Chapter Text
Robbie Rotten was not beginning anything new, nor had he begun anything new for quite some time. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, as he was presently staring at a blank canvas, occasionally lifting his brush to begin painting, and occasionally on some days, his hand would magically make art appear, but he certainly wasn’t finishing anything.
He’d been in this routine for a year? Two years?? Staring at canvases; holding pieces of junk together and rearranging them into meaningless, tasteless forms; avoiding the same requests for interviews and inquisitive curators; cursing the same noisy locals who dared drive their same noisy cars too close to his secluded property; eating the same crappy instant food and neglecting the same miserable house.
It’s not that he was depressed, waiting for his life to change, waiting for something bring back his inspiration… Well, actually... He was depressed. Wildly so. But he was the kind of depressed that told him “stay sad, stay safe” and “you deserve this”. This was simply the way he was, his core truest self was lazy, useless, tired, restless, alone. Stagnation was easy. Laziness was good. Reclusion was safe. And depression was peace.
Robbie tentatively placed his brush on the canvas, unsteadily dragging it down the empty space. “Paint’s dry.” He stated his observance to himself out loud, as he often did. “How long have I been staring at you?” he asked the canvas.
He glanced at the clock. 5:00. “AM or PM?” he asked as he reached for his expensive-but-effective light-blocking curtains.
“Jeez. It’s pretty bad out there.” Robbie said. It was hard to see through the flurry of white flakes swirling around his window, but Robbie guessed it was 5:00 PM, but he really couldn’t be sure. He opened the blinds all the way and sat back down in his workspace, turning his chair away from the canvas and watching the snow fall. Snowstorms made being a shut-in seem almost fun. Or at least more natural. It felt like being a kid and finding out school has been canceled. It was peaceful to watch it fall.
Wait.
What was that blue blur he was catching a glimpse of through the flurry?
...
Why did it look like a person getting closer to his house?
It moved out of his line of vision. Robbie sat back. Could he be hallucinating? He was certain he’d slept recently, so he really shouldn’t be having any insomnia side effects that severe. Maybe he’d really lost track of time and it had been more hours than he realized since his last sleep. That would be a better explanation than “person in a snow storm moving towards house of the mean artist who lives far far outside of town”.
Robbie looked back at his canvas and noticed that his painting was just like his window. A big white square with a bit of blue. Robbie brought his paintbrush to the canvas and dragged it in the path he’d seen the blue blur travel across his yard. He searched his supply table for sponge, but knocked nearly everything on the ground when he heard it.
A knock.
Someone was at his house, knocking on his door. Robbie craned his neck to try to look outside, but to no avail. Shit...maybe the person would go away?
The three loud knocks afterwards that sent the man jumping out of his skin told him otherwise. Fuck! With a groan, he stormed over to the front door, speaking loud enough for the other person to hear him, "I'm not buying anything!"
"No-” The voice called back. I'm not trying to sell you anything...My car broke down and this is the only place I can find. Could I- could you let me in please?"
Robbie's nose scrunched up a little, and he hesitated on putting his hand on the door knob. What if this was some kind of...trick? Maybe this guy was trying to rob him. Or something.
Yeah, that was probably it.
He was wary, and finally spoke up again. "Who would be driving out in this weather? Can't you call like...your family or something? Go home."
"I'm not from around here, I was just passing through..." Robbie could hear the strangers teeth chatter through the window. "I didn't know this storm was coming. I'm sorry. I'll be out as soon as the snow stops. I’ll shovel your driveway if you want. I just..." he trailed off a little and said hardly loud enough for Robbie to hear. "I don't have anyone to call. I'm sorry."
Oh. Well.
That sounded kind of sad, didn't it?
He sighed and leaned his head against the door to collect his thoughts. Robbie still found himself uneasy about letting a stranger into his home, but...he didn't really have that much to lose, now did he? And he was offering free labor. That was always good.
He opened the door, a rush of cold air felt like waking up from a long dream.
He found himself face-to-face with a shivering, blue-clad man whose nose was running down to meet one of the silliest mustaches he'd ever seen.
He looked pathetic standing out there.
"Okay," he relented, "Get in here. It wouldn't be in good conscience to leave out out in this weather."
The stranger’s pout turned into a brilliant smile (well, maybe not that brilliant with his teeth chatter all over the place. "ThankyouthankyouthankyouthisissoniceIcan’tthankyouenough.” He stuck out a hand unsteadily. "I'm Sportacus!"
"Yeah, yeah, get in here," Robbie grabbed his hand, pulling him inside. His mouth twitched up a bit, "Sportacus? Not to be rude to my new guest, but what kind of name is that?"
“It's my name" he answered, as if he was unaware that his response offered zero clarification.
"It was a high school nickname that stuck really hard. I know it's kinda silly." Sportacus added after Robbie appraised him silently for a moment.
"Well. Interesting," Robbie walked over to the desk he had been working at previously, vaguely organizing his art supplies. "I'm Robbie, I guess. Take off your shoes before walking on the carpet, and you can hang your winter stuff in the closet."
Sportacus dropped down to untie his boots. Geez, did he always move with so much… umpf? "Will do, Robbie." As his hands busied themselves with rubbing warmth back into his feet, he examined the space around him. "Not to be rude to my new host, but what's with all the..." He motioned around the front room. "Scrap metal type stuff?"
Robbie scoffed, "What? You've never seen art before?" If he could even call it that. Some of this stuff has been sitting out here unfinished for months. He looked at the previous canvas he was working on and decided to take it down, unhappy with the little progress he'd made anyways.
Sportacus stood in his newly bare feet and walked around one of the forms. "Art." He repeated. "Hey, this must be pretty high brow stuff."
"Yeah, I guess.I used to be famous at one point or another..." Robbie rubbed his hands together, staring at the scraps around the room before trailing off and looking to his guest. Sportacus had taken off his gloves and scarf but left on his hat and vest. That was a little unusual, but whatever.
It was quiet for an awkward moment before Robbie spoke up again. "Do you want something to eat? I'm sure you're starving after that whole debacle."
Sportacus clutched his stomach and laughed a little awkwardly. "Normally I would try to be polite and say no, but I don't really have much of a choice to refuse hospitality right now..."
Robbie gave the other man the smallest of smiles, leading him into his kitchen. "You can take whatever. I don't mind."
“Thank you so much." Sportacus said genuinely, but his enthusiasm visibly dropped when he opened the pantry.
Robbie peaked in, unsure what could have caused a reaction like that. He had plenty of food.
"Do you have anything that isn't this instant stuff?" Sportacus asked, voice strained in an effort to seem casual.
"Anything that isn't instant doesn't last very long, and you can't buy it in bulk on the internet either." Robbie leaned against a chair and gestured apologetically, "So no."
Sportacus nodded concedingly. "I can't disagree. It's certainly good for situations like this where you're snowed in. But... aren't you worried you're going to get scurvy or something?"
“Scurvy?” Robbie chuckled a little “What am I? A pirate?”
“You could be if you don’t eat any fruit!” Sportacus moved a sizable number of cans from the pantry to the countertop. “I will make you something healthy for dinner. Or at least, something healthy-ish. I can do all the cooking and cleaning since you are supplying the food and shelter.”
"Eugh. I guess, if you have to. That's one less thing for me to do..." his nose scrunched up a bit, "Just make sure it tastes good, kiddo--"
Kiddo? Robbie interupted himself with the sudden feeling on uncertainty. He wasn't letting a teenager in his house was he? That wouldn't do.
"Sportacus, wait. How old are you?"
Sportacus laughed. "I'm kinda a kiddo. I'm 19." Sportacus procured a can opener in the form of a swiss army knife in his vest pocket. "How old are you?"
"Ah. I'm 22."
Robbie sighed. Sportacus was certainly young, but he was an adult, and no one could accuse Robbie of kidnapping an adult.
"Um...so where's home for you? I'm guessing you're not from around here."
"Nope. Not around here." Sportacus didn’t look up. He was busy opening cans one by one, running them through water with a strainer. He moved so quickly and he kept tossing the food around in the strainer. It was mesmerizing to Robbie. The guy was making cooking look fun.
"I'm from Iceland originally. But I barely remember that.” Sportacus spoke after some time, as if he was considering what to say. “I was living down in Virginia but I can't go back there. The vans home for now."
"Oh." Robbie twiddled his thumbs, "I'm...sorry to hear that. I apologize if I'm being too pushy." Talking to other people wasn't one of his strong points so he was more than ready to back out of the conversation.
Sportacus looked away from his cooking, locking eyes with Robbie, as if to communicate something deeper. "It’s okay." The phrase hung in the air for a second before the man went back to his food prep. "That's just how it is right now. Haven't really found a reason to settle anywhere yet. But it's cool. Seen a lot of beautiful places. Met a lot of interesting people. You're an artist, you can appreciate that stuff right?"
"Uh," not really, but did he want to say that? 'Hi, I'm a super socially awkward artist who's too depressed to make anything new and I’m too afraid to leave my own home yet alone travel,' didn't sound very good to tell someone he just met. Not good at all. "Yeah?" he shrugged, voice raising at the end to form more of a question. "I guess?"
Sportacus ran his hand through the air dismissively at his own ideas. "You used to be famous you said? You ever been in a museum?"
"Well I've been in a few galleries. I had one of my own, for a time. I was probably most successful when I was...19, actually." He looked a little sheepish, trying to hide how ashamed he felt now. He was nothing compared to his success a few years ago.
Sportacus stopped what he was doing. "Wow! That's really amazing! To be so successful at such a young age. I can't imagine. You must be so proud"
"Um...yeah? I guess so..." Robbie scratched at his cheek, shoulders slumping. "I don't know. I'm not quite so successful anymore." The disappointment Robbie was radiating was surely palpable.
"Oh. I'm sorry. It's been a tough three years, huh?" Sportacus poured broth into a bowl Robbie only ever used for baking. "Tough few years for me too."
"Yeah... you could say that...." Robbie heaved a heavy sigh and sat down in the chair he'd been leaning on. He rubbed at his itchy, tired eyes that had been staring at an uncooperative canvas for far too long. "Well, Sportacus, I dare say that you're the first real person I've held a conversation with for a while."
"Yeah. Same, actually." Sportacus breathed deeply and turned around, leaning back on the counter resting his hands on the island between them.
“As long as you're not a terrible house guest, I imagine you can stay here as long as you need to.” He said with certainty.
"Thank you... For the offer and for the compliment." He seemed to be mulling over the genuineness behind the offer for a long moment. “I won't wear out my welcome don't worry. Your house will be better for having me in it, I hope."
Robbie smiled a little, "Yeah? I'd believe that. I haven't cleaned much in a while so I guess there's a lot for you to do, if you like to keep busy."
"Yeah! I love that kind of thing." Sportacus beamed. "Say I noticed you have tequila hiding in the back of your fridge. You don't happen to have any lime or lime juice? This soup needs a little something extra."
"Oh! Yeah, uh, it should be in the back of the fridge. I can't promise that it's not expired though..." he gestured vaguely at the refrigerator.
Sportacus dug around in his fridge. "Oh there it is!" He measured some out. "I promise I'm not just putting this in here because I'm worried you have scurvy. Although I am"
"Listen, I'm preeeetty sure I would know if I had some kind of disease. Maybe." Robbie snorted, "No need to worry about me."
"Okay but you could get scurvy! It happens to college students all the time. Not that I would know what college students get up to." He laughed to himself as he stirred a little life to the pot.
"Okay though. No more worrying." He started collecting the dishes he had used to clean.
"Yep. That's a rule. No worrying about me. Cause I'm always fine. And...another rule? Don't be loud. Or rowdy. Uh..." he tapped his chin, trying to think of any more rules. "And I'm not really big on trying new foods, either."
"Yes, sir," Sportacus saluted playfully. "It's kinda hard to make you try new foods with six feet of snow and who knows how many miles between us and the nearest store.” Sportacus thought for a second. "Wait. I'm doing that right now aren't I... Wow, I’m sorry. I won't be offended if you don't want to eat it."
"Well I'm familiar with all the food I own already, so maybe it won't be too bad to try those foods...together? In a different...sort of...concoction." Robbie paused, "I haven't eaten much today." He paused again. That was kind of an exaggeration wasn’t it? Had he eaten at all? That depended on if a day was the last time he went to sleep, or if it meant the calendar day.
"I'll try it."
Sportacus didn’t contain his enthusiasm very well. He seemed to scale back a bit before he replied. "I hope you like it. Is it okay if I open some tortilla chips for this? I need them for the recipe, and you can snack on them in the meantime."
"Oh! Uh, sure!" Robbie wet his lips, and he got up from the table to also grab a soda from the fridge. "Do you want anything to drink?"
"Just water. Is the tap water safe around here?"
"Oh, yeah, it's totally fine. Help yourself." He said as he sat back down with the soda and the open bag of chips, twisting the cap open with a satisfying fizz before taking a drink.
Sportacus dried the last dish and put it back where it had come from. Geez, the guy wasn’t kidding about being useful for cleaning.
"It has to heat a bit longer to get all those good flavors mixed up." Sportacus sat down next to Robbie and examined a canvas that was sitting next to them. "Wow," he mumbled. "I like this one. Can you explain it to me?" He hovered his hand over the paint.
"Oh...that old thing?" He bit the tip of his bottle in thought, "There wasn't really any 'deep meaning' behind it, if that's what you were expecting. I hardly consider it finished, anyways."
Sportacus examined it again, holding it between them. "It doesn't need to be deep. I like the colors and all that. But isn't art about feelings? I want to know what this one is feeling."
"Oh... well... I guess then all my paintings are about depression.."
Sportacus titled the painting diagonally and gave it a slightly more intensive look over. "I can definitely see that." He put it to the side and straightened his vest a little. "Sorry for prying. Art is pretty personal."
"Yeah, it is. I haven't been able to make much of it lately, though..." Before either of them could dwell on that, Robbie cleared his throat. "Why don't you take off your vest? You can make yourself at home."
"Oh no, it's nothing like that. The vest makes me feel safer." He stuck his hands deep into the pockets and hugged it to him a little tighter. "Plus I got all kinds of cool things in here." He pulled out a piece of paper and began unfolding it, spreading it out on the clear space of the table. "I keep track of all the places I've been."
The map wasn't that impressive in quality; it was just a road map. It was marked with many different colors and symbols all over the place and its ink was faded and worn, scotch tape shining up random folds for structural integrity.
"We're here now right?" Sportacus pointed to the place on the map.
Robbie leaned forward a little to get a better look at the place Sportacus was pointing out. "Yep. You're here in good ol' Lazytown...not too many residents, so it's nice and quiet."
"Are you serious?" Sportacus looked at the map again. "This place is called Lazytown?"
"Yep, you won't see us on any map since we're such a small little town. But that's the name."
"That's incredibly weird. Is everyone lazy here?"
"We mostly live up to the name. You won't really find kids running and jumping and screaming around here. Not much crime. Or partying. It's pretty perfect."
"I guess I'll be the least lazy man in Lazytown for a bit. I can deal with that."
"Oh great. The laziest man in town and the least laziest man in town are going to be living together. How did it come to this?" He actually chuckled a bit at that, and he leaned back in the chair.
Sportacus laughed too before he got up to check on his soup. "Have you lived here long?" He asked casually.
"I've been here my whole life, and I don't plan on leaving anytime soon."
"Any family? It seems like you live in this whole house by yourself."
"Yeah. They moved out to Busy City a few years ago, but I wanted to stay here. I'm not really want for money and I still have earnings from my gallery shows, so I do pretty well in this house alone. It's like a big studio, now."
"Wow. That's pretty cool. I hope you still have a couch for me to sleep on in his big studio," Sportacus took a sip of the soup. "Mmmm, this is definitely ready."
"The couch is MY place to sleep. You can have the actual bed," he smiled a bit and looked up.
"What? That's so mixed up." Sportacus laughed as he spooned out equal portions of soup into the only two bowls he could find. Sportacus put the soup down at the table.
"It smells pretty good.” Robbie admitted at the bowl before him.
"You're supposed to crush up the chips and put them in the soup now. It's kinda fun.” He grabbed a handful of chips and waited expectantly for Robbie to do the same.
Robbie mimicked the motion, crushing the chips up into like flakes in the soup. It seemed dumb, but he hoped he was doing this right. God, he hadn't eaten anything remotely like a real meal in a long time-- discluding takeout and microwave dinners. "Well...here goes." He took his spoon and dipped it into the bowl, blowing on it before sticking it into his mouth.
Amazingly enough, it didn't taste awful to him. He laughed a little.
"If you keep making food like this, I might never let you leave."
Sportacus beamed back at Robbie, letting out a laugh that diffused some of the tension of strangeness between them. "Hurray!" He managed to say before putting a spoonful in his mouth. The man looked at his soup as if it was blessed, savoring spoonful after spoonful slowly. It seemed even slower compared to how quickly he’d moved around will preparing the soup. "Thank you for the food. And for feeding my ego."
"Don't mention it." Robbie took another bite, his smile sticking on his face as he looked at Sportacus. He was quite handsome, really. Right then and there, he decided he didn't want to see anything but a smile on this stranger's face. Nothing else seemed quite as fitting.
"Thank you for making the food."
"It was my pleasure," Sportacus looked up from his soup and noticed Robbie staring at him. It was such a pleasant stare, both smiling and taking each other in. "Eating hot soup in a heated house and having such nice company... It's so much better than driving through this storm. So safe... I can feel my soul thawing off or something..."
Robbie chuckled, blowing on his soup, "That's an interesting way to put it, but it oddly makes sense. I'm sure any other house in this town would've taken you in, though."
"You'd be surprised," Sportacus drank from his bowl directly. "Either way, I'm glad it was your house my van decided to poop out in front of. Even if your driveway is super long."
"Hopefully, it'll be a good experience for both of us, then. Cheers." He raised his soda bottle up slightly in a toast. He felt the weight of it suddenly. The weight of having another human person to share his company with. There was a person in his home. He was having a normal conversation with a person and he didn’t feel any closer to panic than he had before Sportacus got there. He might even be less panicked in this stranger’s presence.
They clinked their soda bottle and mug of water together. “To warm soup and warm souls,” Robbie said.
“To new friends.”