The Phruto Taski bar, known affectionately as the Fruit Taxi by the majority of people who occupied it (because they couldn't pronounce the name) was extraordinarily busy for a Thursday night. It was never quiet, but it was currently so crowded that the patrons had taken to sitting on tables and counters when the chairs ran out. Everyone was having a fun time watching Sanford Clarke's coworkers Tim and Martin make fools of themselves by singing karaoke. Everyone except Sanford. Nothing to worry about though, Sanford never seemed to enjoy himself.
The man in question was sitting at the bar between a woman and a large man who were arguing about the rising price of grapefruit, or something equally inane. He ran a hand through his red hair to push it out of his eyes, and got stuck on the ribbons Tim and Martin had tied in there earlier in the day. Eye roll. They had only dragged him here because he looked young. They had told the waitress it was his birthday so they could get free booze, then abandoned him to get sloshed elsewhere. Sanford had been sitting alone plotting his escape for a while now, and it seemed like the perfect moment when he was knocked off his bar stool by the gigantic fellow yelling about citrus.
"Augh!" Something horribly sticky glued the cuff of his shirt sleeve to the floor, and he yanked it up with a grimace. Godsdamnit, he was never getting out of the bar.
I might as well just move in here. I could survive off of peanuts that people up there drop, and there's plenty to drink. I don't need to worry about rent, no one notices I'm stuck to the floor anyway. There's stuff to read�
He picked up an empty packet of something-or-other and peered at the list of ingredients with blue eyes. The entertainment value was soon lost as a boot nudged into his knee and the dim light was blocked out entirely - someone had come over to stand in front of him.
"Excuse me. Do you mind?" He gave the leg a bit of a shove and the head belonging to it appeared under the counter. "Yeah, you. You're interrupting my moping. Could you move somewhere else?" He normally wasn't that outspoken, especially to strangers, but the redhead was in an exceptionally bad mood. An eyebrow raised over the man's turquoise eyes, and his mouth broke into a grin. He held out a hand and pulled Sanford up out of the gunk on the floor.
"Sorry, kiddo," he said cheerfully. His voice had a thick Sodan accent and sharp canines flashed when he talked. "I saw you down there, but I thought that was the place where all the cool kids hung out. I saw those ribbons, so you're obviously a fashionable fellow." He smirked as Sanford pouted at him.
"Hey! S'not my fault they're there. Those two," a point towards the stage, "put them there for my birthday. It's supposed to be festive, or something." He glared at the stranger, who just seemed more amused than ever. "�what? What are you grinning at?" "It's your birthday! That's fantastic! What're you doing on the floor when you should be celebrating? What're you, kiddo? Just turned sixteen?" He beamed and grabbed Sanford by the arm, dragging him through the crowd towards the door.
"What?! I'm nineteen! And it's not even my real birthday! Those two just said that to get free drinks. And stop cal-"
"Wait. Wait. They lied at the bar?" The man stopped abruptly and spun around, glaring towards the stage. His mood took a 180 turn to anger within seconds, and Sanford used the chance to pull away.
"Uh� yeah? It's just a harmless prank, if a bit annoying."
"Harmless prank? That is just ungentlemanly. Pay for your drinks! It's really the least you could do, right?" He shook a fist in the general direction of Sanford's coworkers, and by the time he turned back around he was smiling again. "Okay! Anyway, let's get a move on, kiddo."
"Sanford. Where are you taking me? I don't even know who you are!"
"Sanny! For cake! Sam, if you really must use a name, but preferably The Author. Actually, don't use Sam, I don't like that at all anymore. It's not my name anyway, so that's alright. Maybe Author. Definitely not The, that's just silly." By the time The Author had finished his introduction they had made their way outside and down the street to the convenience store. Sanford didn't even have a chance to reply before he was halted, told 'Wait here!' and abandoned once again.
He stood outside the door dumbly, not entirely sure what had just happened. Recap time. He was waiting for the man without a name whom he had just met to buy him a birthday cake on a day that was six months away from his real birthday. Right. Still not making very much sense. He considered just getting the hell out of there, but really, he had nothing better to do. It was only eleven. What was he going to do otherwise? Go home and sleep? This may have been insane, but at least it was somewhat interesting. The bell on the door jingled, and The Author stepped out, pointing to a bag.
"Pastry!"
"Wahoo."
"Never mock a free cupcake. Come on, we're going up there." He started walking up a dirt path towards the large cliff overlooking the city.
"The hill? Why?"
"Because� I want to. Sorry, was there somewhere else you wanted to go?" "Uh, no. Whatever."
"Good! Because we'd go to the hill whether or not you wanted to, and I wouldn't want to disappoint you. I'm only in town for tonight, and I wanted to check it out."
"It's not the most fascinating thing ever."
"You live here. Nothing here is fascinating to you."
"No, really, there is nothing interesting in Hayvon. Anywhere. Ever."
"Well, fine, but I'd like to find that out for myself, thank you. And you're coming with me, because I have sweets. Sweeeets."
"What are you, a paedophile? Luring me away with candy."
"Hey! Watch it! I'm only a year older than you."
"You were the one who thought I was sixteen."
"You look young for your age, take it as a compliment, Sanny."
"Sanford, dammit!"
"Hold that thought, Sanny." The Author dropped the unmarked bag from the convenience store and his own canvas satchel on the grass and walked over to the edge of the cliff, peering off. The whole town was visible, although the edges blended into the darkness of the fields beyond where the majority of the occupants made their livings. There were no cars going along the streets as it was far too late for anyone to be out, and even some of the street lights were off. Hayvon was a small, quiet town, so if anyone was actually out at this time, at most they lived two blocks from wherever they were at any given time. The view of the land really wasn't all that interesting at all, but the sky was remarkably clear, with stars visible for miles. This was exactly why The Author loved the country. He'd never want to be there in the winter, of course, far too cold, but that wasn't the matter at hand anyway. Back to business.
"Alright!" He clapped his hands together and dug into the plastic bag, pulling out a recently flattened cupcake wrapped in crinkly plastic and a hideously decorated polka-dot toque. "Oh, it's squished. It's still good, you don't mind, right?"
"No, really, it's fine. �am I going to regret asking what that hat is for?" Sanford eyed it warily. It was exceptionally hideous; a wooly orange monstrosity with pink and purple dots. Why it was ever created the world will never know, because it was quite obviously not supposed to be fashionable.
"Yes, yes you are." The Author jammed the hat onto Sanford's head where it sat not-so-majestically, tilted to one side and clashing horribly with his hair. The Author grinned and suppressed a laugh. "That looks excellent on you. It is now your birthday hat. Un-birthday hat, really. Just eat your cake." He handed Sanford the cupcake and walked off to sit on the grass by the edge of the cliff, pulling a cigarette and a lighter out of his back pocket. The lone streetlamp on the top of the hill and the faint glow of the cigarette were the only sources of light as the redhead pulled the hat off and headed over to join the writer. He bit into the pastry as The Author grinned at him, smiling back awkwardly, like he could have used a bit of time to practice first. He flopped back onto the grass and looked up at the sky, arms behind his head. It wasn't all that bad up here. He never really had the time to just stop and do nothing during the day, and during the night he was either still working or simply asleep.
"See, I made a good choice. Things don't have to be exciting to be interesting, kiddo. A little peace and quiet does a body good." The Author took a drag on his cigarette. If anyone needed peace, it was the writer. He never stayed in one place for more than two days if he could help it, yet he didn't have a destination. He would show up, spend the night at the house of someone he had just met who was willing to let him crash on their sofa, and disappear the next morning without a trace to head towards the next city or town nearby.
"I guess so," Sanford yawned. "Better than sitting on a bar floor, at least." He stared up at the sky and watched the smoke drift by. Was it really a good idea to be out here with a stranger? The man sitting beside him was worse than a stranger, actually. Hell, he didn't even have a name. The thought might have been a bit more disconcerting if Sanford hadn't fallen asleep within the next minute.
----
Sanford's eyes fluttered open, one its regular gray-blue colour, and the other suddenly green. As he failed miserably to focus on the rock lying on the ground at the end of his nose, he groaned and closed his eyes again. Oh, for the love of� I lost a damn contact. And what smells like smoke? He sat up groggily and looked around the now half-blurry field, picking grass and ribbons out of his hair. A heavy black coat slipped off his shoulder and into his lap and he realized who it, and the smell, belonged to. The Author himself was standing at the very edge of the cliff with that ever present cigarette in hand, staring off into the distance at the nothingness that was apparently something important. At least he hadn't just left him asleep in a field. What time is it, anyway? It was even darker than when they had arrived, but the redhead never wore a watch. The writer would have a clock in that bag of his, right? Sanford pulled the coat on and dragged the bag over to him with more than a bit of effort. Gods, if there wasn't a watch in there, there were probably enough bricks to build a small house. Digging into the main pocket he found pencils, a towel, a bunch of sealed envelopes held together with an elastic band� a pocket watch. Perfect. The watch was held together with bits of tape and the engravings on the cover had long worn off, but it still seemed to be ticking, and therefore still fulfilling its task, even if it was with more effort than a timepiece should really exert. Hoping that it wouldn't crumble into dust, Sanford opened it� and dropped it right back into the bag.
"Shit!" He scrambled to his feet and stumbled off, breaking into a run when he found his way onto the path. It was nearly two thirty in the morning, and he was Officially Screwed. One of the only conditions that his parents had for letting him stay at home (besides doing all the yard work and having a job of his own) was to, you know, actually come home at the end of the day. He didn't live far from the hill they had been sitting on, but if he wasn't home by the time his parents woke up at five, life was not going to be easy for the next month. His parents would have it easy, but he would probably have to do every little thing around the house and farm for a long while.
The Author, who wasn't even aware that Sanford had even woken up in the first place, practically jumped out of his skin when he got up and dashed away.
"Hey! Where are you going?" He flicked the butt of his cigarette away and started after the younger man, not bothering to grab his things as he ran off. He could barely run as it was, so there was no point in weighing himself down with things he could (hopefully) come back and get later. "Slow down! You're going to kill me!"
Kreeeeeeeew-CRASH! The sky lit up momentarily as a firecracker went off, the clouds flashing green and blue. It went ignored for the moment. Sanford was used to breaking into the factory and stealing small explosives, and The Author was focusing all of his energy on not collapsing as he ran.
Fweeeeeeee-BOOM! This time, Sanford skidded to a halt. He was at the end of the path, right at the start of his street. The light wasn't going away this time. He looked to his left at the factory and gaped, not even moving as The Author crashed into him. All he could do was make a strangled gasping sound.
"Ugh! Finally!" The man doubled over, out of breath. "Y-you could have just," pant "told me you wanted to," pant "leave! Or you could have maybe left" gasp "the coat� for the love of Tau, just don't run!" He stayed bent over as he caught his breath, ignoring the sounds and flashes of explosions. No one ever said he was observant. "Ugh! I don't really seem like I'm in the best physical condition d-" He was cut off by Sanford's hand covering his mouth, and finally looked up to see what was happening.
Oh dear. The factory was spewing fireworks from every direction. The sky was lit up in a rainbow of colours, all sparkling, beautiful, and dangerous. That last big explosion hadn't been someone setting off an abducted firecracker, but the building itself going up into flames. Something must have ignited inside the structure itself and caused the explosives inside to go off in one giant bang. They were definitely doing their job better than his pathetic pocket watch. The houses nearest to the factory had been demolished, and any near to them were singed and catching on fire. The Author straightened up and looked at Sanford, whose blue and green eyes seemed to be looking far off into the distance.
"Hey, kiddo?" People were crowding out into the streets to stare at the houses that were ruined and the ones that were working on it. Nothing interesting ever happened in Hayvon, and explosions were a good reason to gawk no matter where you lived. The Author frowned when the shorter man simply stared at the wreckage and gave him a bit of a shake. Sanford snapped back to reality and looked up with an expression of pure horror on his face.
"That house was mine."