doing. Hey, at least he’s still alive.

Seeing as Clooney messed up giving him extra arms… well. It’s kinda different from that. There’s a weird slit in his hips that makes him think that maybe these arms are retractable. Still, maybe they’re additions seeing as Clooney had four arms anyway. He wouldn’t put it past Clooney to put them in by accident.

There’s a lot of things that point away from that though. And he has no idea what’s wrong with his back and why it’s been so… uncomfortable so much. There’s no reason for his back to be altered, unless Clooney found something wrong and tried to fix it. Like his heart.

It’s been way too long since he last took his medication. His heart had to have been replaced.

Hopefully.

Or healed.

He hopes to God it was.

The possibility that he could have a heart attack at any second doesn’t cease to scare him, and it hasn’t since he found out about his family’s history of mitral valve failure or whatever it is.

Still.

His mind blanks across the words, tracing sentences he’s known since he was a pup. Sure he forgets sometimes. But he could surely list off a good few passages like the back of his hand.

He snaps the small booklet shut, rubbing over decades old sharpie across the front. Stars and a myriad of things. Did it up when he was a kid.

For a moment, his older brother comes to mind. Not Gen. HIS older brother. Willie was always HIS older brother. Gen and Major were always too busy to play with him. Willie. Willie always gave him the time of day, always loved talking to him about the stars, always loved to hear about what Dook thought of the world, always loved his crappy drawings and tacked them on the wall again and again.

Those drawings are still on the wall in his room. Even…

He blanks.

It’s been almost two decades since his brother died.

Dook pauses, eyes turning in front of him. The creatures continue to walk, venturing as he’s come to a standstill.

Willie’s ring is gone.

If they knew… if they knew that he had Willie’s ring all along, and never told anybody about it… they’d shun him. Two decades since anybody saw that ring, and he’s had it for almost a quarter of that time. He’s never said anything.

That ring held so much to him. It was selfish to keep it hidden. But he knew at least one of his family members would claim it on the spot, he couldn’t bear it. That ring was something Dook couldn’t ever take his eyes off of, it was so ingrained in his head every time he thought of his brother.

That day that Beach Bear gave it back to him convinced him to never tell a soul. Like it was destiny. The man he loved had that ring, because it reminded Beach Bear of him. Of HIM. Of all people. He just so happened to find it in the carpet in his van, just saw it laying there. Forgot to return it. But Dook is almost certain now that Beach Bear took it, and kept it for the same reason Dook has it now.

Love.

But the ring is gone.

What does it mean now?

Does he…

Dook takes in a breath.

He doesn’t want to let go. Of Beach Bear, of Willie. Anybody in his family. Anybody in the band, and hell, they’re his family too, for damn sure.

He can’t let that go.

His fingers go to the one on his right, to twist said ring. But its gone, and so is that finger. It’s shocking to him how little its affected him. But come to think of it? When was the last time he picked something up?

What is he doing here? In space? What was the point of this? This was everything he wanted.

It feels so bittersweet.

He looks up.

The creatures are gone.

That’s his only chance of food right now.

AND protection!

Dook gasps, hobbling forward quickly, limping on his busted foot. The grass scratches at the nasty lump, irritating the torrid, dripping flesh. The spaniel drops forward, hunching on his toes. He tucks the bible away in his jumpsuit, then places his hands down, wobbling on his right hand.

Of course, yeah. Lacking a finger makes it weird to walk. There’s the issues he knew would come up.

Dook titters along on all fours instead of trying to limp pathetically, only a little bit faster.

The bright sun is really making his eyes hurt past the stories high grass. Being wayyyy low to the ground, the leaves don’t take much of the brunt anymore. He carries on, searching for the creatures within the tall grass.

Dook still smells the sweetness in the air, whisking through the wind cartoonishly strong. His fingers dig into the ground, clutching as he stalks faster.

Smells good.

Damn he’s hungry.

The little carrots become visible through the woods, trekking across the bareness of a jagged rock in the middle of the wood.

Each of them stops where they are, and they drop the apple. Dook hunches low in the grass, eyes wide.

They have food.

Food that he needs.

It's been days.

Just at the edge of the grass, he stops before he breaks through, searching for the woven bag.

He doesn’t see it.

Something bigger looks more interesting.

Dook licks across the top of his snout, wetting it with a flick of a pointed tongue. He swipes further, over the X of a scar on his nose.

The carrots.

He begins to retract his tongue before he realizes that he’s pulling back more muscle than he’s used to. It hangs loose, dangling over his chin.

Better for consumption.

What the hell is he talking about? In fact? What is he doing right now?

The spaniel stands, walking past the tall, tall grass to reach the group he’s been following. His tongue dangles, swaying lightly.

Allllllright.

He can’t fully say he’s shocked. But this isn’t the worst thing ever. He’s a tad more worried about those homicidal thoughts that just popped up.

Dook tries to draw his tongue back, and it does with a fair bit of force, sliding down a part in his actual human tongue. It rests uncomfortably in his throat. He swallows, and gags as it slides down further. “E-Eugh.”

Ohhh that’s gonna be awful to deal with. He also just lost his appetite.

Dook toes on anyway, returning to the group in the middle of the dark rock. The creatures sit, and one slaps down that bag, tearing open a hole.

Dook lunges free from will, jamming his head into the woven grass bag. The carrots squeal, jumping away from his ravenous motions.

The spaniel retracts from the bag with a chunk of fruit innards in his teeth, stalking backwards on his hands and toes. He maneuvers back with said chunk away from the group, flopping down and laying half on his stomach, resting his claws in the fruit as he tears at it with jagged teeth.

The carrots watch.

And they watch.

Dook continues to rip at the chunk, lips and teeth smacking around a thick piece in his jaws. It’s quite audible from across the rock how he gnaws at it, spatters of juice hitting the rock from the tip of his chin. It stings in his burns. But he’s too hungry to care.

He grips it with his claws and takes another bite into it. Dook chews and tears the piece free with a sound like ripping clothing, piercing it with the sharp teeth dotted around the inside of his mouth. It makes it easier to just snap his jaws mindlessly to get sustenance down his gullet.

Fear or uncertainty be damned, these teeth coming past the roof of his mouth and under his tongue are really doing a number on this tough ass fruit. It’s sweet. But almost sweaty in flavor. It has an underlying layer of salt.

He licks across his snout, collecting the juices from each side, and his chin, caressing the lines of his scars to rid them of the sticky liquid.

He hasn’t tasted anything better than this.

The eaten flesh sits in his stomach heavy like a thick syrup, soon to be joined by more as he smacks along to mince up another chunk finely.

He’s still so goddamn hungry.

There’s little more than the amount of an apple left and he’s still so, so hungry.

He picks up the last piece with a swipe of his tongue, rolling it down the length. It slides easily, and then further, going right down his throat and into his gullet without a chance to swallow. He doesn’t even gag.

Instead of reflecting on that like he should, Dook takes to slathering his tongue across his paws, lapping up the remaining juice, even if his hands are dirty. The dirt just adds extra flavour.

Finally he lifts his head, retracting his tongue. The carrots have refused to let eye off of him. The spaniel shrugs to himself, licking at the thin marks on each of his fingertips. They bear droplets of juice as well.

As he licks, each fingertip prickles his tongue like a cactus spine. A little texture for his flavour combination.

“*thunk*”

Something hits the ground in front of him.

He rests a tawny eye on the sight.

It’s some kind of chunk. It’s dripping onto the ground with a fierce amount of potency.

Blood.

Dook backs from the thing on his paws, growling at the chunk before him.

The carrot who has dropped it in front of him steps away as well, looking to the others.

Dook turns when he’s far enough away, eyeing the torrid chunk of meat. He toes away from it, closer to the carrots. They all begin to back away.

Dook ignores their anxiety to go to the bag once again, digging at the edge of the hole, and then dipping his upper body in once more.

Sniffing arises, then a sneeze. A small “s’cuze me.” And a sniffle also do come.

The spaniel retracts from the bag with another chunk, but it’s still fruit. He sits atop the bag, continuing to hold the chunk while he tears with newfound teeth.

His mind is near entirely blank right now.

All he knows is food.

And bad smell.

This is good smell.

Dook leans back with the chunk and he rolls, tumbling down the bag. He grunts with the piece in his mouth, his back flexing underneath his jumpsuit unnaturally.

“*whack*”

Dook cringes back from a hit on his snout, turning accusatory eyes upward. One of the carrots lay before him. It points at him, and then the bag. “!nimkiP”

“Foof—“ Dook tears off another piece to gnaw. “Givvie uh mimute.”

The carrot slaps its hands on its hips. Dook pries into some more of this semi salty fruit, content to continue after this.

He leans down to continue, when the chunk is so rudely taken from his jaws. Dook reaches out and snaps his many teeth around the fruit, snarling low. The carrot jerks it back, craning his neck. The spaniel growls wildly around the flesh, eyes wide and pupils pinpricked.

The carrot is unrelenting and doesn’t give away on its hold, bending itself backwards with its force.

Dook jerks it back, pulling the carrot back and forth. The little creature whines, eyes pinched with exertion. Dook snarls louder in response, the skin on his snout crinkled deep like valleys.

The other carrots usher over at the signs of struggle, and each one of them take to the struggling carrot, pulling on its waist. Dook begins to slip as they pull. His paws slap on the rock, kicking up dust. He slides his paw as he’s dragged, and it catches a jagged piece of rock, slicing clean across his palm.

Dook’s grip loosens enough that the chunk slips from his teeth. The carrots all fall back in a line of dominoes, ending with the last carrot falling into the bushes.

Dook eyes the chunk in the creature's hand with his teeth bared, drool dripping down his chin onto the ground. The firstmost, greedy carrot jumps to its feet, holding the chunk above its head.

Dook’s vision goes dark.

He awakens to screaming.

His vision turns just in time for Dook to have that thing’s arm in his mouth, biting down harder than he’s ever felt before. There’s something welling up under the skin, pooling around his teeth.

The carrot lays underneath him, shrieking. All of the rest of the carrots around him. Shrieking.

He inside. Shrieking.

Jaws unrelenting he holds that arm fiercely, teeth sunk so far in he swears he can feel some kind of bone.

Let go of the damn thing!

It hurt me.

You did that to yourself!

I’m so hungry.

Its not food, tha’ wasn’ YOUR food!

I’m still so hungry.

Let it GO.

This has far more protein than fruit.

It’s alive ‘n breathin’.

Not for much longer.

The bone snaps between his jaws with so much force that he jerks back from it, licking over his teeth.

The carrot falls to the ground, clutching its snapped arm. Its chest heaves, dark eyes stuck on the monster before it.

Dook peddles closer, eyeing the creature’s orange skin. The carrot flinches and whines. Its arm remains twisted in an awful angle, dotted over its entirety with pinpricks of blood. His nose twitches with a few sniffs, crinkling at the scent.

The spaniel bumps against something solid. He takes the chunk in his mouth, backing away from the carrot.

He flops back down with said chunk, paws atop it, dug in deep.

The carrot refuses to move.

He didn’t kill it.

You sure scared the hell outta it tho’.

It’s still alive.

Do ya really think they trust ya ta stay with them now?

Dook lifts his eyes to the carrots above the other. They all just stare. Watching him. Looking for another moment where he lets his guard down to take away his food. It’s not gonna happen again. He let the first guy off with a warning.

This is HIS food.

Just this piece is all he wants right now.

But what if they try to take it again?

They already took his helmet away from him, leaving him susceptible to injury that he can’t quite fix.

It already feels like his brain is far beyond fixing.

His body is far beyond fixing.

The spaniel slides the chunk closer to him, sheltering it beneath his chest. His fingertips sting lightly. He licks over the pain, tongue catching. His unmatching eyes swipe over the sight.

Cat’s claws. Clear and hooked, just under his actual claws.

Dook laps across the shine of slick nails, careful of the point.

The carrotmin huddle together around their fallen brother as it shivers, holding its shattered bone, arm limp.

One breaks free from the group, dipping into the tall grass. Another goes to the bag. Dook eyes it warily.

That creature hops atop the grass satchel, going to the top of it, little three fingered hands start to pull at the tube holding the bag together, his helmet swinging as it’s disturbed.

The creature takes, and hops down with the stone dome, ushering off into the grass before he can think to run after it for his things.

He can’t think very well at all.

He’s too hungry to think.

But if he eats this now, he’ll have nothing left.

A vicious cycle one’s life is.

The grass rustles behind him. Dook’s head whips back.

“Ghlk—!” He chokes. In moments his shoulders are struck with a painful force. The spaniel bounds to his feet, rushing. He falls flat only a few short inches later, turning, spatting and hissing in a way his chords couldn’t ever do.

His helmet lays upon his head, stuck there now. Dook kicks and tosses himself at the sounds of ushering steps, yowling to the open air.

The entire group surrounds him, slapping tiny hands down on him, forcing him down flat. The spaniel snaps wildly, unable to wrap his teeth around anything outside his helmet. He takes his own ear into his mouth, whipping his head back and forth while he paws at the clear dome. His hands are forced back down.

Violet rope wraps around and around his chest, over his shoulders, around his neck, under his ribs. The familiar feeling only serves to make him struggle more, gurgling in response to tarnished memories.

The carrots all leave at once, jumping back from him.

Dook bolts to all fours, pupils shot with fury as he lets free a barrage of sounds. Mostly barking. Some whining as he bops his snout into the glass, trying to free himself from the ropes in the only way he knows how to right now.

The spaniel rushes ahead, aiming for a lone carrot. He chokes and cries out as the line goes taught and he’s dragged to the ground, landing on his side against the hard rock.

“!nimkiP” the carrots all cheer, arms above their heads. Well, the one with a broken arm just jumps in the air. Dook growls deep, the sound reverberating harshly. He pants and his chest heaves, restricted by the thick woven lines of grass.

He has to stop to breathe, eyes shutting against the brightness threatening to pierce his skull.

The spaniel rolls onto his stomach, tongue lolling out. Fog basks against the scarlet stained front.

The carrots watch as he struggles for breath.

Dook pats his hands against the clear screen, pulling at it lightly. It’s getting harder to breathe.

His lips smack. Those clear claws he had before? Well he knows where they came from now as they slide into his fingertips, shielding themselves in the protection of soft flesh. Doesn’t help him breathe any better.

Dook’s hands slide over the dome weakly.

He flops over onto his back, the tube of his helmet digging uncomfortably into his spine.

The spaniel lifts a hand up. “I c’n’t bre’the.” He wiggles his fingers. “Iss too tigh’.”

The creatures continue to stare, eyes piercing.

Dook takes it upon himself to lift up, clawing at the tube. He feels up the length. It’s wrapped up in the grass, flattening it completely.

Dook pulls at the material, scratching at the thin lines of grass.

This is gonna be how he goes out.

Wait.

The spaniel shoves both arms beneath him, clawing at the strands.

All of a sudden, the rubber slips, tearing free from the grass binds. It pops back up, opening an airway for him. He takes in a greedy breath of air, gasping and coughing harshly into the helmet, the sound coming from the end of the tube.

Dook rolls over and onto his hands and knees, head bowed to the ground, clear running from his nose, eyes, and mouth.

A long minute passes.

Dook looks back, eyes wide, expression…. Scared.

“What on Earth are ya tryna do to me?! Kill me?!” The spaniel shrieks, rubbing over his chest. “Damn!” He swipes his snout clean, flinching back with a whine.

The carrots all look at each other like they’re mad. Each one of them holds out an arm to their fallen brother. That one similarly clutches its arm. A spike shoves into Dook’s chest.

He doesn’t speak a word.

What the hell did he just do?

What the hell was he just thinking about?

What’s happening to him?

Dook stares, mind fraught with unease.

What’s happening to me?

His arms tuck close to his chest, his bound chest. He holds them out in front of him.

They’re shaking.

There’s still adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He tried to kill that thing.

Dook’s hands slide to his underarms.

He tried to kill it.

What’s happening to him?

Why does he keep flipping so hard? He’s going from emotion to emotion a mile a minute.

But why?

Why?

The spaniel turns, eyes to the grass barrier surrounding them.

What is he doing here?

Why is he still hurting people?

Dook’s chest throws with harsh movement.

All he’s done is hurt people.

He’s selfish.

He deserves to rot on this planet.

The spaniel lowers himself down, a hand to the ground. He sets his head in his palms, bowing into them.

What the hell is happening?

How long has he been up here?

Who the hell even is he?

Why does he…

Why do I feel so uncomfortable in my own skin?

…it’s not mine anymore.

Dook lifts his head, sucking in a good breath.

The group remains as they are, but one of them ushers on to collect the fallen fruit, teeth and claws marks all over it.

His teeth and claw marks.

They look so different now.

Dook’s eyes glaze over the creatures.

The one with the broken arm.

“Ooogh—!” The spaniel stands, whinging as he leans his weight on his swollen foot. He limps forward, taking care to stay off of the lump. “God!”

He peeks down at his foot. It looks absolutely rough. He looks over his hand as it stings, examining a thick cut. Woof.

Hey, that’s what he deserves. God, how much pressure does it take for one to be able to snap a creature’s bone?

How much sanity does he have to lose before he goes completely feral?

Dook stares into the grass as he walks towards it.

He’s already lost control.

Mixed eyes turn to the sky.

Did he ever have any control?

Cassidy.

Jagged teeth slot into cuts on his lips.

Where is Cassidy now, after Dook tore his face to pieces that sorry night?

The spaniel drops to his knees, curling his head to the ground, paws over his neck.

What ever happened to Cassidy after that? He knows of the medical bills he had to pay, the additional cash he sent out for emotional damages. The cash he was required to give on account of Cassidy needing physical therapy to recover.

But he has no idea what happened after that.

Every time he tried to get into contact with the guy, he got no response.

And now it’s to the point where Dook’s not sure if he’s even still alive. Ain’t no way to find out what happened to him, period.

Beach Bear still loves him after all that happened.

He doesn’t deserve that kind of kindness.

Dook already knows he’s gonna rot in hell when this is all over.

That’s why he’s trying his best to instill his faith once again. He never forgot. But he’s neglected it, certainly. He’s been feeding into his own ill desires, the lust, the faggotry, the desire for a body matching his own, the—

Those thoughts.

Not queer ones, the…

The frillyness. Frilly clothing, silk clothing.

Clothing with no pants, but a sheer tan of pantyhose to cover his too thick, too manly legs.

Those… thoughts…

Of dress wear…

That he shouldn’t wear.

His head thunks on the ground.

His brain is so scrambled that he’s jumping from one thing to the dang next like a jackrabbit on a greased griddle. God if Cassidy knew where he was he wouldn’t blame the guy if he gunned him down in the streets like a sick horse.

But then again.

What if he really did come back to finish him off?

Well he’s in space right now so—

The spaniel falls to his side with a short yelp, tugged onto his arm by a whip of a grass rope. He follows the line, the rope connecting his chest to the hand of the orange creatures.

His brows pinch. “Hey, I’m not yer damn pet!” The spaniel huffs, lifting up onto his hands and knees, gently rising up to his toes. A finger points to the group. “I don’ like bein’ treated like no pet dog.”

The carrots all look at each other.

Dook’s eyes slip across them.

They land on the lone, incapacitated creature.

His teeth sink into his lip.

Well. Damn.

His arms fling into the air. “Alright, I owe y’all one anyway! Least I can do is provide some entertainment, huh?” The spaniel huffs. But he cocks his head.

Entertainment is his forte!

THAT’S how he’ll figure this all out.

He claps his hands together, bowing with a sharp cry. “Forgot already, oooh—“ He holds up his un-damaged hand instead. “Ya got any song requests?” He twists that hand into a pointer finger. “You?” Dook gestures to the brittle carrot. The creature jolts. The spaniel tries to not let that get to him.

The silence washes over the crowd.

Dook scratches along his neck.

A heat rises across his neck, slipping down his ears and onto his full cheeks.

The spaniel turns his head, slips a hand under one ear to rub along his sideburns.

He flicks his hand, eyes to the ground. “I’m sahrry, bad time.”

His heart does sting.

The carrots all turn. A few go to the bag, while another goes to the edge of the grass, pulling at long strands. Dook walks across the stone, steps quick as he can go. His ankle’s starting to feel cold.

He passes by the downed carrot without a single look down besides from the corner of his eye, hesitant to scare it once more.

The orange creature backs from him as he approaches, regardless of how close he actually is. Dook moves past it to one of the others. The carrotmin struggles as it pulls on the grass, yanking harshly.

Dook reaches above it and grapples the strand, whacking at its hands in a display he often forgets is more rude than just simply asking it to move. The creature looks up to him anyway. He flicks his fingers, shooing it away with a sheepish smile. He wiggles his hand back and forth in the only way he can to tell this thing that he’s not mad.

The carrot steps away, its little eyebrows pocked. Dook takes a hold of the stalk lower down, hunching to take its base in his hands at the ground.

He pulls free from the squat to yank at the strand with all his might, grunting with the force.

“MMHHHHG— nope.” Dook’s fingers slide from it. “Damn. Tha’s some tough shit there.” He wipes along his forehead like he’s sweating, but it’s still quite cold up here. He’s really well insulated in his suit though. Probably because his fur’s growing in again.

Might be better to keep it long now.

Dook shakes his head. “Alright, grab ‘hold of it down ther’.” He takes the strand of grass, handing it to the creature. Dook grasps it lower, pulling back on it harder and with more palm action. He gasps in a fit, yanking back and clutching his hand.

The cut lights up with pain, blood welling up and slipping down his wrist with ease. Dook’s head swims, stomach churning. He forces himself away from the sight, holding up his palm as it oozes free. His hand shakes and shivers, wobbling back and forth in the air.

Okay.

He sucks in a breath, and his other hand wraps around his battered limb, squeezing the wound shut. “Mmgh—!”

It’s a lot deeper now, probably because he sliced it even deeper pulling on that grass like that. The blood is slick and slippery. Nasty.

“*snap*”

Dook looks over to see the strand break in half, the long strip laying over the rock. The carrot creature cheers, then proceeds to start ripping at the grass, tearing off long strands.

Dook watches as it goes.

“Can—“ he points to the grass. No. No. He didn’t work for it, he’s not gonna ask for hand outs. Dook continues to hold the two sides of his hand together, cringing at the sting.

The carrot beside him stacks the strips that it pulls off, running up and down the length to pull more off.

Dook turns, studying his cut.

He looks away soon, forcing back a gag. It’s covered in blood already.

Dammit.

It’s probably gonna need stitches.

Well at least he’s got—-

Nope.

No, he left his sewing case on the ship. And if he knew where his ship was, why would he be following these guys?

The spaniel watches as the blood bubbles and drips down his hand.

It’s absolutely disgusting.

Shit.

His eyes turn around and around, searching. For what? He doesn’t know. Something?

The carrot looks up from its activities. Dook looks up as well, having been watching from the corner of his eye as he sought.

The creature points to him, then it points to its own hand. Dook holds out his paw, palm soaked.

The carrot stands, clearly curious. It approaches. Dook’s paw shakes. Dark eyes peer over the injury.

A finger prods at it. Dook hisses free from his own will, growling under his breath. The carrot jolts back.

It examines its finger.

Then pops it into its mouth.

Dook gags violently, bending over as it cinches his stomach. The carrot smacks its little mouth, looking down at its cleaned digit.

It looks to Dook. Its finger curls, beckoning him over. The spaniel holds his hand to his chest, smearing scarlet down the silver. And he knows for sure that's gonna be hell to get out. But it's not exactly the first thing on his mind.

“Absolut’ly not, yer not drinkin’ mah blood ya messed up vampire— creature— th—thing!” Dook backs away. “Y’all really are some lil’ cult, aren’tcha? Drinkin’ blood and weavin stuff outta grass— nah yer not— yer not vampires. You’re—“ the spaniel jumps back onto the rock as he steps into the tall grass. “Yer witches! Y’all got some kin’a evil in ya! I’m not doin’ it! Nuh-uh-uh! No!” The spaniel turns, walking himself into the grass. “I’m done, i’m not doin’ it anymore, no siree, I’m not joining no cult, no witch pack, and I'm sure as heaven ain’t no bloodsucka’.” He trudges forward, stepping through the tall tall grass. “I ain’t doin’ i— iiiiiiiiiii—-“

The spaniel freezes, inches from a set of milky white eyes. They’re encased in a shadow, beaming like jewels. Dook swiftly turns back around, following the line of grass woven around his chest to find his way back. He steps out of the woods and walks towards the group, going exactly the opposite direction of those eyes. “Yeah y’know what? I’m gonna stay wit y’all and we might wanna start runnin’ cuz I’m pretty sure I jus’ saw sumthin’ lookin’ back at me and it wasn’t tha man in the mirra’.” The spaniel snaps with his unmarred hand. He then points. “Let’s go.”

The carrots all look at each other. Dook’s expression drops to that of disbelief. He holds out his hands, pointing to where they came from. “Let’s. GO! Are all y’all crazy??” He tugs on the line. The carrot falls over.

Dook’s jaw drops at them.

The carrot remains fallen.

Horrid whispers begin to brew. Dook struggles with the line, trying to pull it off so he can run without trouble.

The carrots stand stock still.

They’re in on this too, aren’t they? They lured him right to his death. Just like the first thing. Just like that creature in the woods.

He’s gonna die out here.

He chuckles full of insanity.

“I’m in dangerrrrr-heh-er—“ Dook fights with the rope, pulling himself regardless of the other creature. The carrot drags with him, absolutely motionless.

A dark shadow casts over them all.

Huge, piercing white eyes shine through the fog of dark shadow.

Dook looks away from its eyes, dropping low, covering his head with his paws on his helmet. “Ohhhh I don’ wanna die— I don’ wanna die out here please—“

He’s gonna die— He’s gonna die— He’s gonna die— He’s gonna die— he’s gonna die

Ooh God he’s gonna die horribly on this godforsaken planet.

Dook looks up above him, expecting to be struck as soon as he does. The shadow is gone.

Still, he remains as he is. No way it’s not still here.

The birds chitter lively in the forest. Which makes him think that there’s something more dangerous posing as birds. He hasn’t seen a single one yet.

The line on his chest tugs.

Dook cranes an eye up.

The carrot beckons him along with small pulls, holding to the grass strands like a leash.

“Shitchu ain’t gotta tell me twice man!” Dook scurries to his feet, drops onto all fours from the pain, and hobbles his way over, wobbling with each step. Whatever! Whatever! As long as he’s not actually dead he’ll follow along to these weird death defying rules as long as he can. Screw it!

“I swear ta God ABOVE I’m not comin’ back here when my fixed is ship! JEEZUS!” The spaniel shouts to the ground. He finally comes to the side of the carrotmin. The creature turns, and soon, they all start into the grass.

Dook trundles along, careful for each wound that he has. His foot, and now his hand. And of COURSE they’re on the same side of his body.

He clutches his fist as he walks, trying to beat back the blood flow.

This stupid goddamn alien planet is the worst place he’s ever been to and he was on that dwarf planet for probably MONTHS.

But at least he had a friend to talk to…

Dirt crunches under heavy weight, teeny tiny granules wedging into nicks of flesh. Dook trundles along behind much of the group, sun beaming down on him, absolutely sweltering in the high sun. Sweat beads and trickles down his neck not unlike a crisp, cool Pop, but alas, he has nothing of the sort. Not even water to bate his parched throat.

And there’s another thing.

He’s had to wizz for whoever knows how long and that dam is right on the edge of being blown straight through. ‘Course he tried to tell these carrots the best way he could, seeing as he’s on a goddamn leash now. But they really don’t seem to get the concept of relieving one’s self when Dook hasn’t seen not one of those creatures pop a squat behind a tree.

He’s forced to continue on, hoping and praying that God has mercy and they’ll only be walking for a little bit longer. Or even just some shade would be nice. Maybe a drink of water?

One of the carrots bounds to his side, rushing from the back of the line. Dook jolts, head whipping behind him for the danger. The carrot does as well, jerking to a stop.

The two carrotmen behind them freeze absolutely stock still.

There’s nothing there.

Dook looks up at the carrot who started this. “What? Ya got a probl’m?”

The carrot shakes its head, similarly confused. Dook scoffs, toeing along on his paws. “Alright. Keep it movin’.” He folds his fingers against his palm. It’s sticky now, somewhat dried, but every odd step he takes reopens the damn thing. He growls under his breath, furious with the events at hand. But he can’t do anything about it but voice his distaste to himself.

Damn, he has to pee.

But he’s gonna have to wait or force the carrot men to stop so he can. And he’s not really a fan of announcing when he’s gotta go to a bunch of strangers. But if it gets any worse in the next five minutes they’re all stopping for a quick break or he’s biting one of them again. And he’s fully conscious this time.

A hand sets atop his back.

Dook cranes his neck, clearly confused. An orange limb now rests upon his arched spine. He carries on even if it’s weird, cuz it’s not stopping him or anything.

As he walks that hand swipes up and down his spine, avoiding the canister strapped to his waist. Dook turns his head once more to look the carrot in the eye.

The creature doesn’t move under his vision, merely petting across his back in response. Dook halts his movement. The carrot stops as well. Dook leans forward as the leash around him pulls, the carrier of the line soon stopping, turning on a dime.

The group around him falls still.

“Are you tryna pet me righ’ now?” The spaniel points between himself and the other. The carrot man holds up its hand and swipes it down the front of the helmet. Dook cocks his head, eyebrows pinched. “What??”

“.teP” The carrot responds. It moves lower, running its hand over Dook’s stomach. It should be well-rounded. But it’s starting to lose a bit of poomph. But the creature cares not. Dook lifts his arms out of confusion, watching as the carrot swipes its hand down his jumpsuit.

The spaniel shakes his head, turning to continue walking. The one holding to his binds turns with him, stepping along as he does. They all begin to move again, slowly but surely.

That hand comes to rest upon his back, caressing the arches along either side of his spine. Dook shivers audibly, releasing an odd wavery sound as each side is brushed over. It feels weird. But it doesn’t hurt to do it now.

Curious, he shifts. The hand splays over the center of one of the arches, pressing down onto it. Dook’s spine curves in with it, that whole side of his back flinching wildly.

The spaniel sighs. It’s something else under there for sure. Whether it’s an arm, or a foot, or some kind of weird modification that Clooney probably asked him if he wanted when he was high out of his mind on pain killers.

He wouldn’t have ever agreed to have hands in his knees.

Dook huffs, allowing the creature to pet down his back. The more it does, the less it starts to flinch and flicker under the weight.

It’s a start at least, and Dook continues to walk on with that in his mind.

This is a start.

It’s gonna be a long journey.

The spaniel jumps to his feet suddenly, pulling at the grass strands. He just remembered how bad he’s gotta pee and that teetering feeling? Yeah, it’s leaning really hard to one side.

“ALRIGHT YER COMIN’ WIT’ ME, BUCKLE UP!” Dook turns heel and sprints straight towards the trees, clutching the rope like a lifeline. The carrot at the lead falls back on its flat ass, kicking up dirt as it slides between the thin lines of grass.

Halfway to the trees Dook stops.

The sound of multiple snaps and buckles sounds out. He does blush a bit at all the noise he’s making. But he had to put in all the snaps and zippers down there to make sure he didn’t freeze his dick off, like literally.

The last zipper goes down and now comes the short search.

Once procured, it’s no battle. Alleviation is the complete opposite of a chore. While he’d rather keep something like this to his lonesome, he doesn’t have the strength in him to give a single damn about being watched. Potentially. Well, he’s not looking! He’s busy!

Dook’s finger shifts along his skin, pushing just to y’know. Aim a bit better.

His finger brushes a solid bump.

You’re fuckin’ kiddin’.

It’s a really small bump, but it’s there and it doesn’t feel like skin. More like metal. Dook lifts his eyes to the sky, content to just ignore it for a couple more minutes so he can do just one thing in peace. He’s seriously debating just stripping down and checking every part of his body that he can. He’ll even stick some fingers in some unsavory places if that means he knows that there’s nothing wrong in there.

He leans forwards as the stream bates, leaning up on his toes and off of the lump. Dook sighs, huffing to himself. It’s a mix of breath from the relief and also a bit of huffing because this rodeo is definitely not over yet.

The sound as it hits the dirt is disturbing, but simultaneously brings back some childhood memories, in a weird way.

“Dook! Honey! No!” He can hear his mom call now. Little Dook turns from what he’s doing, a similar action to his elder counterpart.

“What, Mama?!” He’d cry, watching as his mother steps down from the back steps, the screen door shutting with a bang. Fifi groans out loud. “Yer peein’ on my cayennes, Dookie! I thought I told ya ta pee on the irises! Yer gonna be tastin’ that when you’re beggin’ for peppers later.” His mother stands next to him now, arms crossed, just watching as this all goes down.

The puppy looks between the two plants in his mother’s garden. They look very different from each other. Sorry little sky blue eyes land on a darker navy. Fifi shakes her head.

But a smile washes over her face.

Her hands plant on her hips. “Ohh, yer too darn cute ta scold. If yer not tastin’ pee when I pick ‘em I’ll let ya have em. Yer brothers are gon be really mad when they figure it out why all mah peppers taste like that.”

“Oh.” Little Dook looks to the ground. He lifts a hand to scratch his face. That hand is locked in an iron grip. Fifi guides his hand back down. “Yeah, keep a hold on that. Yer father ain’t been teachin’ ya, has he?” The pittie asks. Dook shakes his head. “Nah. Willie Bill did! He showed me real good tha otha’ day! Look! No hands!” The spaniel puppy throws up his hands, shows off a great big white smile. Fifi returns it, but with a sigh.

“Yeah, I should’ve figured.” She hums, looking to the house behind them. She taps on Dook’s shoulder, guiding his hands back down. “You finishin’ up there? How long has it been since ya father took ya to potty?”

Dook points to the backdoor.

“He let me play outside umm…” He looks to the ground. The sounds of liquid hitting the dirt have stuck in his mind for years now, now that he’s well and full grown. But his little puppy brain works hard.

“I don’ remember when Pop Pop let me out.” Little Dook lifts his hand once again. His mother yet again has to stop him from scratching his face or rubbing his eye. “It’s okay hun, just focus on peein’.”

The two stand in silence for a bit. Fifi stands up suddenly. “You don’t REMEMBER?!”

“NO!” He shouts, flinching away horribly hard. His mother bows down, wrapping an arm around him as his chest heaves. “No, no, Dook, honey, it’s okay. I’m not mad. Just focus on—“

Her eyes come down.

Well, he’s done peeing in the peppers.

Fifi leans back, studying the darkened splotch over her hairdresser’s apron. Dook steps back, tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sarry, Mami.”

Fifi sighs, but she lets a smile brighten her worn features. “It’s okay, Dookum. You’re dirty anyway. I think we’re gonna both need a shower. Ya wanna run one with me?”

Little Dook’s eyes remain down. Fifi hums. “Honey it’s okay.”

“Papi’s gon’ whoop me.” He snivels. Fifi’s expression drips like her sadness. “Oh, Dook. No, baby, no. He’s not gon’ whoop ya. I’m gon’ make sure of it. I’m gonna talk to your father. You know he’s been through a lot with the war and all. He’s been gettin’ angry cuz he can’t sleep at night and—“ She cocks her head. “It’s not your fault honey.”

“Okay.” The little spaniel nods solemnly. He brushes his hands down his pants. “Blech!”

“Just don’ touch it honey, it’s okay.” Fifi settles herself straight, groaning as her back strains. “Ooh— okay. Yeah. Let’s get you on inta that house now. Yer fur’s gonna stink like Heaven when ya get that offa ya.” She reaches down and takes his hand. Fifi turns it over. “Why— where didja get my gardenin’ gloves?”

“In the shed!” Little Dook throws a hand to the big ol’ shed in the corner of that huge backyard. Fifi gapes. “Alone?!”

“No.” Dook points to the house. “Willie went with me. He got his mowercicle out when he let me out ta potty.”

“Oh Lord help me now.” The pitbull looks to the sky, crossing her hand over her heart. She takes in a deep breath. “Okay, Dook, hun. I’m gonna need you to go wait for Major in the living room for me, and me and your father are gonna have a little talk. I’m not gonna be able to get inta tha shower with ya tonight.”

“Ohhhh…” The little puppy whines, and I mean fully whines, piercing in his throat. Fifi bends, gathering her wet son to hold to her hip. “I know baby, but it’s important. You can turn on Hanna Barbera while you’re there!” She offers. “I know The Jetzon’s is on right about now.”

“But showerin’ wit’ Mamaz is important to ME!” Dook kicks his chunky legs, slapping down his hands on her shoulders. Fifi grunts, holding her chest. “Kicked a boob, Dook. That hurt.”

“Oh.” The spaniel leans against her harder. Fifi chuckles. “Can I get an apology frum ya or am I done holdin’ ya for tonight? Yer too old ta be held.”

“I’m neva’ too old.” He nods proudly. Fifi shakes her head. “That’s a no on the apology?”

“No.” Dook holds his head up high. “I’m sowwy fo’ kickin’ you.”

Fifi snorts.

“Let’s just take that shower first.”

Dook blinks away the visions in his head.

Huh.

Y’know he remembered a lot more of that moment than he thought he did. Like. Almost word for word he can recall what happened.

That’s…

Weird.

But it’s not something he’s gonna take for granted. That’s some actual useful skill he didn’t have as well before.

Well hey, if he’s gonna remember stuff more, that’s great.

He adjusts himself, doin’ a little flick flick, then fixing the myriad of snaps and zippers on his jumpsuit. Space suit. Spacesuit. Yeah. Spacesuit.

Dook turns around, stepping forward on his toes.

Holy fuck.

His hands slap to his head, actually hitting the helmet.

What the hell does his mom think of all this? He really forgot to fuckin’ tell her about the spaceship? What the fuck? What—?

The spaniel throws his hands down, raising one to try to bite his knuckle but that’s not an option right now, and also ew.

His mother thinks he’s dead. There’s no way. He never got the time on the computer to try to contact Looney Bird, there’s no way for him to get to his ship right now.

What about his brothers? Just—

Oh god.

Dook drops down onto his hands and toes, following along the carrot guy as he pulls Dook to continue, shaking its little head.

Y’know what? He’s just not gonna think about it right now. That’s not something he has time to think about. He needs to find his ship. He needs to find it, get on that computer, and try to figure something out, or God help him he’s gonna murder himself to get off of this rock.

He growls to himself.

Well suicide’s not an option if he wants to get into heaven so he’s just gonna have to batten down and get his shit together, get off of this rock, and God have it he’s gonna marry Beach Bear when he gets down there because he’s wasted far enough time already just pussy footing around the situation.

Damn, he’s a dumbass!

Man!

He’s hungry again!

When is the misery gonna end?!

It’s not even that much longer that all of them have to stop. This time it’s not of their own accord.

A towering clifftop scrapes the tip of the sky, the wind whipping around the limits of stone. Dook raises to a stance, studying the rock face. He turns, instead, he guides his view to the horizon, the sun blinding in his eyes.

He spots a rock bulging from the ground. In actuality, it’s a pebble. Dook hobbles to it, lifting up, and placing his foot atop the stone, resting his elbows on his knee.

The wind howls, the sun catches in his eyes.

Rising music plays in his head. Trumpets, violins, specifically.

His hand holds out to the star in the sky. “A blue sun’s close enough, right? I know it’s dumb cuz there’s not two of em, but—”

The carrot behind him shrugs. Dook throws his hand down, returning to his stance. “Whateva’.”

The music still plays.

The spaniel faces into the bright, hot sun.

“Whooph—!” He turns, pulling at the collar of his spacesuit, billowing the fabric. He steps away from the rock. “Damn hot out here, makin’ my brain cook; I don’ know anythin’ ta say tha’s cool or nuthin’. Dang.” Dook takes in a hot breath, puffing it out. He pants, tongue out in a curl. “S’cuse me.”

He lifts up the lip of the helmet, letting the dry air hit his tongue. It retreats, licking over his cheeks inside. It’s like rubbing sandpaper together. He runs his fingers over his throat.

“‘right.” It clears with a jolt of noise. “So wuzz tha plan?” His voice rasps. Reminds him too much of his father. What would his Pops think of him now? Prob’ly laugh at him. Or slap the stupid outta him. Or both.

He waves his hand even though the thoughts are in his head. Dook turns, staring over the horizon.

A dark grey cloud rises from the trees from a great distance away. His heart sinks. But it’s— it can’t be his ship. There’s nothing on—

His ship COULD’VE caught on fire. But why would it do it now? Maybe it’s just because he wasn’t looking high enough before.

His eyes go down.

Welp.

They’re really high up.

That counts for something.

Dook faces the carrots once again. They all huddle together. He stands there, looking where they had just come from.

Cool, okay. So he’s just gonna wait ‘till they get that sorted.

A small pull on the rope simply makes it swing around. Dook approaches, careful, toeing on the big chunks of dirt, pushing past tall strands of grass.

The creatures lift when he arrives all in a row, eyes on him, little frowny mouths agape as always. Dook lifts up his hands. “What?”

“Ooh!” Dook gasps, wobbling as he’s picked up like a pebble and lifted above their heads. They all grunt as they hold him, carrying him back the way he came and rather quickly at that.

Annnnd they’re headed right to the cliff.

Dook flinches. “Wait no! Whatta you doin’?! Why’d ya leash me just ta kill me?! Humiliation?!” The spaniel wobbles, attempting to roll free from their hands. Tiny fingers grip him instead, hefting him off to his deathbed.

Dook cries to himself, fighting against their hold. “Please! Please don’ throw me ova’! I’ll be good for ya! I can jus’ go! I don’ wanna go ova’ anotha’ cliff! That’s gonna be twice! Twice now! You really want death on ya hands? Huh?! IT’S NOT FUN!” He pulls wildly, whining as hands push into his back. “Ooh-! C’mon, please! I’m beggin’ ya, don’t!”

The edge of it becomes clearer and clearer. Dook kicks for the nearest head he can find. The carrot bends with a squeak, rubbing over its head. The arms only wrap tighter, restricting his legs. Dook laughs boisterously, wheezing and panicked. “This’s the woist year of my life. It’s not even February. God help me.” He slaps his hands together behind his back. “Please jus’ help me!”

His stomach lurches when they stop suddenly. Dook whinges. He clings to the hands on his hips, the closest thing his hands can reach. He faces one down one last time, eyes desperate.

“Please.”

He’s swung back and then out, arms all released. Wind greets him instead of dirt.

He’s in the sky again.

His heart is lurched.

The feeling of weightlessness takes him over. He watches the sky, watches as the rocks fall from him. He falls from the rocks. It’s the same now.

Looks like he really will die today.

“KGRP—“ His stomach absolutely explodes with the force he’s caught, guts shooting up his throat and killing his spine. Everything lights up in his back with white hot pain, singing his sorry nerves. He has no time to even think. “H-ugh—!“

The grass binds catch his fall, but they send him careening towards hard, solid rock, the air in his ears screaming like eagles.

Dook holds to the grass as he flies, legs out, fingers gripped because death is certainly an option here.

The rock comes closer and closer. Dook bends his knees back, hoping and praying that anything he does might work.

His soles slam into the rock and shoot shockwaves up all the way to his teeth, knocking a migraine into his head and shocking his entire skeleton. His foot burns horrible, pounding with beats of his heart.

Dook leans back on the support, chest heaving madly. “Fuh-huck—“

He huffs and puffs.

“OOOOGH-!!” He screeches loud, just to bate off the pain. He’d much rather cut off his foot than continue to deal with this.

He slaps a hand down onto his thigh. The inside is sticking to his skin, and now it feels all weird. Perfect.

He pats down his calves. With what hand?

The one coming from his hip of course.

Dook shakes his head, smiling softly to himself.

That’s actually pretty fuckin’ cool. Excuse his language. But dang, can’t that be excused for once? That’s pretty sick to have four arms. And ones he can control at that.

He moves the hands. Only the right one actually shifts. He shrugs. Close enough, that’s something he’ll work on.

But now he’s gotta figure out how to get off the side of this goddamn cliff and give those assholes an earful.

“AYY!” Dook calls up. “I HOPE YOU FINE FUCKERS KNOW I’M STILL ALIVE AND I’M PISSED!”

“?niM’” A head peeks over the edge. Dook points up to it. “Pull me up righ’ now or I swear ta everythin’.”

“!niM” The creature points a sharp finger. Dook aims his finger harder. “NAH! I’m done. I’m absalutely done wit this shiet. Pull me up.”

The carrot continues to point. Dook looks towards where it’s aiming.

He shakes his head. “You betta’ naht be tryna get me to go inta that damn cave.”

Sure enough, right below him lays a huge, dark opening in the cliff face. He shivers at the mere thought of going in there. “I’m naht goin’. Y’all can! I’m naht. Maybe if y’all got bat killer but I’m STILL not testin’ that.”

The carrot looks down at him absolutely deadpan. He narrows it down. “I know which one you are, ya dick.”

The carrot lifts up a portion of the rope, sliding a flat hand back and forth in the air, right in front of the line. “Don’ you dare.”

The creature continues to motion. Dook rolls his eyes. “Yeah, fine. I’d ratha’ take my chances with dying than choose death willin’ly.”

He begins to toe across the rock face, placing his bare feet on the jagged pieces.

The rock slots deep into his skin, absolutely raw on the bottom. The lump is gone, but so is his skin there, the patch of skin left dangling with just a wet slab of meat where his soles should be covering it.

It hurts so bad he can’t even make a noise, instantly his eyes well up with tears, slipping down his scarred nose and slapping against the glass.

He lifts his foot, cradling it with that new hand he’s got. Dook lets it go with a horrid whimper, holding his left foot to the wall, bowing his head back to bite off a full on scream in his throat.

He has to lay down as soon as possible, get something to fix that as soon as possible holy fuckin’ god—

“DAYUM! FUCK! OHH FUCK!” Dook’s voice screeches in the treetops. “AAARAAAGH—!”

Bright white spots fly from the leaves, cawing as they go.

Deep panting echoes across the rockface. Ungloved fingers dig into the rock, clutching not only for security, but to bate away the pain.

It does not.

Dook takes to pushing at the stone, padding across the dark slate and pulling himself closer and closer to the cave. He’s above it, sort of. Like, to the side and above it. Grunged teeth sink into his lip, a distraction from the searing pain in his limb.

His eyes crane up, searching. That carrot man stands above, searching the skies. Dook whips his head back.

The pearly dots swoop around in the skies together.

Dook slows his roll a little, hanging his injured foot out and away from the jagged stone. Even moving his ankle makes it stab like a steel blade.

The cawing begins again.

Dook peeks up at the so-called birds. He doesn’t believe for one second that those are birds. He continues his trek, wary of the creatures.

This cave better be nice. Better be decked out. If he gets up in there and there’s not at least a mat to lay on he’s gonna do something drastic. He doesn’t know specifically what— he might start a little tussle or something, but he’s not in the condition for it.

He doesn’t have any booze either. And he’s not exactly willing to break his streak this long in just because he’s mad. Also because if he gets down to Earth after this is all over, Beach Bear would undoubtedly beat the shit out of him with his own drums like the man promised him ages ago.

And Dook MADE him promise to do that. So he’s not looking to have a drum slammed into his throat anytime soon.

But it WOULD be Beach Bear doin’ it to him, so what’s the problem? If it were different circumstances besides Dook drinking that had Beach Bear fighting him in some way, he would take that chance in a heartbeat.

What he wouldn’t give for a tussle with the man right now. Not like, right now right now. He’s meaning if he WASN’T busted to hell and back now.

He WOULD settle for some cuddles.

It's already been too many nights without his cuddle buddy.

…Beach Bear’s too pretty to love somebody who looks like roadkill.

Dook pauses, eyes drifting to the sky. The birds continue to circle. He speeds up at the sight. They’re too small to be vultures, but he wouldn’t match their size to peacefulness just yet.

His foot slips, sending down a cyan shower of dirt and dark rock towards the miles high drop below them.

Dook catches himself on that newfound arm, pressing its palm to the belly of his spacesuit and as such it presses to the rockface. It’s taking the pressure off of that jagged cut down his palm, the wound stinging and bubbling with blood as it once again pulls itself open with a slick slide.

He continues to guide himself along the rock, peeking above himself once more. That carrot he knows is moody stays watching, the line no longer in its hands. Dook stops.

“Dude! Hey! Lift that up a bit! S’rubbin’ full on knife rock, man!” The spaniel’s fingers dig into the stoneface, actually grabbing a hold of it instead of pushing against it. Vertigo makes his head spin. He throws up a hand while he bows his head to the ground, eyes squeezed. “Yer gonna snap the grass!”

“?kiP” Dark eyes center on his. And then the rope. The carrot squeals, jumping to gather the line in its little hands. It tugs, hefting Dook up a bit, and taking the frayed line off of the sharp stone. Dook puffs out a breath, hooking his toes on that good foot into the rock. It takes a bit of the weight off the carrot, and the line.

He maneuvers across accordingly, taking gentle steps across the vertical slate, taking every foothold he can.

The cawing continues.

A glimpse above tells him little. Dook has to continue regardless. The entrance of the cave is getting closer and closer, beckoning him to its safety. If the carrots trust it, he’s gonna give it a shot. So far they’ve only gotten him hurt, not killed.

His foot stings and pulses like clockwork, a sickly liquid dripping down his clawed toes and over the rockface. It’s sticky between each one, awful to feel since he still has to use the toes on that bad foot to step across little by little.

Noises like a tarp fluttering in the wind suddenly grab hold of his ears, craning them back along with his neck.

“Ah-!” Dook tucks his head to the rock, avoiding the swipe of a piercing white shadow. It’s not long before more come down, the glitters of his spacesuit flying off with the speed of the flock of creatures. Dook curls further.

The cries of the birds become louder now, all to the right of him. He chances a look, brows pocked and panting lightly.

“SCREEEEEEE—!” “Agh—!” Feathers slap against his helmet. Dook's fingers scrape along the rock as he slides down, only caught by the tautness of the rope. His chest squeezes, the grass binds have tightened by the pull. Dook scrabbles for a hold, claws scraping on the rock wildly. That bird that shocked him silly soars away, rounding about in the sky, and careening right back down. The spaniel holds up his arms in front of his face.

The thing tears a rip straight across his arm, shredding both his jumpsuit and the skin beneath it with razor sharp blades. “Shit—!” His arm is cradled to his chest, searing with pain. “Dammit!”

Above him, the carrots cry, the one that he can see drops the line. He can feel as the rope loosens, thankfully. The dramatic carrot runs off, leaving dread in his heart. And fury.

“No, no, NO! You get yer little ass back here RIGHT the— NOW! Y’all are NOT LEAVING ME HERE!” His voice echoes shrilly in the glass. Makes his ears hurt. Still it doesn't top the amount of pain in his body.

His heart pounds, but that’s absolutely awful with how much blood it’s got pumping in him and out of him now. His whole right side is about to be put out of commission if he gets hurt any further on it. He snarls full of fury for the situation, absolutely pissed with his circumstances.

“SCRAAAAAAAW—!” Another dives straight for his face, blocked once again by his arms. He slaps himself multiple times in his mind because his dome is the only thing that actually serves him protection and he’s blocking THAT instead of any other soft part of his body.

There’s yet another cut on his arm, slashed across the same damn cut as the first. His lip takes a good beating from his jagged and misplaced teeth, sunk deep into the flesh to bate off a scream.

Suddenly, a cacophony of roars throws from the skies. Dook’s eyes meet just in time to see all of the carrots jump right off the cliff, sending themselves down with absolutely nothing but pure will. He gapes at the sight, absolutely certain of his and their own death.

They all just fall, straight down, hitting the leaves with a violent force.

The line stays taut.

Dook stares down at where they fell.

You’re joking. You’re really pulling his fuckin leg now. There’s no way.

They just jumped off the damn cliff.

The spaniel has to stop just to hold his hands out towards that disaster. “What the HELL were you people thinking?! Thanks fo’ leavin’ me ta DIE!” He cups his hands around his mouth even if it does nothing.

One bird darts past him and up, spiraling down towards him. This is all on him now. He’s not gonna die on this cliff face, not like this. Dook steadies himself, readying his stance, leaning to the left.

He pushes hard and he’s flung backwards on the line, throwing himself in an arc away from the creature. It slams into the rock below with a splatter of deep blue. “Whoooo-!” The cave comes closer and closer as he soars, reaching out for the embrace of darkness.

Inches away from the cave, the line snaps right in two. The strands become limp.

The momentum he had throws him down, aiming for that stone entrance. He has hope yet. Even as his back throws wildly,

He’s got hope.

Dook slams into the rock with a sick crunch, his breath forced from his lungs, and with it, the taste of copper splatters across the stone. His claws drag on it, slipping away from the material, inches from being in the cave.

A soft strip of fabric wraps around his injured hand from the darkness, yanking and tugging. Dook’s complaints bubble out blood and bother, tears slipping down his face from a mixture of pain, shock, and horror. The soft tentacle wraps around his wrist, pulling him against the rock. Dook sobs, burbling viciously while his ribs are drug on the stone, leaving him with a searing pain in his chest.

He claws the rock with the only hand he has available, since the one that's stuck in his jumpsuit has nowhere to go. That’s the only motion he can muster now. Spit trickles from his lips like a fountain, choking him. At least, he’s hoping it’s spit.

He hasn’t felt anything worse than this in his life.

That’s all he can think of right now.

Even crying hurts.

He gurks and gags on the hard copper filling his throat, lungs squeezing deeply and sending blood to the front of his spacesuit in a pour. It’s so hard to breathe.

He’s finally dragged up, and then over, laid onto the dirt. Dook can’t think of anything besides how much it hurts, and how uncomfortable he is.

At least one of his thoughts are soothed, when something pushes and shimmies under him, wrapping plush arms around his stomach. Dook is sat up with the creature, forced to be upright in a soft prison. His sputtering becomes more desperate, choking on the blood pooling up his throat.

He just wants to go to bed at this point. Close his eyes and just. Dream of a better day. Where everything’s okay, and he doesn’t hurt. Where he can breathe.

He can't breathe at all right now.

Dook can’t even see who’s holding him.

It’s nice.

He’s not scared. Not scared of these guys, not scared of what’s gonna happen.

He already knows what’s happening to him.

He’s fading off, vision blurred.

There’s a lot of things he still wanted to do in life, but it’s okay. He’s gonna be happy up there, with everybody he used to know.

But.

The band.

His head lulls.

Pitter pitter patter patter, it slaps against the rock, quick, with haste. Fluorescent orange creatures approach from behind, all of them boring scrapes and bruises. The carrots arrive, coming from a tunnel beyond Dook.

The carrots all circle around the stuffed creatures that keep Dook in their arms. A soft teddy bear is the one that holds him upright, a stark white bean-filled plush with a stitched red heart on his chest, a similar red bow around his neck, and a brown, ovular nose.

Its fur is dusty and dingy, covered with blue-ish dirt. And now. Blood.

The carrots come around, centering on their leashed friend.

Not a single movement.

No.

A small one. A snort, a stuttered rise of the chest. Liquid trickles from his lips, down his chin. His body flexes behind him, wavering the fabric taught.

One of the carrots breaks away, feet slamming down in the colored dirt.

The moments pass in silence.

The creature returns, holding a thimble above its head. It slaps it down, the apple green liquid inside jiggling like jello. Once it sets down the thimble, another thing becomes clear in its hand. A shard of glass.

The carrot takes the shard and grabs hold of Dook’s jumpsuit, aiming the sharp point down. The blade slices down the center and to the right, tearing a jagged line into the decades old material. It slices right through all of his hard work.

And then his skin. Dook’s body jolts madly and he burbles foolishly, unable to speak. He snorts and chokes badly, spitting up the mixture of blood and snot right onto his own chin, dripping down to his chest with a splatter across a jungle of slashes and burns.

The carrot slices under his boob, right under his rib. The spaniel burbles wetly. Then the hands go in.

Dook screams absolute bloody murder, so loud, gurgled and shrieking that every one of them flinches away. The carrot does not, determined in its effort.

Dook can’t move enough to get it to stop, merely grasping the wrists, but he’s sure lucid enough to feel every little prod around in his body, digging in his insides like they’re looking for candy. His stomach twists like hell, absolutely primed to spill as soon as it gets the chance.

A hand wraps around his rib, and the pain is indescribable. The spaniel falls limp, completely dead to the world. His stomach cinches in his state, jerking his whole diaphragm, mouth a waterfall. Blood spills down the carrot’s arm.

With the other hand, the carrot scoops up the gel, and then jams its hand into the cavity it’s created, really working its hand up in there and wiping as much of the gel as it can inside and out.

It pulls its hand free, then adjusts its belt. It’s a glowing blue ring, absolutely soaked in coppery blood.

The teddy bear that holds Dook now lifts a single undefined paw, gesturing to the darkness. It grasps a felt line, tugging it gently, releasing it. Pink tentacles slide over the ground, and then the body. Plastic eyes are scratched and faded, leaving them completely white. The felt squid arrives with a needle and thread in hand, the thread a nice silver and the needle bent a bit.

The carrot beckons them over, reaching for the needle. The teddy pats the other’s back, aiming it in the direction needed. The carrot nods to each one, like a thankful gesture.

The needle goes in and out of Dook’s skin with guiding by the carrot, pulling the wound shut in a solid line. It’s quick work for the squid, especially with how big the needle and thread actually are compared to them.

The squid ties off the loop, and the creature takes the metal prick, hesitant. The squid shifts back, a tentacle on its buddy. The carrot takes the glass to cut the thread, releasing the needle from the hold of the string.

They all stay, watching Dook.

The spaniel’s chest rises and falls, stuttered. Its as even as it can be, now.

The teddy bear gently lifts Dook up into its arms, holding him like a child, cradled to its chest. Dook shuffles uncomfortably, coughing and hacking. The popping sound in his throat makes it hurt. The teddy bear turns him onto his side. Dook grunts, angered. He claws into and pulls himself up, somewhat straddling the bear's arm as he’s held there. All three arms grip in like a koala. The one from his hip has no fur at all. His back flexes smoothly, up and back down underneath his tattered suit with an odd slippery sound.

The teddy turns, stepping on bean-filled legs and into the deeper parts of the cave, a tag on its ear swinging and catching in the light. A TY logo rests on the front in solid white letters, bordered with black.

A tag sticks from its tush.

Valentino.

The teddy begins to disappear into the darkness.

They all walk, following behind the shadow of the big bear.

Dook comes to atop a soft material, comfortable here. His entire body hurts. But the bed is nice.

So it was all just a bad dream? Thank everything for that. The soft lights dotted around the room are undoubtedly the Christmas lights he refuses to take out of his and Teddy’s room. This feels like a bed. Not his own bed, but it might be Teddy’s. Dook never got the chance to lie down on that mattress without being wrestled since Teds’ is always calling him dirty. But it doesn’t smell like Teddy.

The spaniel turns, rolling onto his side. His back pulls, but the pain in his ribs are worse. He gasps fitfully, twisting onto his back once more.

Not a dream. He’s not even sure why he thought he could trick himself like that.

The spaniel allows his eyes to peek further. There are indeed lights strung up. Cyan walls greet him, pocked with white stone. Reminds him of a blue cookie, with white chips in it.

He could totally go for a cookie like that if his stomach had a good dinner in it, but lo and behold, his stomach is empty. As such, the thought of eating anything that sweet right now is making it hurt. That, and his teeth, which he hasn't been able to brush whatsoever.

There goes twenty two years of hard work.

He can’t really be that mad about it right now though, because at least Clooney thought to give him his teeth back instead of replacing them with something different.

At least he’s alive.

The spaniel splays his arms out. They lay over his back, somehow. At least it feels that way.

His arms are moved beyond his will. A warm, soft cloth runs over his skin, in a place he can’t quite make out. He shivers hard, the muscles flexing tenderly.

It feels reaaaaaalllyyy good.

A little too good.

But it’s so niceeee…

Dook lets the warm wet cloth run over the skin, the material absolutely heavenly on the deeply sore muscle. It runs over bone as well. Long, thin bone.

He shifts, trying to get himself comfortable a little lower down. Dook sighs breathy, hands resting on his stomach.

That’s too good.

He peeks open an eye. One of the carrots is beside him, sitting on a smoothed pebble. It holds something long and fleshy in its hands, the cloth in one as well. It looks like a blanket of flesh, but Dook can see some bones.

The cloth runs down it, making him shiver.

It made him shiver.

Dook watches on with pinched brows.

The cloth runs down it again, making him gasp. The carrotmin turns, squeezing the rag onto the floor. It dips into a bucket, squeezes it of the dripping black water, and then brushes the steaming hot cloth down his skin once again.

Dook’s skin prickles with goosebumps.

“Whuh the hell is that?” His upper body and weak finger lifts, pointing to the appendage that’s apparently his. The carrot holds up the rag, then points at the bucket. Then holds up all its fingers, tapping those to its chin, which kinda looks like a W.

“I know it’s wata’. I mean. I was hopin’ it wuzz.” He has to lay back down flat, winded already with that ache in his ribs. Dook’s finger trails along his own limb. His hand is grabbed and set back down in a way so familiar. He can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Rude.” He snrks. Dook growls in his throat, a command. “Keep doin’ that.”

The carrot stands. Dook snarls lower. The creature reaches over and whacks his snout. The spaniel rolls his eyes. “What’eva.”

The two of them sit in silence for a bit.

Dook looks over the limb.

More hands, he can plainly see right at the ends. Three of them seem to be inside the flesh, but super thin. His skin there is also quite thin, the light piercing through it.

A wing. Like a bat.

Demon’s wings.

Dook swallows fiercely, looking to the root-filled ceiling.

He’s not gonna cry about that.

He looks to his left.

The same exact thing. Although this wing is covered in a thick yellow slime. It’s cold too.

Dook turns back to the ceiling.

He’s not getting out of bed today.

Hours and hours have ticked by and it’s clear that he really meant that. Dook has not gotten out of the bed since he woke up. Everything’s fucked up so why should he?

He’s a fullblooded God-damned demon.

Well there’s no getting into Heaven now.

But he’s been sat in this bed all day debating what he’s gonna do about it. He’s still not decided on offing himself yet. Cuz really. He just can’t muster up any kind of anything to go through with that. No will, no way, no options but to sit and decay.

That’s more torturous than picking death.

Those wings twitch, and he snarls like mad. Stupid fleshy things. Of course he couldn’t have lucked out with having some feathers on them, eh? That’s just not in the rule-book for him. He’s gotta have EVERYTHING go wrong as soon as he gets into space.

It’s not like things DIDN’T go wrong on Earth. Before all this.

His hands rest on his chest, twined together. All four of them.

He even misses Rolfe.

He misses them all. Fatz, Mitzi, god— He misses Fatz’s stupid puns and jokes, misses getting whacked upside the head whenever he screws something up real good, misses bantering with him about all this and all that, and he misses talking about his hometown, his home state.

He misses Louisiana.

He misses his parents. His brothers. Uncle Fido.

Do they even know he’s in space?

Mitzi’s still in college with her whole life ahead of her. A life he’s never gonna see.

What are they gonna do without him in the band? Get a replacement? Shut down entirely?

He selfishly hopes for the latter.

Mitzi’s grown into such a bright young woman. He wanted to be down there, growing into an old man around everyone he knew.

Well, hell. Five years into building that rocket, he really did start debating about if he wanted to go. There was so much he wanted to do on Earth first. He wanted to wait a while, tell everybody about it. And apologize to Billy Bob so profusely about it all.

Dook’s hands slide over his head. One is bandaged thickly. It’s a rough material. He peeks. It’s his own space suit.

Figures.

He feels awful for how he treated everyone during that time. Sitting like a recluse in Uncle Fido’s flat, always worrying him to sin with what he was doing in that guest bedroom all hours of the night. Probably thought he picked up drinking again. He wouldn’t be wrong.

Those five years were really some of the worst of his life. Hardly ever talking to the band, barely playing music, teasing himself with a limit of one shot a night, ignoring that rule completely and hating himself every moment he spent drunk. Hating every moment he lied to everybody who loves and cares for him.

How the hell can he say he has a streak of not drinking when he never stopped in the first place?

He’s a liar.

Down to the bone.

He’s lied to Billy Bob, Billy Bob first and foremost. They lied straight to his face about what was happening on his own property. He’s lied to Beach Bear. God have it he’s lied about almost everything he’s done for that man. Even when Beach Bear has been so brutally honest and showed Dook his heart, Dook couldn’t do the same back.

Beach Bear really thought that he stopped drinking.

He never did.

He’s a damn bald-faced liar.

To everyone.

Does anybody know who he really is? What he really thinks? What he does?

What would the rest of the band say if they knew he was a queer true to his core? A queer, a faggot, a mutt, a tranny crossdresser, a stupid alcoholic. They’re all true. Every single word down to the letters, to the stroke of a pen. A stoner too!

Why even consider hell when he knows he’s living in it now?

This is where he’s gonna rot. And he’s just gonna take it. Demons don’t deserve love, salvation. Nothing.

Dook’s head lulls to the side. One of the carrots stand watch, kind of. It’s asleep atop a pebble. Dook watches as it breathes.

Kill it.

No? What the fuck? Why?

The spaniel looks to the ceiling.

And then back to the carrot.

The shard of glass lays on the floor at its feet.

He eyes the shard with piercing pupils, each blown a different size.

It’s food. Not the glass, the carrot. Carrots are food.

The glass stays right where it is for him.

He wants it.

So he makes a move for it.

Dook lifts. The sudden movement stabs his ribs badly, and he groans deep. He doesn’t even need the glass to be in pain. Good.

Dook swings his legs over the bed, stepping down onto his bad foot. It burns and stings and it makes him whine past the silver wraps. Good enough.

The other foot comes down. That’s all there is to it. Dook pushes off of the bed, all four arms aiding with it. That’s—

Not cool. Hellish. Demonic.

He stands, wobbling. His breathing is difficult for sure, absolutely rasped. Those accursed wings flap and twitter, keeping his balance. He snarls at them, teeth bared like it’s gonna do something.

They’re too goddamn big.

He reaches for the clear shard beckoning him in.

He picks it up between his paws.

Roughly grabs a wing.

Settles the tip of the shard at the thin skin.

Dook sighs and falls back into the bed, rolling onto his side and on one wing. It yanks and pulls. He shuffles, slightly off of it.

Fine. He’s in enough pain without having to inflict it himself. Dook holds it in his palm.

It clatters as it’s tossed behind his back.

The wind howls outside.

It’s cold in here.

His thoughts are answered when a thin, warm blanket wraps over his tattered body, curling around him.

Multiple muscled arms hug his damaged body, tender and soft.

It’s nice.

Tears well in his eyes.

Regardless of if he knows who it is, Dook curls to it, knees coming to his chest. His arms stay wrapped around his chest and belly, holding in warmth.

He shifts.

His body is so weak. So tired.

Dook succumbs to slumber once more.

His wings lay wrapped around him, clutching him like a long lost friend.