Meyer and Arnaud decided to stay and listen to the house band perform their set. It was mostly covers and jazz standards, really laid back kind of stuff. Meyer ordered a Cobb salad and Arnaud a grilled reuben. Meyer let Arnaud tell him all about the most current arc of Captain Cottontail. They talked about Clifton; Meyer opened up about how Cliff was the first "real" relationship he'd ever been in, how Cliff's outspokenness about their being nonbinary helped Meyer to discover that he was queer.
\nArnaud shared that he was on his own journey of self-discovery. In high school he'd never really dated the same way lots of other kids did; he was more content to be alone with his books and his comics and his cartoons. This put him on the outs with a lot of the social groups and it led to a lot of bullying. Meyer, a sophomore when Arnaud was a freshman, was one of the first close friendships he'd formed, mostly because Meyer was always around to "protect" him, though he never really understood why. They shared a lot of classes together; Meyer was in AP everything, as was Arnaud, so their schedules ended up incidentally aligning. Whenever someone was around to pick on Arnaud, they found themselves overshadowed by one of the tallest kids in the school.
\n"I'd never admit it to anyone, Meyer, but back in high school I think I might have had a...I don't know if I'd call it a crush. More of a fascination, I guess. You were just so...brave."
\n"Wasn't bravery. It was more of, well. I know what it's like to be picked on." He laughed. "Imagine being six foot six -- not counting the ears! -- in 8th grade. I got called all kinds of names, lots of jokes about the weather, you name it. And it got so old. So I learned I could use my height to intimidate. And I don't like seeing other kids get picked on. So, y'know."
\n"Still. I always appreciated it."
\n"Well, you're welcome, I guess," Meyer said, forking a big hunk of salad into his mouth.
\n"Why did you lie about Clifton?" Arnaud asked, pointedly. Meyer choked and coughed, thumping his chest to finish swallowing.
\n"Technically I didn't lie, I just...didn't say anything."
\n"Well, if you two were close like that, I mean," Arnaud started.
\nThe hare jumped in. "I didn't think of it as anything that serious, it was just...high school stuff. Obviously I read it all wrong, and I regret how it ended. But it did end."
\nHe looked at the stage. Clifton was playing bass and singing, some song about lost love. Meyer wasn't really paying attention to the words, but the movements. The lemur was really into their performance, swaying and bobbing to the music, body completely in sync with their instrument.
\n"Sucks," Meyer sighed. "I feel bad about it now, for sure."
\nThey finished their dinner and the band finished their set. Arnaud went to give Clifton a hug while Meyer settled their tab at the bar. The drive home was mostly quiet, the drone of talk radio obviating the need for conversation. The topic of the hour was land preservation along the Allegheny river.
\nWhen they got back to the apartment, Arnaud tossed his keys and his wallet in the dish; Meyer also did, which took Arnaud by surprise. "I thought that's where they go," Meyer said.
\n"I mean, you can keep your stuff in there if you want," Arnaud said. "Just didn't expect it is all."
\n"Good a place as any," Meyer replied.
\n"O-okay then."
\nMeyer grabbed his Nicout box and sat on the couch, turning it over in his hands a few times. He managed to get a claw through the sticky tape keeping it closed, then pulled out one of the foil blister packs of gum. They all clattered to the floor. "Shit," he said, picking them up in all their crinkly plasticness and shoving them back into the box.
\nArnaud watched from the kitchen and said nothing. It was clear Meyer was having a moment with this and he didn't want to discourage by encouraging.
\nAfter getting everything sorted, he pushed a piece of gum through the foil and popped it in his mouth. He chomped into it to release the nicotine and immediately felt the tingling on his gums and tongue. "That's...whoa," he exclaimed quietly. "Hmm."
\n"How is it?" Arnaud asked.
\n"Tingly. But I still want a cigarette."
\n"I bet that'll pass in time."
\n"Hopefully," Meyer said, chewing. He looked at his watch. "Night's still young. You wanna watch a movie or something?"
\noh god oh god oh god
\nThe hare turned on the TV and switched the input over to Arnaud's streaming device. He started scrolling through the video library. "I mean, you have a lot of 'em. I don't even think I've seen half of these."
\n"Y-yeah. It's mostly anime and c-cartoons, you m-might not like any of it," Arnaud stuttered. He hooked a quick right into his bedroom and shut the door to change out of his day clothes into his night clothes. He shed everything, standing in the middle of his room in just his underwear and socks, staring at himself in the mirror, taking a moment to collect himself. He wasn't built like anything special and nobody was rushing to get him into a modeling contract; he looked like a 5'11" librarian might look like, though it certainly couldn't hurt if he got back into hiking. He grabbed his love handles and let them go. He patted his stomach a few times.
\nHe reached in past the waistband of his underwear and adjusted his soft self downward, hoping that if something were to, uh, come up, that it would at least curve in an inconspicuous direction, though he knew that "inconspicuous" was the last word you'd use to describe it in that situation.
\nExcept, now, he was overthinking it.
\nOn the one hand, Arnaud knew next to nothing about Meyer except what he'd learned at a distance: he may not be very emotionally intelligent, he's probably very vulnerable right now, he's obviously had experience with this sort of thing before. On the other, tonight was basically a date, and they were back at his apartment alone...
\nthere's a guy in my apartment what do i do what do i do do i wear something that sends a message what kind of message do i send is it a touch me message or a we're just friends message do i want to be touched am i in a touchy mood should i be in a touchy mood what if he touches me
\nNo, Arnaud decided. Simple is best. No messages. He threw on a pair of basketball shorts and a baggy Book-IT! t-shirt, stripped his socks off, and headed back out to the living room.
\nMeyer had become distracted by his phone, legs taking up the entire davenport, idly scrolling his Instagram feed and chuckling at vertically-oriented videos instead. "Oh, you're back," he said, turning around. "I, uh, couldn't decide on anything."
\nIt was more like Meyer'd changed out of most of his clothing, wearing nothing more than his blue t-shirt and the retro-pattern blue and orange boxer briefs Arnaud'd seen him in earlier. "I changed into something more comfortable. I, uh, don't have any house pants with me right now. I hope you don't mind."
\n"D-do you wanna borrow a pair of mine?" Arnaud said, blushing. Outside of this morning, this was the first time anyone other than him had been pantsless in his apartment and he was having a little trouble hiding the fact that this was both out of his depth and a little exciting.
\n"C'mon, Arnie, there's no way you have anything that would fit me," Meyer laughed. He was probably right; Meyer was at least one waist size down and obviously seven inches taller. "If you want I can put on some sweatpants or something, it's just...kinda warm in here, y'know?" Meyer said.
\n"N-no, it's f-fine," Arnaud continued to stutter, clearly flustered by this whole situation. Part of him twitched. "I just, it's uh, been a while, since I've had anyone over. Or, y'know. Ever," he admitted.
\n"Not used to company, I get it, I get it. Arnie, I don't bite," Meyer replied. He smiled. It didn't seem like a predatory smile or a sultry smile, just a warm one, which helped defuse the situation somewhat.
\nArnaud decided to use this opportunity to see if this was just friendly or if this was about to get "friendly." He gently picked up Meyer's long legs and sat down underneath them, letting his friend's long feet rest on his thighs. Meyer didn't move them.
\nHe picked up the remote from the side table and started scrolling through documentaries. "How about something low key? Something liiiiiike...this?" he said, settling on a documentary series about the open oceans. He queued it up before Meyer could object. There was no way this could lead to anything. It was, Arnaud thought, simply a chaste, beautiful 4K documentary about the ocean.
\n"Oh, man. I love this guy. His voice is so relaxing," Meyer said, still looking at his phone. He had slid down to lay his head on the armrest and held his phone over his face, clearly not paying attention to the television. Arnaud decided that was fine, that he didn't need any personal space. He took his own phone out and lowered the lights in his apartment a little bit, not exactly what someone would call "mood lighting," but just enough that there wasn't any glare on the TV.
\nThe two of them settled into their television watching; Arnaud with his eyes glued to one of his favorite shows, also enjoying having literally any physical contact at all, especially since it was someone he'd had a crush on since they first met; and Meyer, who was paying absolutely no attention to anything going on that wasn't on the 6.9" screen on his phone.
\n"A-are you even listening?" Arnaud asked, having settled somewhat. This was just casual scantily-cladness between friends. Not a big deal. not a big deal not a big deal eyes on the television
\n"Yeah, man. Hammerhead sharks," Meyer replied, lifting his head up to look Arnaud in the eye. "They can't see in front of themselves." He rolled over a little, adjusting one of his legs such that his foot was directly pressing into Arnaud's crotch.
\nArnaud's entire body stiffened like an over-starched shirt. "H-hey," he protested. Now it was his junk's turn to stiffen, both physically and visibly, shifting the lines of his shorts. It was, surprising no one, not curving inconspicuously. If he were capable, the color would have drained from his entire body.
\n"Oh, shit. Sorry, I'm so--Jesus," Meyer said, adjusting himself again, curling himself onto two of the three davenport cushions.
\n"J-Jesus what?" Arnaud pressed his hands down on his crotch.
\nIt was Meyer's turn to blush. "N-nothing, nothing." He set his phone on the other side table. "I uh, just," he started.
\n"I'm getting kind of tired," Arnaud offered with no evidence. "I think I might go to bed."
\n"I mean..." Meyer replied, swallowing. "I'm not tired." He angled his head up to look at Arnaud, who locked eyes with him. The former shot a curious look at the latter, who looked mostly panicked. Meyer tried to press his luck, putting a foot back in Arnaud's lap.
\nIt worked. Arnaud suddenly felt a lot of emotions all at the same time. A good chunk of them were panic, having never been in a situation like this before; his flight, fight, or freeze response was geared into full blown flight mode. But the thoughts that kept winning out were the ones that felt good. Like, real good. Like, oh my god is this what it's like when someone besides yourself touches you there good. His body found new and novel ways to betray him, filling out his shorts now to what could best be described as full-mast. He throbbed against Meyer's attention, eliciting a much more predatory smirk from the hare.
\n"Y-yeah, I g-guess I'm n-not t-t-tired either," the aardwolf offered. "Do you, um. Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?"
\nshit shit shit shit shit why did i say that oh my god i'm such an idiot he's gonna say no you made it weird why did you have to make it weird
\n"S-Sure," Meyer replied.
\n← Clifton | Winding Up →
\n", "date_published": "2024-10-21T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/09-winding-up/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/09-winding-up/", "title": "Winding Up", "content_html": "Arnaud's bedroom
\n← Errands
\n", "date_published": "2024-10-20T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/07-clifton/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/07-clifton/", "title": "Clifton", "content_html": "Clifton brushed their bangs out of their eyes. "Meyer, Meyer, Meyer. Where you been, man?"
\nMeyer raised his hand to get Mickey's attention. He was gonna need another drink for this conversation, he could already tell. "Hey, Mickey, can I get another? This time a double?"
\n"Sure thing, kid," Mickey replied.
\nThe hare sighed, really loudly. "College."
\n"That's a tidy answer," mocked Cliff. "You just blew town without so much as a goodbye?"
\n"Yeah, I guess I did," Meyer shot back.
\n"Well, glad you could join us back here in lil' ol' Hollyhawk," said the lemur. Mickey laid down Meyer's drink and a neat whiskey for Cliff. They took a slug off it. "How's the family?"
\nMeyer looked visibly agitated now. "Kiss my ass. What the hell are you on my fuckin' case for? I just got here."
\n"They're not kidding about rabbits," Cliff sighed. They rolled over and laid their head on Meyer's chest, drawing circles in his fur. "Good lord, longears"
\n"I'm more rabbit per rabbit than a rabbit," Meyer replied sheepishly.
\nThe two of them cuddled in silence for a couple of minutes, Clifton listening to Meyer's heartbeat while Meyer held him close, trading warmth with one another. Meyer turned his head, lifting a hand to gently brush Clifton's bangs out of their eyes. He stared at the lemur for a little while, eyes half-lidded, enjoying the afterglow between the two of them.
\n"What're your plans for after senior year?" he asked.
\n"I dunno. Band's been sorta...getting more shows lately. Hard to do that and school at the same time. We got a gig down in Saint Harold the other day. I think this might be..." Cliff fake gasped, "a career?"
\n"A career, huh? Look at you, Mixter Ambition," Meyer giggled, kissing them on the cheek.
\n"Yeah? And what about you?"
\nThe hare closed their eyes for a moment. "I really have no clue. I have an audition lined up at Berklee--"
\n"Wow! Berklee!" Clifton exclaimed.
\n"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I'm...I don't know. My parents want me to be a doctor, y'know, go the whole pre-med route. I'm still waiting to hear back from Johns Hopkins but I'm almost positive if I get accepted that's where they're gonna make me go."
\n"You should do what you want," Cliff said. "Whatever that is."
\n"I want to stay here with you," Meyer replied.
\n"You act like you leaving wasn't a big deal."
\n"I had to do what I had to do, Cliff."
\n"You could have at least fucking wrote, you know. I haven't heard from you for three years and all of a sudden you're just here?"
\n"What do you want from me?" Meyer growled. "I'm sorry I left."
\n"You're sorry in a lot of ways," Clifton spat. They took another very final slug from their drink, finishing it off in one hit. "Nice to see you again, Arn. I see you're keeping good company these days."
\n"Y-yeah," Arnaud replied. "I uh, didn't know you two knew each other. Meyer sort of...didn't ah, seemed like he remembered you."
\n"I never said that," Meyer interjected.
\n"Really, Brad?" Clifton seethed. Meyer's fur ruffled. He absolutely detested being called by his proper first name, especially shortened. "Why don't you tell Arnie here how we know each other?" they said in a low voice.
\nWith Arnaud on his right and Cliff on his left, Meyer was starting to feel very boxed in. He reached for his cigarettes on a reflex, then took his wallet out and left it on the bar. "Mickey I'm goin' out for a smoke, okay?"
\n"Sure, sure," the bartender replied. Meyer swung around off his stool and half-ran, half-stormed for the exit.
\n"Tch. Typical Meyer-grade exit from a problem," Clifton remarked.
\nArnaud, having watched this exchange for the past couple of minutes, was feeling pretty uncomfortable. After all, it certainly hadn't been his intention to start any trouble. "Hey, what's your deal, anyway?" Arnaud asked, innocently enough. "I've never seen you act like this towards someone."
\n"Arn," Cliff sighed. "Meyer and I used to be very close. At least, in my mind, we were very close. It ended abruptly. After he left for college we didn't speak. It...it hurt. Not sure what I did wrong to end up being cut out of his life like that. He didn't even text me. I had to find out he left from Paula."
\n"That seems unnecessarily harsh," Arnaud said. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
\n"Yeah. I thought I was over it but seeing him again. At least I got a chance to bitch at him, so thanks for that," Clifton said. "Teensy little catharsis." The lemur stood up from their stool. "Genuinely don't think I'm done yet, though. Can you watch my seat for me while I'm gone?"
\n"Cliff," Arnaud started, but Clifton waved him off.
\nThe lemur threw open the door to the bar and hooked a hard right, heading for the smoking area. Meyer caught them out of the corner of his eye and frowned. "Look, Cliff, I don't know what it is you want from me but I'm sor--" he started, before Clifton kicked him swiftly in the shin.
\n"Jesus Fuck!" Meyer winced, grabbing at his leg with his cigarette-free hand. "The fuck was that for?"
\n"That's for leaving without saying goodbye, you dick," Clifton replied.
\n"I was trying to apologize!" Meyer hissed.
\n"Yeah, well, it's a little late for sorries now," Clifton said. "I loved you, you asshole. I thought that was pretty self-explanatory."
\n"Well you'll have to self-explain it to me," the hare said. "After senior year we just kinda stopped talking, so I kind of feel like not all of this is on me?"
\n"What the hell does 'I want to stay here with you' even mean to you? Why would you tell me that if you were just gonna leave?"
\n"I didn't get a choice, okay? I didn't get accepted to Johns Hopkins. My parents had to bribe them to take me and when they finally relented I got shipped off without warning, all right? I didn't get the opportunity to tie up my affairs nice and neatly."
\n"Oh, so I was just one of 'your affairs,' then," Clifton spat.
\n"No, Cliff, you were a high school romance, okay? And being queer in this town is hell, and you know that, and I know that, and it's not like I had good behavior to model, and I, I, I fucked up, okay? I'm sorry!"
\nClifton pulled a pack of menthols out of their coat pocket and tapped them angrily before ripping the cellophane off and pulling a fresh one from the pack. "Yeah," they huffed, "well, it still fucking sucked, you asshole," they grumbled.
\n"You smoke now?" Meyer asked.
\n"Rehab," the lemur replied. "You replace one addiction with another. I'm trying to quit." They fumbled with their lighter. Meyer produced his Zippo and lit the flame; Clifton leaned into it.
\n"You ever try the gum?"
\nClifton laughed. "Yeah, it fucking sucks, but it tingles. I used to wear the patches in my shoes but they didn't help either."
\n"Those patches look like a pain in the ass," Meyer said. "I'd have to shave just to use them."
\nThey smoked in silence for a moment before Clifton spoke up. "Why are you even here?"
\n"College...didn't work out," Meyer sighed.
\n"What happened to your audition at Berklee?"
\n"Never happened," Meyer replied.
\n"So you're just...back now? Or what?" Clifton's tone had lost its edge and was now one more of concern.
\n"I don't fucking know, Cliff. I got nowhere else to go." Meyer, too, let his defenses down. "JHU was my one shot and I fucking blew it. And now I'm back here. And I don't know what to do next. I came back home because it's all I had left."
\n"Where are you staying?"
\n"With Arnaud, for now. Looking for work so I don't end up on the streets."
\nClifton laughed. "Your parents would never let you end up on the streets," he mused.
\n"I embarrassed them," Meyer responded, "so it's possible. I haven't talked to them since I got expelled."
\n"Expelled? Jesus, man. What did you do?"
\n"Not important." This was one thing Meyer was determined not to share.
\n"Well..." Clifton said, snuffing out their cigarette on the bottom of their boot, "welcome back to rural hell, I guess. I'm not going to forget what you did but I'm willing to forgive you, for now. If I had the opportunity to blow town I'd have done it, so I get it. I would have said something first."
\n"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm...I'm sorry, for what that's worth all these years later."
\n"I really did love you, you know that? Hard as that is for someone like you to accept," Clifton said, "you can be loved, and you can love, too, if you try." Cliff walked back towards the bar's entrance, Meyer standing in stunned silence, cigarette with a good half-inch of ash hanging off it clutched in his right hand.
\nChrist, he thought to himself, finishing his smoke off. He chucked it in the direction of the ash barrel and missed. The butt landed in the parking lot's gravel. He disregarded it and went back inside.
\nArnaud perked up, sipping from his big Sprite. "Are you, uh, finished?"
\n"Yeah. Cliff and I just had some stuff to hash out, is all," Meyer chimed.
\n"Sure, sure," Cliff said dejectedly. "We're all good now, for now," they said.
\n"So, Cliff, I was wondering--"
\n"Arnie, you're not about to ask me for a favor, are you?"
\nArnaud cleared his throat. "Yes, I am. I was wondering if maybe you knew if the music store had openings? It's getting close to instrument rental season and--"
\nClifton laughed, a deep and sardonic laugh from their gut. "Ohhhhhh no. No no no. That's me asking Meryl for a favor. That's too much, even for me," they said.
\n"C'mon, please? If you could check, I know Meyer would really appreciate it."
\nMeyer frowned. Arnaud nudged him and he managed to muster a half-empty smile.
\n"Meyer, hawking Hal Leonard books. Getting his chops busted by angry dads who don't want to pay for their kids' busted clarinets? Oh man, that is too much," they said, laughing. "A far cry from a university hospital, eh, longears?"
\n"Look, I don't even want to entertain the idea but I'm just...I need something to do," Meyer said. He almost sounded like he was begging.
\n"I'll ask, okay? I'm not making any guarantees. She's gonna love to hear you're back in town," Clifton laughed. "Yeah, we'll see how this turns out."
\n"I certainly appreciate it and I know My does too," Arnaud chimed in helpfully. Meyer went back to focusing on his half-empty glass.
\n"Yeah. Appreciate it." Meyer muttered.
\n"For you, Arnaud? Anything," Clifton said.
\n← Errands | Winding Down →
\n", "date_published": "2024-10-20T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/06-errands/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/06-errands/", "title": "Errands", "content_html": "Saturday was hardly full of adventure, but Arnaud did have to run a few errands and Meyer didn't feel like being alone in an unfamiliar apartment, so he tagged along. They piled into the aardwolf's dented-up 2007 Subaru Forester and hit the road early in the morning, after the two of them shared a light breakfast and Arnaud had a chance to take a shower.
\nTheir first stop was Mead's Drugs; it had turned out that Arnaud didn't actually buy any melatonin, and he needed a refill on his anti-anxiety meds anyway. While Arnaud was at the counter putting in his refill, Meyer waited in the stop smoking aids aisle, looking at the various products on offer: patches, pills, lozenges, gums.
\n"You should get some," came Arnaud's voice from behind him. He jumped a little. "They worked really well for my dad," Arnaud said, helpfully.
\n"Smoking was, like, your dad's religion. I never thought he would ever quit," Meyer replied, without looking over his shoulder.
\n"Neither did he, heh. Television production's stressful enough, but he managed. Once you couldn't smoke in the studio anymore he really didn't have a choice."
\nMeyer frowned. He could hear Arnaud continuing to nag him in the back of his head, but he should be a good houseguest and at least make the attempt. New year, new me, he laughed at himself. He grabbed a package of Nicout Cool Mint flavor and Arnaud's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, Meyer, I'm so--"
\n"I'm warning you right now, Arnie. If you make this a whole thing it's just going to make it harder, all right?"
\n"All right, all right," the aardwolf said. His tail wagged anyway, betraying his promise to not get excited.
\nTheir next stop had been the Hollyhawk branch of the Plymouth County Library System. Arnaud had a few books to return. It also happened to be where Arnaud worked, so naturally he got caught up in conversations with his coworkers while Meyer waited in the car, staring at his pack of nicotine gum and playing with the box flap.
\nHe instead got out of the car for a cigarette. He managed to finish two before Arnaud had finished up, carrying a fresh stack of books back out with him.
\n"I thought you had books to return," Meyer said, dropping the butt of his cigarette and crushing it out with the heel of his shoe.
\n"I did, but then I heard they got in some new books about late renaissance European colonialism so, you know, I just had to check those out, and then my boss Gretchen wanted to talk to me about our upcoming Books for Kids drive, so naturally that conversation took forever, and anyway, I'm sorry, but I'm back now. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."
\n"No, not too long," Meyer said, visibly frustrated.
\nArnaud didn't pick up on that at all.
\nTheir final stop of the morning slash afternoon had been the local video store. Twin Spindles had managed to survive the Licensing Age by trading in new and used physical media; internet access in Hollyhawk was okay if you had cable, which most people did, but the tape and disc was king.
\nTed, a malinois who'd run the store since his dad retired, greeted the pair as they'd come in. "Hey, Arnie! Who's your friend?"
\n"Oh, this is Meyer, an old high school friend back in town for a little while," Arnaud replied. Meyer lifted a sheepish hand; Ted replied in kind, though a bit more enthusiastically.
\n"We got the new Captain in, if you're interested!"
\n"That's tempting but I'm still watching it on TV. I was actually wondering if you had any..."
\nMeyer let the two of them catch up. He ran his fingers along the spines of the DVDs on the Romance rack, letting his eyes wander. The store smelled musty, like it'd been here for a hundred years. The walls were covered in old movie posters clearly taken from the town's only theater, with a few racks devoted to selling theater candy at less-than-theater prices for the enterprising home movie buff. Rows and rows of DVDs, Blu-Rays, and even VHS tapes extended the length of the shop.
\nHe made his way to the Thriller section and found a copy of Four and Twenty Blackbirds, shrink wrapped. He pulled it off the shelf and examined it. This must've been sitting here since it came out, back when Meyer was in what he'd called his "gap year." He remembered (barely) getting sloshed (yeah, yeah, he was 19) with a couple juniors from Plymouth County Tech. The movie itself wasn't that interesting, some unsolvable murder that turned out to be the detective the whole time, but it made for great background noise while the three of them lazily fooled around with one another. Eventually the movie had stopped and the beer had ran out but the hands were getting handsy. Meyer didn't remember much after that, but he remembered it was a great hookup.
\nDidn't remember the movie, though. Maybe now was a good time to give it a watch?
\n"Nah," he said aloud, mis-shelving it.
\nArnaud came up next to him. "You ready?" He caught a glimpse of the case Meyer had just put back. "Four and Twenty Blackbirds, eh? I remember that being kind of 'ehh'. Good acting, bad writing kind of deal. I think I have a copy at home." Arnaud gingerly plucked the DVD from its wrongful location and placed it in its rightful one.
\n"Did, uh, you get what you came here for?" Meyer asked.
\n"Nah," Arnaud replied. "Got something else, though! Classic Thundercats. Someone recently sold their whole collection, can you believe it? I was only missing the two discs, myself. I hate to break up a set, but if it means finishing mine, well...anyway. Ready to go?"
\n"Yeah, yeah, I mean, I was born ready" said the hare.
\nThey got back to Arnaud's (their? thought Meyer) apartment and unloaded the goods before turning right around and heading back downtown, towards D'artagnan's.
\nD'artagnan's could best be described as a dive bar if only because it was slightly run down, though it was the largest music venue in the area. Having been in the town for over 60 years, it was on its third generation of ownership. It used to be one of four bars owned by the same literary-obsessed people, though the other three shuttered long ago, so now only D'artagnan's remained.
\nArnaud managed to nab a parking space close to the front and the two of them went in.
\nThe inside of D'artagnan's was a lot of wood paneling and wooden booths with cracked vinyl seating around the perimeter, with a reasonable sized stage occupying the back half of the bar. Some tables dotted the floor, mostly two- and four-tops, whereas the bar itself had about thirty or so stools for regulars. The configuration of the bar itself would vary depending on the type of show they were putting on; tonight it was just the house band, so there wouldn't be any special setup needed.
\n"Mickey!" Arnaud chirped; the pangolin behind the bar turned around and smiled at Arnaud.
\n"Arnie! Good to see you again, kiddo," he gruffly shot back.
\n"This is Meyer, he's a friend from high school, he'll be in town for a while." Meyer managed a sheepish raise of his hand.
\n"What brings you down here this early on a Saturday?"
\n"Looking for Cliff."
\n"Hmm. House band ain't here yet m'afraid. Might wanna try waiting around for him. Can I get you something in the meantime?"
\n"Ah, darn. No than--" Arnaud began, before Meyer interrupted him.
\n"Vodka soda bitters?" the hare said. Arnaud rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break, man, I need some...revivification."
\n"Single or a double?" the bartender asked.
\n"Single, please, God," Meyer replied.
\n"Rough night?"
\n"Rough couple of years," he said sullenly, sliding onto a barstool. Arnaud joined him, reluctantly.
\n"Arnie, you want anything?"
\n"Um...well, how about a Sprite, I guess?"
\n"Haha, sure."
\nMickey got the pair their drinks and stepped away to take a phone call. Arnaud and Meyer nursed their beverages in silence for a moment or two. Arnaud was the first to break the silence.
\n"Hey," said the aardwolf.
\n"Hey what?" replied the hare.
\n"I'm sorry about all the stuff you're going through, My."
\nMeyer felt the fur bristle on the back of his neck. "I sense a 'but' coming."
\nArnaud frowned. "No 'but.' It sucks you're going through all this. I'm just happy to help how I can."
\n"I know," Meyer replied, pulling the straw out of his glass and taking a longer-than-usual pull from his drink.. "I'm just...not used to help."
\n"Yeah, it takes some getting used to. You may not realize it but you were always there for me. You were sort of like, I don't know. A firewall? Between the jocks and me. I would have taken it on the chin a lot more often if you weren't there backing me up so often."
\nMeyer sat in silence for a little while. Arnaud took that as permission to continue.
\n"So, you know, I see you, and you're struggling, and it just. I just want to give back a little. Maybe help you feel a little safe." And loved, he didn't say.
\nMeyer looked over and tried to lock eyes with Arnaud, who was playing with his straw, staring at it as if it was the only thing in the world. His expression was a little incredulous.
\n"You know. The way you helped me."
\n"Well. Thanks, I guess," Meyer muttered into his glass.
\nThe sound of a barstool clattering across the tile floor got Arnaud's attention. A lemur climbed onto it, then loudly scooted the stool back up to the bar. They tapped Meyer on the shoulder a few times. "Well, now. If I didn't know any better I'd swear that was Bradmeyer Leveret-Hasenkamp deigning to show his face in our little backwater," they said, "but that can't be! He's on to bigger and better, right?"
\nMeyer sighed. "Hi, Cliff."
\n← The Next Morning | Clifton →
\n", "date_published": "2024-10-19T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/05-thenextmorning/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/05-thenextmorning/", "title": "The Next Morning", "content_html": "Sunlight broke through the sliding glass door and hit Meyer straight in his stupid hungover face. Nursing a bottle of everclear on a train was about as smart an idea as blood doping and this morning, at 7:16am on a beautiful Saturday, the life-giving sun was making him pay for the poor utilization of his decision making skills.
\n"Son of a bitch," he muttered, rolling back over to bury his head in the pillow. He knocked his ankle against the davenport's wooden armrest, temporarily making him forget about the pain in his head, and he howled into a blue stegosaurs' mouth, then started laughing as it reverberated up his leg. "Ah ha ha ha, fffffffffuck!" he yelled into the pillow.
\nThe TV was still on; he'd forgotten to set the sleep timer, and it was apparently time for a cartoon about a little boat that wanted to teach kids life lessons about being polite or waiting their turn or whatever. Meyer wasn't paying attention; his focus was split between the shuffling he heard coming down the hallway and the searing pain in his ankle.
\nArnaud was up already? he thought, sticking his head over the top of the couch, and as if to answer the question he hadn't said aloud, Arnaud came bounding down the hall in a pair of cotton gym shorts that left little to the imagination and a tanktop emblazoned with the words "Hollyhawk High Herons". His hair was tied back in a bun; he looked like he hadn't slept well but otherwise seemed pretty awake for this early on a Saturday.
\n"Mornin', Meyer!" the aardwolf chimed, to which the hare grabbed his ears and pulled them down over his face. "Looks like it's gonna be a crisp autumn day today," he continued, bounding into the kitchen to grab a bowl from the cupboard.
\n"It's too early," Meyer mumbled.
\n"No way, man, my shows are on!" Arnaud replied. Meyer heard the sound of groceries being put away, the crinkling of the paper bags feeling extra loud in the small apartment. "Why didn't you pull the sofa out?" Arnaud asked
\n"I forgot," Meyer lied. He had been too tired to even think about going through the rigmarole of setting up a fold out bed.
\n"Well, it might not hold all of you but it'll certainly be a little more comfortable than," he gestured with his hand, "all of that." Arnaud threw the pantry open and stared intently for a few minutes at his collection of fruity and sugary breakfast cereals before settling on some crunchy berry nonsense, pouring himself a big bowl. "You want anything for breakfast? Lots of options."
\n"Beer?"
\nArnaud frowned. "Meyer, it's not even 8 in the morning."
\n"I'll live."
\n"I won't. What about eggs and toast?"
\nMeyer lifted his head off his pillow and narrowed his eyes. "That sounds...really good actually."
\n"Well, I've got eggs, and I've got bread, and a fully functional kitchen," Arnaud chimed helpfully. "My home is your home. Help yourself!" he said, pouring the milk into what was clearly almost a salad bowl's worth of breakfast cereal, certainly more than the serving size on the box.
\nMeyer stood up, realizing he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and started digging around in his duffel bag for a pair of sunglasses. He threw on his aviators, grabbed his cigarettes and lighter, and limped for the balcony, which immediately prompted Arnaud to make a scoffing noise. "You really should quit, y'know!" he chided.
\n"Yeah, yeah," Meyer muttered, sliding the balcony door open and shutting it behind him. The briskness of the fall air hit his nostrils and felt like it pierced his brain, and he shivered, partly because he wasn't dressed for the weather and partly because of the hangover. Shaky fingers drew a cigarette from its case and shaky hands lit the end of it. Meyer took a big drag and exhaled, leaning over the balcony railing and staring down at the town.
\nLow clouds had rolled in overnight, blanketing Hollyhawk in a cottony fog that seemed to be burning itself off as the sunlight hit. Meyer could see some god rays in the distance over the reservoir, and as he took another drag, he turned his gaze east of town where the "better half" lived.
\nWhere his parents lived.
\nIt, too, was blanketed in a thick coat of fog. The view of his parents' place was blocked by the wall of the adjoining apartment (thank god, he thought), but he could see the extraordinarily maintained golf course they lived on through the haze by its bright green hues. He ashed his cigarette over the railing, watching the little flecks scatter into the air, before taking another drag and exhaling smoke into fog.
\nHe needed time to gather himself. Maybe a job would help him get together enough for a place to stay that wasn't the Twelve Oaks, but Arnaud's couch was comfortable enough for now, he figured. But how would he eat? He couldn't live on breakfast cereal.
\nSpeaking of, he thought to himself, turning around to look in through the sliding door. Arnaud was on the couch now, big bowl of cereal in lap, watching an episode of The New Adventures of Captain Cottontail. Meyer smirked a little, remembering how he grew up watching the original show as a kid, had the secret decoder ring, how his ninth birthday was Captain Cottontail themed, right down to the superhero costume they'd purchased him to wear, and then he frowned. He couldn't kill the adult in his head. He could hear his father saying how ridiculous it was for a grown man to watch cartoons.
\nWhere was he at right now? In a high school friend's apartment, smoking cigarettes on the balcony because he'd just been thrown out of college for cheating his way to success instead of just being satisfied with middle of the pack. And he couldn't be satisfied because no Hasenkamp could be anything less than the ultimate expression of success, he remembered. The thought jarred him loose and all the collegiate anxieties crept their way back into his brain like worms on the cement after a hard downpour. He took another drag from his cigarette and crushed half of it out on the railing before stepping back inside.
\nMeyer must've slammed the door a little too hard because Arnaud jumped in his seat. "You okay?" he asked.
\n"No," the hare replied. "Listen, uh, can I use your shower?"
\n"You can use whatever you need, My. My house is--"
\n"Yeah, I get it. Thanks," he said, unzipping his duffel bag and rummaging around for his 2-in-1 shampoo, his toothbrush, and a spare pair of underwear. He zipped it closed hurriedly, darted into the bathroom, and nearly slammed the door behind him.
\nArnaud waited a few beats before setting his bowl down and getting up to go to the bathroom door. He knocked a couple of times. "Hey, just for future reference, towels are in the hall closet, but you can use the one hanging on the wall; it's clean."
\nHe got no reply. Hope he's doing okay in there, he thought, hearing the water kick on. "Toothpaste is in the medicine cabinet, too, if you need it."
\nHearing nothing, he went back to the couch. He'll sort himself out I'm sure, he assured himself. Besides, there was Captain Cottontail to watch and breakfast cereal to gorge on, and just because he had company (a temporary roommate he reminded himself) didn't mean he was going to give up his Saturday morning routine.
\nAbout fifteen minutes went by before Arnaud had barely noticed the water had shut off. The cereal bowl before him sat empty, which was, as he saw it, merely an invitation to go get more cereal. As he got up, he heard the bathroom door open, and out stepped Meyer wearing nothing but a pair of blue and orange boxer briefs. As the hare came towards his bags, they hugged his body a little too closely and Arnaud found himself staring a bit too long before looking away sheepishly.
\nMeyer didn't notice. He was moving sluggishly, mostly on account of the hangover. He threw yesterday's clothes next to his bags. "Is it okay if I get dressed out here?" he asked.
\n"Y-yeah, it's f-fine," Arnaud stammered. He hadn't really seen Meyer even close to nude since they shared a gym class in high school; it was pretty apparent that he'd grown a bit since then. "I'll just be in the kitchen," he said, ostensibly rinsing out his bowl but mostly letting the water run as he watched Meyer pull on a pair of jeans, then a baby blue v-neck shirt, and finally a maroon cardigan.
\nArnaud left his bowl in the sink. Suddenly, he didn't want cereal.
\nHe tried picking his books off the ground before he felt a boot in his backside, shoving him flat to the ground. He hit his chin on the pavement, glasses nudged off and clattering across the ground. "Bend over much?" said the possum. "I just bet you do, you fuckin' fag."
\n"Fuck off, Jason" Arnaud replied. There was a warble in his voice, and he felt his emotions get the better of him. He tried and failed to swallow them; he sniffled.
\n"What, you're crying now, too? Jesus Christ," his tormentor laughed. "You're pathetic!" Arnaud had reached for his glasses but not fast enough; Jason nudged them with his foot, sending them skittering farther away. He delivered a swift kick to Arnaud's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He curled up into a fetal position and started wheezing.
\n"You heard him, Jason. Fuck off." came a low, very angry voice from behind the both of them.
\n"What're you gonna do about it, stilts?" the possum scoffed. "What's he to you, anyway? Your boyfriend?"
\n"Don't you have anything better to do than beat up ninth graders?" Meyer grabbed him by his shoulders and shoved him into the wall. He towered over the possum, and he could make out a little fear in his eyes. "Now, if you're looking for a fight, I've got time to kill between periods, and I love knocking the piss out of people my own age."
\n"F-fuck you, man," Jason whimpered. "Ain't worth this shit." Arnaud had mostly recovered at this point, making it to his hands and knees, crawling over to where his glasses had landed.
\n"You're so right, man, it really isn't," Meyer replied. "Don't fuck with him again or I'll come find you."
\nThe possum strolled off, shaken and deterred for now. Meyer bent over to pick up Arnaud's spilled books and shove them back into his backpack. "Sorry about that guy, he's a prick," Meyer said, extending a hand to the aardwolf.
\n"Y-yeah," Arnaud said, taking it and clambering to his feet. "I, uh, got that impression," he laughed.
\n"Meyer," said the hare, introducing himself. He stuck out his other hand with Arnaud's bookbag in it. "Here you go."
\n"Hi, Meyer. I'm Arnaud," the aardwolf replied, taking his bag back.
\n"What's with you?" Meyer asked. He happened to notice Arnaud frozen, water still running in the sink.
\n"Nothing, nothing," Arnaud replied, seemingly coming unstuck enough to shut the sink off. "Just not hungry anymore."
\nThere was a silence in the room. Arnaud helped to fill it.
\n"Well, D'artagnan's isn't open until like...four-ish. So we've obviously got time." Arnaud went back into the living room and turned the TV off. He didn't feel like watching cartoons anymore, either. "We can go for a walk, we can hang out here...well, you know how it is in Hollyhawk," he said.
\nMeyer sighed. "Yeah. I do." He rubbed his temples.
\nThe aardwolf's demeanor changed suddenly. Meyer thought it looked...softer? "You obviously had a rough night. Let me make you breakfast," Arnaud said, smiling.
\nThe couch was a little too small for Meyer. His height had always been a problem growing up; his parents had to buy him a full size mattress when he was barely in the double-digits. Tonight it was especially irksome, being that apparently six foot six was long enough that his legs stuck out over the arms and his arms never quite found purchase by the side of his body, never mind the ears.
\nArnaud had helpfully provided him with a spare comforter. It smelled a little like old books, pencil shavings, the musty smell of a hall closet, and that fragrance soap companies insist on calling "mountain breeze" when there's no way that's what a mountain breeze could smell like. The pillow, in a case with simple drawings of flat colored dinosaurs, had been sourced from Arnaud's own bed to augment the couch's bolsters. Meyer recalled the light apricot scent of the aardwolf's fur as he started counting ceiling popcorn in an attempt to slow his heart rate a little.
\nHe stirred. He turned on the TV to the only station he remembered from his childhood, WPFA 14. Looked like they were currently playing some old reruns of a show Meyer's mother used to watch all the time where a really quiet man would paint a portrait with you. He remembered how she'd get all set up in the solarium with her paints and her easel around noon, and the show would come on, and she'd find her happy place. It was the only time she ever seemed like she wasn't constantly in motion.
\nThe memory of his parents made him uncomfortable but the dulcet tones of the painter were too relaxing to ignore. He started to drift as he droned on about how to use a painter's knife to paint a mountain.
\nAfter a few moments, he finally settled. The anxiety of being home and the exhaustion of the long train journey tripped a circuit breaker that finally caused Meyer to shut his brain off and pass out.
\nArnaud, meanwhile, couldn't sleep at all. Eating pizza that late at night was always a gamble, he knew, and tonight he was losing. Tossing and turning to try and find the right position gave him plenty of time to interrogate himself, however, and his thoughts turned from fall asleep, fall asleep, maybe i should take some bismuth, fall asleep to god what if he hates me what if this is embarrassing for him what if he doesn't adapt what if i'm still nursing a crush what if this is all a mistake what if he moves away again unexpectedly what if his parents take him back
\nHis heart started racing and he couldn't tell if it was from the food or the rapidly piled up list of small terrors he'd conjured for himself. Maybe tonight we cheat at sleep, he thought. Rolling towards the nightstand, he slid open its little drawer and started rooting around for a small bottle of melatonin he just knew was stashed in there. Finding no purchase and now frustrated, he turned the lamp on and stuck his head over the bedside to take a look.
\nNothing. Just the regular detritus: dice, some pamphlets, a lip balm, an empty anti-anxiety prescription bottle.
\n"Dammit," he grumbled. He decided to try and break his losing streak: darting across the hall in the nude to check the bathroom medicine cabinet and hoping that Meyer was sound asleep. He nudged his bedroom door open a crack and heard a soft snuffling from the living room over the top of some public broadcasting show the hare'd put on to fall asleep. Arnaud caught a glimpse of a paintbrush and easel but didn't stop long enough to focus on it as he slid into the hallway restroom and closed the door behind himself with a quiet snik.
\nObjective complete, he mused. He flipped on the light and began methodically combing through his medicine cabinet looking for the melatonin gummies he was sure he'd purchased. He rifled past some old cremes and a bottle of painkillers he'd saved after his last dental exam, pushed past a jar of pomade, shuffled around his meds...nothing.
\nHe checked the drawer next to the sink. Combs, brushes, hair ties of all colors, an electric trimmer...still nothing. Damn! he thought. Where on earth did I leave--
\nThe grocery bags, in the kitchen. He hadn't unloaded anything that wasn't cold. He had dashed out of the house to pick up Meyer earlier and completely spaced.
\nShit, he frowned. He couldn't make himself go out there. What if he's awake what if he sees what if he laughs what if he says something
\nNo. No cheating tonight. He opened the medicine cabinet again and palmed the bismuth, shaking the pink liquid violently a couple of times before tearing the cap off and taking a more-than-as-directed swig off the bottle. This'll have to do, I hope, he thought, setting it back in its place and flipping the light off.
\nArnaud opened the door and heard one of the loudest snores he'd ever heard in his life coming from down the hallway. He didn't even bother trying to hide this time, just slunk back across the hallway, into his bedroom, and back into his queen-sized bed.
\nHe pulled the covers back over himself and felt the pink stuff coating his insides, calming the raging inferno in his stomach. He mumbled something to the smart speaker in his room to play some ocean noises and it responded with the sounds of roaring waves lapping on the shore. Arnaud was able to find the cool side of his pillow.
\nWithin moments, he was -- thankfully -- asleep.
\n← Accounting | The Next Morning →
\n", "date_published": "2024-10-17T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/kuiper/01-checking-in/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/kuiper/01-checking-in/", "title": "Checking In", "content_html": "He coughed himself awake, touching his ocular and wincing. Rejection was a possibility. He wouldn't have gotten the damn thing if he'd have known he'd be
\n"It is 0650 Standard Hours, and it is time to begin The Work."
\n", "date_published": "2022-12-28T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/03-accounting/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/03-accounting/", "title": "Accounting", "content_html": "The warm white lamps and the glow of the television illuminated their gourmet spread: a half-and-half pizza, one house salad, one two liter, and a drained container of marinara into which a breadstick bag had been crumpled up and entombed. The television was on mostly for background noise. Meyer figured Arnaud must've flipped through the entire channel guide twice before settling on some program about ancient Egypt; he hadn't paid much attention to it, focused instead on his salad. Arnaud took that moment to break his concentration.
\n"So," the aardwolf muttered through a mouthful of double pepperoni pizza, "what was Maryland like?"
\nMeyer pushed some lettuce around in his salad, digging for carrot strips. Rowan's never did make a good to-go bowl of greens. "People really like crab, I guess. I don't know. It was Maryland."
\n"You got out on the weekends, right?"
\n"I, yeah. I mean, when I could. I guess. I was busy a lot." He took a few pensive thrusts at some roughage and shoved a forkload in his mouth. "Between fencing, and running, and college coursework, and my improv class, and the pep band, and labs, and studying, there was a lot going on."
\n"Improv?"
\n"Yeah, you know. Comedy n' shit. That stuff where the audience yells three things and you just sort of" – the hare pantomimed being in a box – "act it out."
\nArnaud laughed, a kind of lilting giggle that, for a moment, made Meyer's expression break the barrier between frown and smile. "Wow! Really? I cannot fathom it."
\n"What?" Meyer tilted his head.
\nHe wiped his chin. "You, doing improv. You're just so..."
\nRealizing that any word at the end of that sentence adds no value to the conversation and that the hare was probably feeling a bit raw right now after already having been vulnerable, he changed the subject. "N-never mind," he said, and then, after a pause: "Do you remember Cliff?"
\n"Cliff...wait, Clifton? They were the, uh...the lemur, right? In guitar tech class? With the 'runny nose?'" Meyer stopped digging through his salad, shoved it away. He grabbed the last slice of supreme from the pizza box. "Hmm."
\n"Yeah, yeah! They lead the house band down at D'artagnan's now."
\n"Wild. Are they still, like...you know," Meyer said, making a very exaggerated sniffing noise. He coughed a little.
\nArnaud frowned. "No, thank goodness, they've actually been clean for a while now. Well, at least, not coke. I think. I don't know. I usually don't go down there except for trivia nights. Cliff's not around for those. But they seem like they're a lot better off. I hear they're well!"
\n"That's good," the hare said. He stopped for a moment to swallow. "Wait, you still keep up with people from high school?"
\n"Yeah, occasionally! Some of us went to PCTC together. Remember Paula, from band? The macaw?"
\n"No."
\n"She had the, uh," Arnaud started snapping his fingers. "Oh, oh oh! The, uh. Hmm. She played tuba, you know? And she had the funk machine cat tattooed on her neck?"
\n"Ohhhhhhh, yeah. Now I remember her. And she was the one that had the, like, the really huge crest?"
\n"Yeah, yeah! She and I went through the education program together. She's a science teacher now! She moved a few months ago, to Pittsburgh."
\n"Crazy," Meyer said. "Absolutely bonkers. Never would have figured her for that. Didn't she used to cut class practically all the time?"
\n"When wasn't she cutting class?" Arnaud laughed. "She used to joke that teaching was her penance. But she's great at it! And her students love her, too."
\nThe hare raised an eyebrow. "Hold, hold on. Does she still have the tattoo?"
\n"You better believe it!"
\nThe floodgates were open. They chatted for a while more while they ate, mostly about people they knew in their teenage years and how they changed; reminisced about their mutual friend Toby who died trying to beat a train crossing; surprise that Arnaud's older sister July had moved to Portugal a year ago to study cooking in Lisbon.
\nMeyer threw himself back against the couch, triumphant in his victory against dinner. "God I had honestly forgotten how good Rowan's is."
\nArnaud groaned contentedly, slumping in his chair. "Did they not have good pizza in Baltimore?"
\n"I mean, yeah," Meyer chuckled, "but a taste of the familiar is nice."
\nThe television had changed subjects now. Arnaud did, too.
\n"Hey, My? I'm curious."
\n"Yeah?"
\n"Why did you come back?"
\nMeyer sighed. "You know why."
\n"Well, I mean. I don't know know, but, that's not what I mean. You could have gone anywhere. I know about your...situation. It's not like people don't know about the Hasenkamps around town." Meyer winced; Arnaud continued. "Why come back here instead of, I don't know, Seattle or Anchorage or London?"
\n"I don't know anyone there, Arnaud."
\n"But it's not Hollyhawk. You always said you hated it here."
\nMeyer only now realized he'd never really interrogated that choice.
\nThe moment he found himself standing outside his residence hall, bags slung over his shoulder and box of tchotchkes in his hands, his prey brain kicked in, flight-or-fight response gearing up full throttle to flight mode. His brain had made a checklist whose only item was "escape" repeated into infinity. Hollyhawk was the only place he'd ever known, the Hasenkamp estate his only home, but he knew he couldn't go back there – his parents had made that very clear the first time he lost athletic eligibility.
\nHe left his box of stuff with a friend in town that said they'd hold onto it for a little while until he knew where he was going. He'd stayed in a hotel room for about a week while he'd laid out his plans. The hare knew damn well he only had one place he could go, really, but even when he got there he didn't know where he'd end up. All he knew is that all roads led to Home, to Hollyhawk.
\nHe'd fished his phone out of his pocket and did a quick internet search for 12 oaks hollyhawk. "Rooms by the week or by the month," the website's banner read, "No questions asked!" Using the online form, he'd put down a fake name and a $1200 refundable deposit on a studio with a murphy bed. That would, at the very least, prevent anyone back home from asking about his return in advance, he figured.
Later that night, when the adrenaline had worn off and he'd realized he was now in an unwinnable situation, he opened his social media app and started doomscrolling. For a while, he felt "better." At least I'm not the only one with problems, he figured. He decided he'd post something to let people who may (or may not) have been listening know what was going on:
\nwellp, heading home. guess college isnt for me lol
He hit send. He opened and pounded a bottle of wine he spotted in the hotel minibar to "clear his head" which only lead to more posting:
\ndo you kknow how bad u have to fuck up to get expelled. its bad
And more posting.
\ndone with baltimore. done with a lot of shit. i need a reset.
Drunk Meyer did a lot more posting that night, it turned out, and Sober Meyer had to go back and clean up the mess. But they were up long enough for at least one person to have spotted them.
\n"I don't know," Meyer said. "I'm not really sure of anything. I just felt like...I knew after what happened I couldn't stay in town, and I didn't want to be there after all that. But I didn't want to start over."
\n"So...what, is this like, 'atonement' for you then?"
\n"Atone–what? No. You grew up in, like, Fargo, right?. Didn't you ever go back there to see family?"
\nSurprised he remembered, Arnaud paused. "I mean. Only when I was about this tall," he said, laying his palm flat in the air about two feet off the ground. I grew up here, for the most part. Hollyhawk is home to me."
\n"And you couldn't ever imagine leaving it, right?"
\n"Not really."
\n"Agh, dammit, I'm not, that's the wrong thing. I can't really...ugh, how do I explain this," the hare groaned. "I feel drawn here. Like, I wanted to get away so bad. I went and did everything I was told. I climbed the ladder, right?" He started to angle his hand, gesturing upwards like a plane taking off from a really short runway. "Then I got out into the world and found out that my best wasn't good enough so I tried even harder. But that didn't work either. I wasn't good enough. I'll never be good enough unless I'm the absolute best. So, I took some shortcuts and I got caught," he said, angling his hand so it crashed into his other hand and making an explosion noise with his mouth. "So now I'm here."
\n"That doesn't really explain–"
\n"I'm here because I don't want it to happen again, okay? This...this is the safe bet for me, Arnaud."
\n"Oh," Arnaud said. He frowned.
\nThe silence felt pregnant. "What?"
\n"Safe how?"
\nMeyer sighed, loudly. "I guess, because, like. I can try and find something to do in town. Settle down a little, you know. Un-rattle my head. Find an apartment, maybe a job. The mill's always hiring, maybe someth–"
\n"You gotta be kidding!" Arnaud exclaimed, "You are not working at the mill! You wanna lose a hand?"
\n"Shit, man, what the hell else is there to do around here?"
\n"Lots," the aardwolf started, "I don't know, My. I mean," he gestured towards Meyer's fencing bag, "you were, like, the Fencing Prodigy of Plymouth County. Maybe you could teach–"
\nThe hare scowled. Arnaud could hear his teeth grinding. "Absolutely not. No fencing." And drop the prodigy shit while you're at it, he thought.
\n"Okay, well. What about flute? Didn't you win a competition or something?"
\n"I had an audition lined up at Berklee but I, uh." Meyer closed his eyes and sighed. He could hear his father screaming at him somewhere in the back of his brain. He flinched. "Wasn't gonna happen."
\n"Something I'm sure you can build off of, at least." The aardwolf leaned forward as excitedly as he could for a person halfway in a food coma. "Got an idea. Let's go down to D'artagnan's tomorrow and see if Cliff's there. Maybe they know someone!"
\n"'Know someone?' What am I gonna do, play flute for 'Clifton and the Four Toes'?"
\n"That is not the name of their band. It's...it's...I think it's called 'Pinebark Extract'. And, anyway, no, I was thinking maybe they know if The Fifth Measure is hiring."
\nMeyer groaned internally and rolled his eyes externally. The thought of pushing Hal Leonard method books and getting yelled at by soccer moms over instrument rental charges wasn't the most appealing thing in the world, but it wasn't the lumber mill, and it was in a part of town his parents wouldn't be caught in. A drink might take the sting out of being back, though. "All right, sure. Fine."
\n"Sssssssweet!" Arnaud pumped his fist excitedly. "It's a date, then. C'mon, help me get this cleaned up."
\n"One sec," Arnaud said, jiggling the lock and giving the door a soft thump with his shoulder as he turned the handle.
\nEntering through the kitchen, the aardwolf threw his keys into a bowl on the counter where they clattered mutely against his wallet, which he'd apparently forgotten on his way out the door (again). He flipped the lights on and threw today's mail on the pile of yesterday's (and the day before's) next to the bowl. "C'mon in. Sorry about the, uh, mess," Arnaud said.
\nMeyer fumbled through the door with his shoulder bag, his duffel bag, and his fencing bag in tow, too physically exhausted, emotionally drained, and slightly tipsy to bother taking his time. He sloughed himself and his baggage through the doorway, letting it land in a pile on the brown Mondrian-esque linoleum floor, and started rummaging through the cupboards.
\n"Glasses are next to the sink," Arnaud called from around the corner. Meyer fished out a glass covered in pink lacquer flamingoes and filled it from the tap, pounded the whole thing in one go, then filled it again. "Just changing back into my house pants."
\nHouse pants. Meyer took a personal inventory. What the hell was he even wearing? Baggy light gray zip hoodie over a heathered blue t-shirt with a cartoon rabbit pattern, black joggers, blue and orange Adidas trail running shoes. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose so he could pinch it hard enough to drag the pain from the back of his head into the front, then sighed and shook himself for a moment.
\n"Where do you want me to put my bags?" he called out.
\n"Oh, anywhere's fine, just. You know, move whatever if it's in your way," came Arnaud's reply.
\nThe hare looked around a moment and settled on stashing his stuff in the corner by the dining room table. "Spartan" was the opposite of the word you'd use to describe Arnaud's apartment; the living room wasn't much but it was a pretty snug fit. A long, ugly orange-and-yellow tartan davenport dominated the room, situated in front of a lot of bookshelves and certainly more books than could fit on them. Meyer ran his fingers along some of their spines. History, art, literature, science...oh my god. Comics? There was a whole shelf of comics. Unbelievable. What a nerd, Meyer thought, catching himself smiling despite the thought.
\nOn the wall opposite the bookshelves hung the TV, the only other domineering object in the room. A mess of cords flowed down behind an entertainment center. There were about three or four dozen bluray discs taking up residence there; Meyer spotted some familiar titles, mostly animated films and Saturday Morning Cartoon compilations. He spotted a game console and a controller, mostly untouched, dusty and alone – its mate on the coffee table next to a stack of library books and an empty cereal bowl.
\nWalls that weren't all bookshelves or television were mostly photographs from around Hollyhawk and the surrounding area with a sprinkling of cartoon cels mixed in. There were pictures of the Cyril D. Flatwood Reservoir, a photo of the train tracks splitting through Bridlevale Woods, a photo of Hollyhawk Station...and, huh. A photo of he and Arnaud.
\nHe lifted it off the wall and held it in his hands. It was the two of them at a class trip they'd taken in their freshman year. Behind them was the Schoenfeld Dam. Arnaud was giving him...rabbit ears? As if I didn't already have enough of those, Meyer mused. He remembered this trip now: it was part of the high school's "Apprenticeship Pathways Program" to get teens interested in trade careers. At that point the two of them had pretty much known where they were headed, though; Arnie wanted to be a librarian, and Meyer's parents made very clear his future had been decided for him.
\nShows what they know, he snorted, putting the photo back.
\nArnaud rounded the corner. "Hey, so. Any thoughts on food?" He flopped down on the couch and pulled his phone out in one swift motion.
\n"Edible," muttered the hare. "You're into photography?"
\n"Yeah, you could say that!" he replied, lifting his head above the back of the couch. "I was the college newspaper photographer my junior year, then got a job at the Gazette-Dispatch for a couple of months. Now that I'm at the library, it's more of a hobby."
\n"Mmm," Meyer mumbled into his water glass.
\nArnaud pulled up the food delivery app and started scrolling idly through the local fare. Meyer slid open the glass door to the balcony and stepped out into the evening.
\nHollyhawk at night wasn't much to look at from three stories up; lots of sodium lamps and halide bulbs lighting the streets and the assortment of porch lights and yellowing business signs speckling the criss-cross blocks near the center of town. He could hear a flag clanking against a flagpole somewhere, the rush of cars from the freeway just outside of town.
\nSetting his glass of water down, he fished his cigarette case out of his pocket and tapped it against his hand a few times, pulling one out and lighting it quick as you please.
\n"Smoking?" he heard behind him. Arnaud was frowning; he could see that much in the contrast of the shitty porch lighting.
\n"Y-yeah."
\n"I can't believe you never quit." The slider opened and Arnaud came outside. He was wearing a Captain Cottontail t-shirt and a pair of...were those Toucan Sam pajamas? He leaned against the balcony, breathing in a little secondhand and coughing.
\n"I mean. I did, for a while. It's just, well. You know. Rough couple of weeks."
\n"Do...do you wanna talk abo--"
\n"No," Meyer snipped. "I don't."
\n"Okay," Arnaud sighed. They both stared out into the night for a moment. Meyer took another drag.
\nThe silence was aggressive and lasted longer than it should've. Meyer broke it.
\n"Thanks for picking me up."
\n"Huh?" It took the aardwolf a moment. "Oh, yeah. No problem."
\n"This...this is really hard."
\n"What is?"
\n"Being here. Being...being here. Being back home. I don't wanna be here," he said. "I'm not supposed to be here."
\n"What's so bad about Hollyhawk, My? I get that it's not the city but, y'know, people, people have lives here, too."
\n"Everything here feels like it's going nowhere. It's like a fucking one-horse town."
\nArnaud chuckled. "Yeah, well, you know that's not true. There's probably, like, at least three generations of horses that live here."
\nMeyer coughed as he laughed. "Dammit, Arnie, you know what I mean."
\n"It's not as miserable as you're making it out to be. You've been gone a long time. Things change. We've all changed. We need each other here just as much as anyone needs anyone anywhere else."
\nThe hare stubbed his cigarette out on the balcony rail and flicked it into the night. "Don't you ever feel like you've outgrown it? I mean, look at you. Captain Cottontail? The comic book collection? Cereal for dinner? You're like a child clinging on to a life that passed you by."
\nHe regretted the remark as soon as it came out of his mouth.
\n"I'm myself," Arnaud said, a serrated edge in his reply. The words hit Meyer square between the ribs, just below the heart. "I own myself and my choices, and I'm not sorry that doesn't meet with your approval. I'm trying to lend a hand. I get what you're going throu--"
\nHe was cut off. Meyer looked him square in his narrowed eyes and bared teeth. "You don't get it at all, Arnie! You have no idea what failure looks like! You're out here 'living the dream,'" Meyer growled, exaggerated air quotes and all. "You got what you wanted."
\nThe emotions of the last few days, the weight of everything happening to him, all of it was starting to catch up. His voice broke. He could feel the waterworks engaging. Meyer's expression went from angry to exhausted in a flash. "I'm fucked, pal." He smacked the back of his palm into his other hand, the sound punctuating that last sentence. "I don't know what to do."
\nMeyer was trying to look anywhere but at Arnaud. The ceiling, the floor, the bugs buzzing around the porch light, his shoes. Arnaud put a single hand on Meyer's shoulder and pulled him into an embrace. Meyer started sobbing with the entire weight of his body, sniffling into the aardwolf's shoulder, muffled wails between ragged breaths.
\nArnaud squeezed him gently, scents of stale mentholated air, athletic deodorant, and twice-worn t-shirt mingling with the damp autumn night air in his nose. Minutes passed before Meyer caught up with his own grief. "I'm scared," said the hare.
\n"It's okay to be scared," he replied.
\nMeyer pulled away, face wet with tears. "I'm still hungry."
\nArnaud sighed. "Yeah. How about pizza?"
\nA sniff. "Is Rowan's still around?"
\n"Yeah," the aardwolf smiled. "We could get Rowan's. Come inside and I'll call it in."
\n← Now Arriving |\nAccounting →
\n", "date_published": "2022-11-21T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/01-now-arriving/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/plymouth/01-now-arriving/", "title": "Now Arriving", "content_html": "Several thousand questions rattled around in that empty skull of his as the train rattled along the tracks, prime among them being "Why am I such an accomplished self-saboteur?"
\nHe opened the Mail app on his phone again to read the letter that damned him.
\nFROM: alvarezce@jhu.edu\nTO: mleveret@jhu.edu; cottoncritter93@hotmail.com\nCC: richko41@jhu.edu; studentconduct@jhu.edu; athleticdirector@jhu.edu;\nSUBJ: Notice of Expulsion from Johns Hopkins University\n\nBradmeyer Leveret-Hasenkamp:\n\nThe Office of the Athletics Director was notified that a blood test taken by the NCAA prior to the start of the NCAA Fencing Regionals tested positive for abnormally elevated levels of erythropoetin (EPO), a banned substance under the "peptide hormones, growth factors, related substances and mimetics" class per the NCAA Sport Science Institute.\n\nThe NCAA has determined you are in violation of the NCAA eligibility rules and have been declared ineligible for competition. As this is your second such declaration of ineligibility this academic year and your fourth overall, the NCAA has notified Johns Hopkins University that you have permanently lost eligibility with regard to NCAA competitive play. Therefore, the Office of Financial Aid has no choice but to revoke your Athletic Scholarship.\n\nThe Office of Student Conduct convened both an Administrative Hearing and a Conduct Board regarding your behavior. In both cases you were sent several memoranda (attached) directing you to appear before it to assist you with continuing your academic career in lieu of this loss of scholarship. Despite these memoranda, you have failed to appear before either the Administrative Hearing or the Conduct Board.\n\nWe have attempted multiple times to salvage this relationship. Your refusal to participate is disappointing and leaves little choice in the matter.\n\nIn my capacity as the Dean of Undergraduate Studies I am hereby notifying you of my decision to expel you from Johns Hopkins University. You have been withdrawn from the School of Public Health effective immediately. Your academic credits, such as they are, have been expunged. Any tuition you have paid in excess of your scholarship has been forfeit. You have twenty-four (24) hours to remove your belongings from student housing at which point your J-Card will cease to allow you access to campus facilities. You must surrender your J-Card to your Resident Advisor.\n\nYou may not reapply to the University for one (1) year. If you wish to make an appeal, you may do so no later than thirty (30) days' time. You may have counsel present if you wish.\n\nSincerely,\n\nDr. Chaxiraxi E. Álvarez\nPronouns: She/Her/Hers\nDean of Undergraduate Studies\nJohns Hopkins University\n\ncc: Director, Department of Athletics\nOffice of Student Conduct\nDean, Department of Biology and Molecular Biology\n\nAttachments: 9\n\nThe Blue Jays are Going Green!\nJohns Hopkins is committed to a paperless future.\nPlease consider the environment before printing this e-mail.\nCleaning out his dorm had been a solemn affair; his entire floor had cleared out to go to a frat party celebrating yet another lacrosse victory, so nobody was there to watch him grimly piledrive all his neatly hung-up clothes in a duffel bag or to see him shove his laptop in his messenger.
\nWell, nobody, that is, except for a tiger, the slightly older and certainly more dour RA standing outside the door.
\n"Sorry, My," they sighed. "They asked me to make sure you didn't, uh. You know."
\n"Yeah, no. No, Quinn, I get it," he'd replied, having already successfully found a way to sneak out the absolutely-not-allowed-in-campus-housing bottle of everclear into his bag.
\nHe had tossed all his notebooks ("won't need those"). He left the microwave and the minifridge -- surely someone would use them or, at the least, give them to campus surplus ("hopefully they won't surplus the burritos, though").
\nHe'd spent the last several hours on a train back home from Baltimore, eating prepackaged salads and sneaking pulls of everclear between the conductor's passing up and down the train car. He would never smoke on the train. He didn't do it now and he certainly didn't do it when the conductor had asked what he was up to in the bathroom between cars 9 and 10 and why it smelled so badly of cigarettes and had to give him $100 to not get put off at the last stop.
\nHe was only remembering all this because it was the last e-mail he'd received to his personal address; his parents hadn't even so much as called to check in on him. Surely they got a written copy in the mail, what with him being a legacy admission providing a sizable endowment attached to his application in the form of the Dr. Meadow B. Leveret School of Social Work Building. Or they'd probably heard through the alumni network.
\nWhatever. T'hell with'em, he thought, huffing hard enough to fog the railcar's window as the trees streaked by against the twilight hues of the early evening.
\nHe started packing things in his messenger bag, putting away the cards he'd bought and wrestling with his phone charger, when he heard the familiar squeak of his text message notification in his headphones.
\n> AC: Is it true my best friend from high school, the inimitable Bradmeyer Etienne Leveret-Hasenkamp, voted Most Contagious Smile of the senior class, is returning to our meager, unworthy mosquito-plagued backwater?
"Best friend" was doing a lot of work, Meyer recalled. They were in homeroom together, sometimes they'd study for the same exams, but that was about it. Maybe he didn't have as many friends as the hare remembered.
\nWait a second. How did he find out about this? This was painful, even more than the e-mail, more than the ignominy of packing his shit in front of the RA he'd fooled around with, more than the Baltimore cab driver asking why he was heading to the train station in the middle of winter quarter when he knew midterms were around the corner.
\nArnaud found out he was coming back home. Arnaud, the library sciences nerd. Arnaud, the "breakfast-cereal-at-lunch" guy. Arnaud, the "always had a note for gym class" guy.
\n> ML: hey arnie
> AC: It'll be good to see you again, My.
> ML: yeah, same
A beat passed.
\n> ML: what do you mean?
> AC: I mean, I figured you probably needed a ride home from the train.
Arnaud was picking him up at the train station? Dragging him kicking and screaming back into the whirlpool of small-town bullshit that came with being in Hollyhawk? This was almost too much to bear. He felt the knot between his shoulderblades tighten.
\n> ML: howd you find out? who told you?
> AC: Nobody. I saw you posting about it is all.
Right. Shit. Thanks, he'd chastized a previous version of himself.
\n> AC: It must be tough. I just figured you probably needed some help.
Another pause. Meyer left him on read for a few minutes.
\n> AC: Do you have a place to stay?
> ML: yeah
> AC: Where? With your parents?
> ML: no, im at the 12 oaks for a few days
Deciding to go back to Hollyhawk had been an admission of defeat. Making arrangements at the Twelve Oaks Lodge, though, had been a fear of dealing with the fallout of his choices. A roadside motor inn turned divorced dad apartment complex, it was the kind of place you stayed "for a couple of days until you got back on your feet," though not everyone often made it into that second group. He was lucky they had an opening.
\nThere was no way he'd have asked his parents for a place to stay.
\nGod, how miserable, he thought. Meyer had nowhere else to go but his hometown, and had nowhere else to go once he got there. And now the guy he used to have to tell other kids to ease up on was his only hope of rescue and his only real connection with the town he swore he'd never come back to. Jesus, he reflected. The reality of his situation was hitting him and he bit back his tears.
\n> AC: My, you can't be serious.
> ML: its fine, its just for a little while until things calm down at home
> AC: I've got a pull-out, man. You don't have to stay at the Twelve Brokes.
> AC: If it's just for a few days you'd probably rather be in familiar company, right?
> AC: Good to get settled with someone you know
God. Arnaud was right and it sucked. Meyer left him on read for a moment.
\n> AC: We can order in.
It suddenly struck the hare how hungry he was. Even his stomach seemed surprised by the revelation, grumbling in apparent shock that a diner car salad only gets you so far. And, if he was being honest with himself, he knew damn well the Twelve Oaks was going to be a nightmare.
\nOkay. Fresh start. Commit. You can do it, he told himself. It's just for a few days.
\n> ML: sure ok
> AC: Okay. I'm just out front in passenger pickup. I'll see you soon.
He heard the train's brakes squeal. He pulled his hood over his head, tugging his ears gently through the holes, shoving his phone in his pocket.
\nHe didn't want to be here. He stood up, slung his duffel over his shoulder, and checked his pocket for the claim ticket for his fencing bag, breathing shallow as he felt it in his fingers.
\n"Passengers for Hollyhawk, this is your stop. Please be sure you've gathered your belongings and disembark through the rear of the train car."
\nHe stepped off the train car and took a huge breath of cold, wet, peaty air mixed with the slightest touch of burnt oil and diesel exhaust. There was a very small comfort in the familiar scent of home, even if you didn't want to be anywhere near it.
\nSettling →
\n", "date_published": "2022-10-22T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/stellerspace/02-consideration/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/stellerspace/02-consideration/", "title": "Consideration", "content_html": "The door to the hotel room slid open and Trellis took a moment to remove his work jacket.
\nNever one much for appearances, the coat he'd worn after spending a decade in the northwestern mountains -- planting trees, cultivating the soil, arranging shipments of dirt and dead leaves and fill and logs and waste, carefully raising the right kind of mushrooms to form a bond with what had been a long-obliterated winter wasteland -- was probably his closest link to home this far away. It smelled like soil and hydraulic fluid and sweat, contained memories of a victory against all odds, a sort of nylon suit of armor against the uncaring world beyond the treeline, a feeling of warmth beyond the insulation it provided.
\nIt was as much him as his own body was. He hung it gently on the hangar, taking a moment to run his fingers through the fur lining the hood. Remembering long nights camped in the wilderness, staring up at the stars, wondering if the firs would ever grow, watching the lights of the aurora borealis dance across the sky like a ribbon on fire.
\n"They're right," he said aloud, shutting the closet, throwing himself across the bed, sighing through his nose. "Christ."
\nHe rolled over on his back, stared at the ceiling, raised his arm to see his datapad wrapped around his wrist. Accessing the room key application with a few taps, he dimmed the lights and closed the shutters, blacking the room out. A few more taps and the ceiling began to twinkle with the light of a thousand thousand stars a million million miles away.
\nHe started to lose himself in his thoughts.
\n"Trellis, have you ever given any thought to, y'know, leaving?"
\n"Wh...what?"
\nThe spaceport was busier than usual. The sunlight drew amber slits across the living room in Flake's apartment. The viewer was on low volume, a science program about New Mawsynram's unique weather climate. Some Aldyne Terraforming Corps Meteorologist was explaining the theories behind the rain.
\n"Leaving," the bird asked, pulsing the coffee grinder. "You know. Those," they said, nodding towards the picture windows as another stellarliner began its takeoff roll with the high-pitched whine of sublight engines.
\n"N-no. Why would I do that?"
\nCarefully unfolding a coffee filter and placing it on the scale, Flake tapped the grounds into the paper basket until it chirped satisfactorily. The bird set the filter in the glass brewer and thumbed the toggle on the electric kettle. "You finished your project, you've got cache now. You got an Egalitarian Cross for godssakes! The cascades...in five years it'll be teeming with life again! You did that, Trel. What are you gonna do next?"
\nTrellis shrugged. "I figured I'd go back to Newhalem. Maybe start a farm--"
\n"A farm of what, bud?"
\n"I d-don't know, a t-tree farm--"
\n"A tree farm! Wow!" The sarcasm was thick enough to form a crust on the conversation. "What kind of trees?" the jay crowed.
\n"Don't patronize me," the deer frowned.
\n"You know nothing grows out here that doesn't glow in the dark, Trellis, yourself included." Flake's tone seemed to shift from sardonic to caustic. "You're tapped out, bud. Where's your higher aspirations? What about joining the terraforming corps on Venus? They could use someone to help expand the domes. Think about it. An entire forest named after you."
\n"I don't want to do that."
\nFlake's fist hit the counter with a thud enough to faze Trellis slightly. "You're wasting your god damn skills fumbling around in some potting shed!"
\nThe kettle clicked off, and Flake snatched it from its base, thumbing the Water key on his scale until it made a little melodic chime indicating the right weight had been reached.
\nThe bird's silence permeated the apartment almost as deeply as the smell of coffee grounds. The silence became uncomfortable.
\n"Call Flake," Trellis muttered into his wrist.
\nThe datapad chirped eagerly, attempting to set up the connection. Trellis rolled over on his side, reached behind his head, pulled out his hair tie, let his long silver hair fan out. After a beat, it chirped again to notify him the connection was established.
\n"Hello hey," came the familiar voice, with a backing track of running water and clanking dishes in a washbasin.
\n"Flake," Trellis sighed.
\n"Oh, hey," the jay replied. The water stopped. "What's up?"
\n"Why did you refer an application in my name to ASA?"
\n"Ah, okay. Not a social call," Flake said, and Trellis swore he heard their eyes roll.
\n"No," Trellis sighed, "not a social call."
\n"Trellis–"
\n"Look, don't think I'm not grateful. I just don't get it. Why do you want me off the planet so bad?"
\n"What makes you think I want you off the planet?"
\n"Why are you answering my question with a question?"
\nFlake sighed. "You realize that there are thousands of opportunities out there, right? Millions? You could be the driving force that spreads our kind out past the Compact. We're talking Neptune. You could be among the first folks to terraform Io. Io! They're already working on it. Ring colonies. Drum colonies. New stations. You could be building oxygen forests! The work you're doing is too important. You can't just do one thing and give up!"
\nThe line went silent on both ends. A sniff came through, crystal clear. Flake's voice started to waver.
\n"I care about you but I can't have you hanging around here and wasting yourself. I have work to do, too, Trellis. I have to do what I'm good at, and you have to do what you're good at. It's bigger than money or old love or anything else. We're still new here, relatively, our kind, you know? Having a Lyrician like you or me doing something like heading up a big multi-generational project...that could open doors. It could change lives, handlebars."
\nAfter a pause to digest the words, including the emotion behind them, Trellis spoke. "You wouldn't be saying it like this unless you're planning something."
\n"I'm not. Even if--"
\n"Yeah."
\nA moment of silence. Hands held, released across tens of millions of miles. Trellis swore he could feel fingers intertwine.
\n"I knew this wasn't a social call," Flake said. Was that a smile?
\n"What are you doing?"
\n"Cleaning up. What are you doing?"
\nThe deer sighed. Loudly. "I don't know, Flake."
\nA pause. The water stopped. Silverware clanking around loudly in a drawer.
\n"Marge told you about the Ivory Hermitage, didn't she? It's a huge initiative, you know. They're just building it in Mars orbit and they're going to tow it out past the Rim. You'd get to see the whole system, eventually. A Lyrician working for Aldyne, building a colony ship."
\n"She...said it was a seed vault."
\n"I mean, c'mon. You at least looked at the diagram, right? Nobody needs all that space for plants, Trel. Put it together."
\nAnother moment passed. Then another. Gears in Trellis' head began to grind away, chewing at this new information. He swore he felt one slip.
\n"I don't want to leave the system."
\n"I know, dear."
\n"I don't want to leave you."
\n"I know, dear."
\n"And...I'll never get another opportunity like this again, will I."
\nIt was Flake's turn to sigh. "Not in this lifetime, dear."
\nTrellis hated when Flake called him "dear." It was a blatantly transparent play on words. The jay just could not stop themselves. Even in times of duress, ever the joker. It was one of their most endearing qualities.
\n"I need to sleep," Trellis yawned.
\n"I bet you do, handlebars. You've had a big day. Get some rest, think about things. Take a train around the planet, go see your parents or something. You can probably get a mass driver to New Vail somewhere out of Gusev, right?"
\n"I...I don't...maybe?"
\n"I'll look it up for you and fire it to your pad. Get some sleep. I love you and I'm hanging up for your own good okay? Okay. Mwah. Goodnight."
\n"Goodnight," Trellis said, the connection closing before he had a chance to return the sentiment.
\nTwo weeks on Mars wouldn't be so bad, he figured.
\n← Registration | The Low Places →
\n", "date_published": "2022-10-20T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/stellerspace/01-registration/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/stellerspace/01-registration/", "title": "Registration", "content_html": ""Mister..." said the desk attendant, looking at their datapad, eyes the first to fumble with the pronunciation and mouth the second, "Shee-go?"
\n"Doctor Shigo," the deer said, frowning as he stood. "Long I. That's me. Just...call me Trellis."
\n"Trellis, huh? Like, an arbor. Oh! Because you're an arborist."
\n"Silviculturist," he replied exasperatedly. "And, uh, n-no, because that's my name."
\n"Mm. Weird name," said the attendant without thinking.
\nAfter a highly awkward silence, and after the attendant tried to find anywhere to look other than the deer's two meter tall frame, they made a face like they'd just dropped a bowl of eggs. "My apologies. This way please," they gestured down a corridor.
\nThe poured concor walls of the Aldyne Stellar Agriscience building offered a cornucopia of living color for decoration. Wooden paneling broke up the long gray halls with splashes of brown, bright white light diffused behind it to illuminate the corridors without making it feel too sterile. Fungal cultures grew out of little sconces dotting the walls, remnants of the same types of spores used to bring life to the Martian regolith. Lichens were allowed to crawl the walls on specially made stone lattices, tracing intricate patterns along the corridor. Trellis closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and for a moment, he felt like he was back home in the Cascades.
\nThe echoing clunk of a steel door latch stirred him from his reverie, which he must have been lost in for a while; the assistant was already at the end of the corridor waiting at the entrance to the director's office. "Sir?" said the attendant. "This way, please."
\nThe deer's eyes flashed open. "S-sorry. I, uh. Sorry," he stammered, continuing, a slight hustle in his walk.
\n"Director Stoughton will be in momentarily, she's currently in a meeting that's running just a bit long. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"
\n"Oh, um. Thanks," Trellis said, removing his jacket and folding it carefully over the back of his chair. "Herbal tea?"
\n"Absolutely. Back in a moment," the assistant said, the door sliding shut behind them, leaving Trellis alone with himself.
\nDirector Stoughton's office had a picture window overlooking Orion City's Bell Fields district, hundreds upon hundreds of apartment blocks housing some of Mars' best and brightest, all employees of the Aldyne Corporation, all working in Jacob's Ladder, tarrying between the compound and the condos, raising families, doing work they believed was in the best interests of Lyricians and Humans and everyone yet to be born. Parks dotted the landscape, Hyperion trains criss-crossing the streets between the buildings. Trellis recognized some of the trees from the window, little clusters of paper birch and douglas fir clearly imported from Old Terra to make the residents feel at home.
\nIn that moment, standing behind Director Stoughton's desk, staring out her picture window, he felt very far away from the Northwestern Territories, and he felt very alone.
\n"It's the 'pride of the company,' you know," came a low, burning voice from behind him. He pivoted. In the doorway stood Margaret Stoughton, her broad frame filling the opening, taller ears barely brushing the top of the entry. "Orion City's been a piece of the Aldyne corporate infrastructure for over two hundred years, and we take very good care of our own."
\n"Looks like a scrip town," the deer muttered flatly.
\n"We give our employees everything they need to survive. We only ask for their labor in return, Dr. Shigo," the serval replied. "But we're not here to have a labor rights conversation, are we? Do you mind?"
\n"O-oh. Sorry," Trellis said, quickly finding his seat like the song had stopped in a game of musical chairs. "No, you're right. I-"
\nShe handed him a cup of tea. Peppermint, from the smell of it. He took it graciously.
\n"Margaret Stoughton. You're here because of the letter," the serval stated, matter of factly.
\n"I, uh. Yeah. I'm here because of the letter."
\n"A mister Stell–"
\n"Mixter," Trellis interrupted. "Don't gender them." Forceful, like he'd found his footing.
\n"No matter," she frowned, ears flattening, their white tips disappearing behind her head. "You were referred." The words came out of her mouth laced with derision, bumping off her incisors and breaking loose with the same amount of sharpness.
\n"Apparently, y-yes."
\n"We've done a little digging, naturally." Her ears perked as she pulled her chair out, taking her seat behind her desk. She began to idly key information into her terminal. "Your work on Northwestern Territory reforestation after the Glassing is particularly impressive, Trellis Shigo. Forest Sciences doctorate, SolFed Egalitarian Cross, Greta Aldyne Terraforming Grant, several Polaris Clusters, quite a bit of alphabet soup."
\n"That's true."
\n"Tell me," she said, folding her hands under her chin. "What did you spend your grant on?"
\n"Th-the Domes needed a fruiting orchard, so my team and I set about creating a replicable hydroponic model using captured carbon dioxide and cataly-"
\n"Really, Dr. Shigo. Fruit on Venus?"
\n"A-and nuts!" Trellis sputtered, holding his mug, taking a slightly nervous sip, setting it down. "Every dome is primarily self-sustaining now. Something from nothing, really. It's actually pretty remarkable."
\n"Let me be blunt, Dr. Shigo. We were looking for a botanist, someone whose skills were more generalized. You are...not that. But your project management experience and understanding of botanical systems leads us to believe you may be just the person we need."
\nThe deer's brow furrowed. Not one to ever have held a decent poker face, the frustration became evident. "It was a week-long trip getting out here, ma'am, if you're just going to mock me-"
\nShe ignored him and continued. "We think you would be a perfect Caretaker for our long-term arboreal storage initiative. We call it," she said, making a few taps on her console and swiping a document to the picture window behind her, "The Ivory Hermitage."
\nA tubular structure, spun gravity wheels spaced evenly throughout, appeared behind her. The diagram had some mathematics and callouts on it rotating in perfect sync with the diagram. He got the gist; it was a seed vault and science laboratory, a space station pushed into a satellite-like orbit of Mars.
\n"Wh...what?"
\n"You're a botanist of a sort, as I said. Specialized. We're Aldyne, Dr. Shigo. We have plenty of scientists of all kinds. Physicists, geneticists, horticulturalists, mycologists, geologists. Stellar Agriscience is one of our newer initiatives and we need a newer mind to help guide our aim. The ceramist guiding the apprentice's fingers on the pottery wheel, if you will. Do you follow? The goalposts will move, but you have a say in how far and when."
\n"C-can you call me Trellis, please?"
\nMargaret sighed dismissively, waved her paw, slammed it on the desk. "Look, I don't have a lot of time for you. You, however, have two weeks of stay booked at one of Orion City's finest hotels, and a first-class Orbridge charter back to Old Terra whether you take the job or not. So, really give it some thought. Take in the sights. Really consider if this is the right role for you, Dr. Shigo. But bear in mind we hand selected you from literally thousands of possible candidates. Just because you're the top of the stack doesn't mean we're not willing to overlook you."
\n"Why did you fly me up here th–"
\nHer pace quickened, frustrated. "You'd be curating an arboretum in zero gravity. Complete control over its contents, what we store, where it goes, what experiments are run, how the hydroponics are set up. The oxygen garden would need tending, there's room to grow all manner of plants, lichens, fungi, especially trees. Grow whatever the hell you want. I mean," she said, stifling a laugh, "if you wanted to grow Ganymedan Poppies, we couldn't stop you."
\nTrellis took a moment to catch his breath. "What's the catch?"
\n"No catch, Dr. Shigo. It's a permanent contract. Full medical, full dental -- lord knows you'll need it with all those teeth, something something gift horse," she chuckled as Trellis making a disgusted look at her, "and a substantial stellar habitat stipend to spend both in orbit and on the surface as you like. Not scrip, mind. Cash."
\nThe deer's silence was telling.
\nThe serval smiled, teeth bared, predatory. "Look, Dr. Shigo. You can enjoy your two weeks on Mars any way you like. I'm not here to tell you what to do. You want to go back to your little nothing cabin in your big nothing woods north of a metropolis full of criminals and poors, that's a decision you can come to on your own, as an adult. I'm offering you a way out. A way forward. An Aldyne First."
\nShe stood up and clicked something on her terminal, the wireframe diagram of the Ivory Hermitage disappearing, the vista of the residential blocks of Orion City returning to full view. "A fellow Lyrician heading an Aldyne stellar initiative. Not many of our kind can say that," she purred. "Not many at all."
\nHe looked anywhere but her. He swished the tea leaves around in the bottom of his mug. If he was trying to read them, all he got were more questions. The pause was long enough that she had a moment to calm herself a little, her frantic tone turning to an empathetic one. She took a breath. "Frankly, Dr. Aldyne sees something in your perseverance that I, too, find admirable. I'm here to conduct a hire, and I think you're the right deer, dear. Since you already took the liberty of signing the non-disclosure agreement I've had my attendant deliver all the FYEO data I can share on the program to your datapad for review at your leisure. Take your time to study the information, the description of the role, and make a decision."
\nTrellis sank into the chair as far as he could, lost in thought, staring at his boots, trying to find any imperfections he could focus on, any small crevice he could escape into. "I have a question," he said to the floor.
\n"What," Margaret sighed.
\n"What did they say about me, exactly, that got you to message me?"
\n"Mixter Stelleri referred you to the program because they suggested, and I quote," she said, grabbing a datapad off her desk and clearing her throat, "'Handlebars knows that run-down nursery of his is only capable of growing irradiated little aloe plants. I'm tired of seeing him fret over dying flora when he could be nursing seedlings to new life.' Your record on the Northwestern Restoration Project also helped in our decision, but frankly your passion for the work speaks for itself."
\n"I'm sorry?"
\n"There's more. 'He's a nurturer,'" the serval said, once again quoting from the report, "'practically a druid. The man has a way with plants. He sings to them, he treats them as a mother would their children. As his friend, his lover, and his family, I cannot think of a single individual whose thumb is greener than Trellis Shigo's.'"
\n"They...Flake? Said that about me?"
\n"And, if I may, Dr. Shigo, whether you're aware of it or not, their voice is at its loudest among those of our kind here on Mars, particularly after the McMurdo Concordat."
\n"I'll..." Trellis started, trailing off, pausing, losing himself in his memories. "I'll need time to think."
\nThe door slid open, carefully timed, the attendant waiting just outside in the corridor. "You have two weeks, Dr. Shigo. Take as much of it as you need."
\nFor a Jovian terminal out on the frontier, the Tethys cosmodrome sure seemed at its busiest, a bustling cluster of humans, lyricians, and frames with places to go and people to see and cargo to carry. Everyone had an origin, everyone had a destination. The tannoy bellowed a message, desperate to be heard.
\n"Travelers, your attention please. OLC Resplendent Host is now departing from Pad Sierra. Pre-boarding and cabin assignment will begin in one standard hour. Please report to Sierra Concourse for departure preparation. Orbridge thanks you for your patronage."
\nAuburn's coffee was mostly water at this point, anxious stirring having melted most of the ice.
\nThe jackalope's feet were propped atop his duffel bag as he sat on a high stool in the coffee shop just past the security checkpoint. He wasn't given to nervousness - there'd always been a steadiness about him - but today he was tapping his toes against his luggage and wondering why he'd gone for cold brew instead of wildflower tea. He loved wildflower tea.
\nDid he? Trellis would make it for him some mornings, he recalled. He did, he decided, shaking his cup idly and watching the mostly-clear ice crescents float around his coffee. He did love wildflower tea, past tense. But he would never order it himself from a shitty café in an Outer Rim cosmodrome. Something about where it came from. Something about the way it was loose leaf, how he always made sure there were mountain dandelion heads in it, floating gently on top of a bittersweet brew with just a few drops of honey, how it always had exactly the right blend of herbs, how the flavors would bound across the palate like a choreographed ballet, how they'd sit and lean against each other on the porch as the rain watered the forest and the garden and they'd let the silence do the talking.
\n"You could st-stay," he said flatly, voice sharp-edged.
\n"I could give up my life, yeah. I'd rather not do that. If you were given the opportunity, wouldn't you do something like this?" Pleading. It wasn't like him to beg.
\n"It's n-not giving up a life, it's, it's building one." Distant. Fearful. Afraid. Of what, being alone? Auburn thought.
\n"I want to explore, Trellis. I want to find new opportunities! That's what the frontier offers. That's what's beyond the belt. You're so damn focused on the trees you can't see the stars."
\nThe rain on the roof and the creaking of the branches in the forest outside punctuated the silence between them. For a moment the air was thick enough with tension to choke on. Trellis set about taking the first bite.
\n"How dare you." The words hit like timber-fall. "You have no idea what I've given up." He wasn't stuttering anymore.
\nHis datapad chirped. He turned his arm to look at the message; the haptic interface jumped off the pad's screen and hung amber text in the middle of the air.
\nHello, [WOLMAN, AUBURN]:\n\nYour leave of absence request from [TETHYS HYDROCRACKER STATION 224-ECHO] has been generously [APPROVED] by the Labor Capital Administration Section of Guldsommar Holdings. This workflow is complete and no further action is necessary.\n\nYou now have [32 Standard] Days, [17 Standard] Hours of remaining leave.\n\nRemember, [WOLMAN, AUBURN]: Guldsommar's Got Your Back!\n\nFurther inquiries should be directed to [PATON, OLEG], your supervisor.\nDO NOT reply to this message!\n\n[Labor Capital Administration Section]\n[Hydroengineering Corps]\n[Guldsommar Conglomerated Technology Holdings]\nMonths of separation at a time over several years while Trellis helped to rebuild forests and Auburn studied his rocks and his water had made their last real moment together an angry one. God damn him, Auburn thought.
\nHe replayed the message Trellis had sent him a few more times before deciding to leave for the Core. He'd thought a thousand things to say back and then thought ten thousand more. He'd tried losing himself in his work and ended up finding himself longing to feel his clawtips gently trace the furrows and crags of a western red cedar while a silver-furred hand pressed against his own and a mossy voice chattered in his ear about bark repair. He'd ground his teeth so hard he nearly chipped a tooth. He must've written half a dozen replies, tried recording a few, found himself too buried in the stages of grieving a relationship he'd never really let die in the first place. All he managed to send back was:
\nT,\n\nOkay. Maybe.\n\n–Longears\nThis was harder for him than he'd wanted to admit to anyone, most of all himself. His datapad chirped again at him, quietly but with the lilting tones of the Orbridge jingle letting him know it was getting close to boarding time. He stood up and pushed his chair out, the metal legs making a scraping noise against the concor floor that would have woken the dead even in the din of the terminal's bustle. He threw his bag over his shoulder and his coffee in the compost.
\nThinking about it as he moved through the terminal, there wasn't much to lose now. Mars being what it was, hydrological engineers were needed all over the planet after the ice had been cracked and Aldyne was scrambling to figure out what to do with all the water it found itself deluged by. They pay in scrip, but at least they pay. And he'd be closer to Phobos Colony, so even if this "new home" Trellis got all worked up about didn't pan out, at least he'd be near his own people, even if it was more or less a shantytown. Home's what you make of it, he thought.
\n"Departure pass?" inquired the boarding frame at the gate.
\nAuburn slid his identity rod out of his datapad (much to its protest) and into the reader. After a beat, the stanchion turned green. "Confirmed," said the frame matter-of-factly while Auburn fiddled with his datapad. "Departing in 39 standard minutes. Cabin assignment has been encoded; use your datapad for wayfinding. Standard cabin, port-side aft. Single bunk."
\n"Thanks," Auburn replied cooly.
\n"Not a problem, sir. At your leisure, return passage may be booked from any Orbridge port of ca–" The frame stopped abruptly. "Disregard," it said in a more mechanical-than-cordial voice.
\n"Hmm?"
\nThere's no way a frame could clear its throat but this one did its best impression. "My apologies, sir. I suffered from a parsing error. I did not realize this is a one-way booking."
\n← The Low Places | Outside →
\n", "date_published": "2022-10-19T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/stellerspace/05-outside/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/stellerspace/05-outside/", "title": "Outside", "content_html": "The smooth greased-metal sound of sealbolts whirring into place as the inner airlock door clenched itself into a solid seal between the cabin and what was about to be hard vacuum, the metal thud barely audible in his helmet assuring the deer that depressurization was a guarantee. Trellis grabbed the cuff around his suit glove and wiggled it just to be sure it was snug and locked into place.
\n[Inner seal confirmed. Pressure equalization in progress.]
"Nervous" was maybe close to the right word. After all, hard vacuum is pretty much the end of it, really. You can tell yourself this is routine, I've done this a hundred times all you want, but nothing is stopping metal fatigue or a loose suit seal from resetting your expectations.
\nThe heads-up display in his suit helmet lit up, orange and yellow and subtle, meters showing available power, available respimix, vital signs, a compass, a clock sparking to life. "Everything a growing spacer needs to feel secure," his trainer had told him.
\nHe took a deep breath. A gauge on the wall counted down the time to cycle. The breath was reflexive – the suit was perfectly capable of generating the necessary breathable atmosphere to ensure he was comfortable – but it never stopped Trellis from doing it every single time.
\nIn that moment, as the timer ticked down, the deer reached for the maglock toggle on the suit's thigh. The button gave without a second thought, and the suit's HUD confirmed the disengagement with a pop-up notification. Trellis applied the gentlest little push angling off the deck plate and began to rise, his gloved hands brushing against the top of the airlock.
\nHe was floating.
\n[Magboot disengage not recommended]
He keyed the ACK button on his wristpad. He knew. Out there if you lost your maglock you lost your life, but here in the airlock you were plenty safe. Usually. It wouldn't do any harm to float a little, he thought.
\n[Pressure equalized. Outer door seal disengaged.]
The timer exhausted itself, the yellow triangle light winking out, turning to a green circle. The outer airlock door clunked apart, the metallic whirring of the sealbolts unbinding themselves and retracting as the door slid open to reveal the vacuum of space.
\nThumbing the toggle again to remagnetize himself, Trellis stepped out onto the catwalk and began making his way to the tidally locked front of the seed vault station.
\n"I love the color," he would say to the other caretakers when they'd ask what his spacewalks were for. They didn't know he'd been in contact with the Lyricians at Phobos Lab to help rebuild some of the agridomes there, smuggling seed packets in their returned supply canisters. They didn't know it was to stare in pride and longing at the emerald splotches on the Martian surface like Orion's Glade or Holyoke Weld.
\nHe gripped the railing and stared at the red planet, watching the stars whirl and tuck themselves behind the freshly-formed (in geoengineering terms, of course) atmosphere. The station would be passing Syromyatnikov Plateau soon, the bringer of war's largest boreal reserve, and their fruit forests were coming into season.
\nTrellis tightened his grip on the railing and sighed, reveling in its verdant reaches.
\nIn contrast to many animals, leporidae are incapable of sweating of any kind. Nearly all of their heat exhaustion and thermoregulation occurs through their ears.
\nAuburn wished he could sweat now.
\nMaintenance of Tethys' hydrocrackers was not comfortable work. Cramped (not for a frame, certainly, but absolutely for a jackalope of his size) and hot (an uncomfortable 45 degrees Celsius this far down from the solar collector) and dirty (a considerable amount of hydraulic fluid that was fine for Lyricians but not so much for the housing seals of the frames they'd tried to send down to do the work themselves), it was probably his least favorite job, but it was among the most critical of his functions – without the hydrocracker, there'd be no drinking water for Telemachus City, no heat for the few hundred thousand working and living and thriving there ("in no short part due to Guldsommar Generosity," he mused, disappointedly).
\nAfter rotating the collar of the upward feed line until it was wrench-tight, he squeezed through a set of return pipes and very carefully past a photovoltaic reflector path into a control area. Using his wrench for leverage, he grabbed the cutoff valve with two meaty peach-furred hands and twisted clockwise to open it. The equipment flushed to life, no drips or spurts or splashes.
\nAnother job well done. He smiled and lifted his wristcom to his mouth.
\n"Hydrocontrol, maintenance complete. Wheels are turning."
\n"Copy clear, Auburn, looks like she's hummin'. Union break?"
\n"Nah, Cole, I think I'm done for the day. Don't think there are any other travelers left to process in my queue."
\n"Yeah, yeah, was hoping to pawn off some of these wastew–"
\n"Nnnnnnope."
\n"C'mon, man, the treatment plant could use an engineer like you helping them with their work orders!"
\n"The treatment plant could use any competent wrenchwringer!" Auburn shot back.
\nA bellicose laugh over the comms. "Yeah you're right about that. All right, sounds like we're wrapping up."
\n"Fire up the gravlift for me. Auburn out."
\n"Looky looky! Guldsommar's most talented waterboy," came a squeaky voice from the descender airlock.
\nPaying no mind to his engineering manager, Auburn peeled the coldsuit from his upper torso, sliding his huge arms out of the upper sleeves and shimmying the rest down his legs. He threw it into his locker, crumpled, and slid himself into a tank top and a pair of Guldsommar-issue work slacks. "What can I say, I know my niche. You should try it sometime, Oleg. Afraid you might crack a talon?" He pulled his button-down work shirt out and wiggled his way into it.
\n"Got more important things to do than knock pipes with grease-knuckles, wolpertinger," the osprey frowned as the jackalope buttoned his shirt. "You, ah, got a call while you were out. Someone at Aldyne's looking for you."
\nThe locker door slammed shut. Auburn wasn't one much for visibly shaken, but he sure looked that way now. "I assume they left a message."
\n"They did, ja. I didn't pry. Just said they were with Stellar Agriscience, said to call back soon as possible. Asked if they could leave a message. I took one." The bird narrowed his eyes. "I thought you didn't know anyone in the inner rim."
\nThe jackalope's silence spoke volumes. Oleg continued unabated. "Anyway," he said, whipping the transpariflex in his hand about a few times before setting it down on the bench behind Auburn's locker, "here you go. Hope is good, ja? Never good when those inner rim guys make long distance calls."
\n"No."
\n"Cole tells me you are off shift. Work went well I hope?"
\n"The gaskets on cracker 4 should be good to hold for decades to come," Auburn said, tugging his shoes on. "Pleased to say that the next fellow touches 'em won't be me unless something catastrophic happens. Took a look at the heads on the ice grinder while I was down there; might have a few sols left of life on 'em, though I'd replace them sooner than later."
\n"Ja, ja, okay, will bring it up at the next planning. Take off. Get some sleep. Cool off? Maybe return that phone call?"
\nAuburn rolled the flex up and put it in his bag, threw the bag over his shoulder, made towards the door.
\n"Maybe," he said, sliding it shut behind him without a second thought.
\nAuburn's home – a condo in the neighboring city of Hallusport – was described accurately as "spartan," though it left a lot of room for that word to do a lot of work. The concor walls were bare save for the hotel-style decorative lighting and on-lease artwork that came with the rental, the furniture and electronics were Guldsommar standard issue company stock for employee housing ("only the finest for our frontier founders" he'd scoffed once when the bed they'd provided him didn't fit his nearly seven-foot frame and promptly split in half after a week of use), the pantry stocked just enough for a couple meals in advance.
\nAfter sloughing off his work clothes and hitching up his boxer briefs, he fumbled around in his bag for the transpariflex. "Open message," he said to it, and the blank transparent sheet sprang to life with a full-page video message.
\n"Hey, longears. It's, uh, I know. I know it's been a while," the voice began, soft as cotton's caress and gentle as a mist settling in the branches of a forest vale. Auburn's ocean-blue eyes locked on to his correspondent's golden ones, his expression and state shifting from exhaustion to fondness, an ever-so-slight tremor in his hand as he held the flex.
\n"Sorry to send you a message from my work address, I uh, well, actually have a work-related thing I wanted to propose, but also, uh – oh yeah, I suppose I should start with the fact that I've got a new job now, with Aldyne – yeah, yeah, I know, I know, but it's arboriculture on a space station! I get to work with trees in space! I'm so excited. I can't believe it. I'm going to get a chance to make some world a better world, where people like us can live. A new home for Lyricians. We're going to be explorers! I'm going to be an explorer. A pioneer!"
\nThe camera panned away. A blur of gray and mint-green turned to walls of white, configured in a drum, with rows and rows of tree plantings and trimmings and agricultural equipment, peppered throughout with lush patches of all shades of green. "Look! Look at this. Isn't this magnificent? It's so...it's so green! We did so much work to bring this back on Earth, and now it's here. I'm so happy. Doesn't this make you happy?"
\nIt did.
\nThe camera panned back, an image of mostly nose and eyes. He was never any good with technology, the jackalope laughed to no one in particular, echoing hard off the concor. "Auburn, I, uh, I know it's out of the blue for me to call you like this. We haven't spoken for years. I know that. I'm sorry." He paused. His expression turned. "I'm sorry. I wanted to ping you and let you know that, well, we need people for the venture. We need like-minded, future-forward folk. I need a good hydrologist and I need a good engineer, and I know you're both of those, and it'd be nice to see you again, e-even after all that, uh."
\nThe feed went quiet briefly. "Anyway. I'm sorry. I know it's hard to catch transport out of the Jovians but if you can, please. If you can make it to Mars, meet me at New Mawsynram. Just...call first, okay? I'd love to hear from you. I'd love to see you." A chuckle, in spite of himself. "O-or, you know, call when you get here! I'm just in orbit. Bet I could see your hotel from here!"
\nThe camera whipped around roughly again, his caller's reflection in a glass porthole disappearing as the camera pressed against it, revealing puffy white dots hovering gently above a broad swath of coniferous forest, the blackness of space forming a backdrop to the glittering emerald jewel amongst the sea of red iron dust. "Look! That's Holyoke Weld. I helped do that. Isn't it beautiful? Forests like this are going up all over Mars. Silviculture. We even have animals living in some of them now! Very carefully-timed introductions of species native to Earth. Good stewardship." A squeal. "It's fantastic! If we can replicate this level of growth elsewhere, well. Maybe we can build a place of our own."
\nIn the background, someone called a name. The video careened back to a lens full of eyes and snout. "Oh, uh, that's me. Okay. I'm gonna hang up now, um, okay. Love you. Take care. Call me either way, okay? Okay. Bye for now. Look!" the message said, camera panning back to the lushness of the drum trees. "Look again! Okay. Bye for real now, okay, bye. Uh. End transmiss–"
\nThe communique stopped and the close-out animation played across the flex.
\nEnd transmission.\n\n///Shigo, Dr. Trellis R.\n///Principal Exosilviculturist\n///Aldyne Stellar Agrisciences\n///Technologies for the Modern Frontier\n\n[CARNET ENCRYPT // 33KAPPA-979 // MESSAGE VALIDATED]\n← Consideration | Separation Anxiety →
\n", "date_published": "2022-10-17T00:00:00Z" },{ "id": "https://bird.engineering/posts/firstpost/", "url": "https://bird.engineering/posts/firstpost/", "title": "A Reintroduction", "content_html": "Well, well, well, it's certainly been a while, hasn't it? And look at you, sitting there, holding your phone or your laptop or your mouse or whatever and using your computer device to look at me posting again.
\nHi! I'm back. I guess. I did it, for the most part. Right now, the website is as web and as site as I'm going to get it. Now that I've got a basic grasp of the concepts of deployment on this thing I would expect more frequent updates.
\nOver the coming days and weeks I'll be uploading a lot of my old WordPress content. Don't expect a flood, but I've got a Telegram channel you can keep up with if you want to be notified when the website updates. (And, yes, for those of you interested: I'm gonna try and set up some sort of RSS/Atom nonsense, too...eventually.)
\nIf you want to know more about me or what the hell I'm doing here, you can look at the About Me page. If you already know me, fantastic!
\nYou can always get in touch with me the traditional way.
\nTake care and make good decisions!
\n///Flake
\n", "date_published": "2022-08-26T00:00:00Z" } ] }