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Meouch ambled down the stairs, prepared to scoop a fat stack of snacks out of the kitchen and veg in the living room. He opened the cabinet (his cabinet. They each had a cabinet. Havve’s was the emptiest; Doc’s was the fullest, on account of the protein containers) and found near nothing. Only half of the bag of his second favourite ketchup chips sat on the barren shelf.
The others had a tendency of… taking his shit.
“Well, crap,” he said.
He went back upstairs for his wallet, and made himself a mission to go to the nearest dollar store and load up on crap, then head ‘er to the convenience store to pick up cigarettes maybe. Maybe.
He walked past the living room and made the mistake of glancing in there. Lord Phobos sat listening to music, headphones connected to the record player no doubt spinning classical or ‘80s Earth rock, and Havve sat watching straight up static on the television. Lonely. Snackless.
“Uh, hey y’all,” Meouch said. They looked at him in unison and he shivered inwardly. “I’m running to the store. You need anything?” He thought hey, maybe they’d just each want a chocolate bar or something.
WE HAVE TORTILLAS.
Meouch waited a beat for him to add to that. “That’s cool, Havve,” he said when Havve didn’t.
AND RICE. AND CHEESE. AND
“Okay, I got it.”
LETTUCE. AND SALSA.
“What do you need then, Havve?” Meouch sighed.
GET MEAT AND TACO SEASONING.
“What, it’s a list now?” he asked, irritated.
i don’t think two’s necessarily a list, meouch, Phobos said, but if you can’t remember that and you want me to write it down, i totally can.
Meouch muttered something about Phobos being a little shit as he turned and walked out the front door.
i’d like some of those chocolate muffins, Phobos’s voice echoed into his mind, they’re terrible but delicious. oh! and a double-double from tim’s, if you’d be so inclined.
“If you’d be so inclined,” Meouch mocked as he climbed into the car.
i heard that.
“You were supposed to.”
Meouch walked out of the grocery store with beef, chips, various snacks that would reduce his lifespan, taco seasoning, and some of those bitchass chocolate muffins for Lord Phobos. (Meouch just couldn’t understand why exactly he liked them – they were bitter, and a bit tough. Maybe they reminded Phobos of something back on his home planet. Maybe he just wanted to eat something fucking disgusting. Phobos was strange.)
He walked to the car, opened it, and tossed the bag on the passenger’s side seat as he sat.
“Hey man.” A one-eyed figure popped up in his rear view mirror, and Meouch let out a most embarrassing shriek, combined with reaching for his empty holster. Doc put his hands up, and they both made a lot of shrieking, what-the-hell-why-are-you-in-the-backseat noises.
“Oh fuck, Doc, what the hell?” Meouch laid back in his seat, palm over his chest. “Son of a bitch, dude. Were you in here the whole time?”
Doc scooched into the seat behind the passenger’s, an easier line of sight. “Yeah,” he said.
Meouch raised his brows. “And?”
“And?”
“Why were you in here?”
“I just like to be in here sometimes.”
“I – wh – you like – you just… y’know what? Okay,” Meouch said. He started the car and peeled out of the grocery store parking lot.
“Where’s our next stop?” Doc asked, leaning his elbows on either seat and resting his chin on his hands.
“Timmie’s. Phobos wants a coffee,” Meouch replied.
“Can we get donuts?”
“Of course we’re gettin’ donuts, dude.”
Meouch finally, finally got to decompress (decompose, though, it felt like) on the couch. He had his favourite chips beside him, a pint of pop on the table in front of him, and a house hunting show on television.
Havve stood in the kitchen making burritos, Doc allowed himself a donut, and all was well and good...
this isn’t a double-double.
“I swear to my gods, Phobos.”