Work Text:
You work in a pet shop. One of those nicer ones without the horrific allegations of animal abuse. It’s more of a goldfish business to profit off of the classroom pet enterprise, but the manager likes to keep rodents too. No cats or dogs, though, ze’s allergic. Usually, you just feed the animals, give a fish to the occasional customer, and sweep up at the end of the day. A rodent sale is a bit more difficult because you have to get more stuff together, but usually, it’s easy. Emphasis on usually. On this particular occasion, it isn’t. It definitely isn’t.
The first warning bell is, ironically, the lack of the doorbell ringing. The shop has one of those chimes on the door that makes noise when it opens, but this time, it doesn’t. You turn around, and the two of them are just there, as though they teleported. Fortunately, years of working customer service are good for something, and you keep your cool. The second warning sign is their appearances. One of them is wearing a helmet. Not a motorcycle helmet either, though that would still be weird, an astronaut helmet. You really can’t see them at all, covered up as they were by layers upon layers of fabric. It’s summer in California. Surely it’s too warm? The other one looks like a Trekkie, pointed ears and a stiff uniform, plus what is either great makeup or a painful-to-acquire tattoo. Neither of them look like your typical pet owner. But they are in the shop, so they are your customers.
You smile at them. It is your standard customer service smile, perfected over many a summer at Wal-Mart. You have faced down screaming babies with that smile. You have faced down old grandmothers with that smile. You have faced down Karens with that smile. The smile you wear to face down these sci-fi cosplayers is a good smile, and you know it. Your opponents do not seem fazed. The Trekkie comes over to you and tries shaking your hand while also bowing and flitting around like a bird in “the manner of your people”, reaffirming your initial read on them. The astronaut just stares at you. Well, they probably aren’t staring at you, but it’s hard to tell with their tinted helmet. Maybe they’re looking around the room, maybe they’re staring at the ceiling, or maybe they’re just taking a quick nap standing up. You have no way of knowing.
After the Trekkie lets go of your arm, they immediately run over to the hamsters. Of course. With that personality, hamsters are basically their spirit animal, second only to hummingbirds. They really need to chill. They also need to stop trying to take the hamsters out of their cages. They are not a shop worker. Their excitement gives them away as a first-time hamster owner. They do not know what they were doing. They’ll probably drop a hamster, and you’ll be the one to blame when it breaks a bone on the tile floor. Fortunately, their friend carefully escorts them away from the cages, which gives you a chance to catch up to them.
“So,” you pant as you reach them. “I see you’re looking for a hamster! What species are you looking for?”
At that, their stream of eager words stops, and they glance nervously to their silent friend. Said friend gestures quickly at them in what you think is ASL, but it’s hard to tell. High school was a long time ago, and the Trekkie sounds British. Just in case, you sign a quick What’s your name?
They pat their shoulder in with a clawed hand. Captain. Just to check, you quickly fingerspell the word, and they nod. It’s an interesting name, likely derived from some escapade in youth. Then they go back to talking with the other one.
“I’d like a… Siri hamster? Syrian? Yes! Syrian hamster.” The hummingbird pep returns instantly, and you lead her over to the Syrian hamsters.
“These are our Syrian hamsters. We have four. They have names already, but you can rename them when you take them home.”
You cover your ears pre-emptively, and… yep! They squeal, clapping their hands together and bouncing to the cages. You try to salvage your customer service smile as you say, “Would you like to hold one?”
They point at various cages, going “That one! No, that one! No, that one!” over and over and over again. You open a cage at random and coax the hamster within into your grasp. They hold their hands up, and you slide it into their grasp. Their energy still, and for a moment, you can almost see a respectable pet owner within them. Then they shove the hamster at one of the wheels in the bin and say, “I want to watch it run!”
You quickly save the hamster from her grasp and set it up in its own hamster wheel. It starts running, and they crowd you out of the space, staring at it with a smile on their face. You almost feel bad for interrupting them to say, “Would you like this one, or would you like to look at a different hamster?”
They smile at you. “This one! Or… actually, can I have two? I don’t want this one to get lonely…”
The Captain shakes their head vehemently, and you quickly explain. “Hamsters are solitary and very territorial. Even the Syrian hamster, which is quite friendly, will not get along with another hamster.”
They look sad at that, and you take the opportunity to start gathering some basic supplies. While they stare at the hamster on the wheel, you have a brief conversation with the Captain about what their friend needs. Apparently, they need everything. You grab a cage, some tubing, some toys, a water bottle, bedding, food, a wheel, a ball, and a few pamphlets and hand them to the Captain. Then you grab a hamster transport box and gently move the Trekkie aside. “Here, let me put the hamster in here, and you can take it home. Do you have a name for it?”
They frown, biting their lip. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A boy,” you say, and they nod. They scrutinize it intensely, staring at its underside for a moment. It has a little dark spot on the left side of its chest, showing through the tan and white quite clearly. Then they laugh and say, “Mark.”
You nod and write the name on the side of the hamster transport box. “If you’d like to personalize any of its supplies, that service is available for a small fee.”
They look at the Captain, and the Captain nods. You put the hamster in the box along with some food and bedding and get the decals out. A few minutes later, and you’re done. You hand the Captain the bag of pet supplies and the Trekkie (you should really ask their name at some point) the newly-named Mark. Money changes hands, and in a moment of weakness, you scrawl your phone number on a piece of paper and hand it to them as well. “Call me if you need anything,” you say. You were going to regret this, weren’t you?
As you start clearing out Mark’s old cage, you see a faint flash of blue out of the corner of your eye. You turn, and they’re gone. The door is closed. There was no sound at all.
You almost forget about them until a few days later, when you are woken up at 3 AM by a phone call from an unknown number. Being a person of little sense, you answer.
“Hi!” says the Trekkie, as annoyingly peppy as ever. Maybe it’s morning where they are. They were British, after all. Except… how did they get the hamster on the plane? “What do I do if the hamster keeps chewing on the bars?”
You take a few seconds to try and understand the English language before finally realising what they’re saying. “Give them some cardboard or wood stuff to chew on. Hamster teeth don’t stop growing so they chew stuff. Maybe get some toilet paper roll or something. Not the paper, just the roll.”
“Okay!” They hang up. You take a moment to add them to your contacts as “Trekkie” (you really need to ask for their name), then close your eyes and fall back asleep. Hopefully that will be the end of it.
That was not the end of it.