Work Text:
It’s six-thirty in the morning, somewhere on the west coast. Many are still asleep. But while they rest, a bulky truck zooms down a quiet highway, like a man on a mission.
If one listens closely, they could hear it leave behind a trail of bawdy laughter for miles.
Its stops across the morning hours are sparse. A half-empty station for gas, a rest stop for bathroom breaks, an abrupt careen into a scenic overlook at the last possible second. Outside of those, mile markers and state lines fly by without a care.
The first substantial stop is a bulky supply store on the outskirts of a decently-sized city. After nearly an hour’s passed, a lithe white streak dashes out the front door, hauling armfuls of industrial containers and practically yipping with glee. What’s practically a small mountain trails behind patiently, carrying three times the supplies the last one had without any effort. The boxes are neatly packed into the back of the truck.
The second stop is a farmer’s market. The pale blur never slows, darting from stand to stand, only pausing to bark over his shoulder. The mountain follows behind in a gait that’s slower, but far from easygoing. He scrutinizes the farmstands, meticulously choosing fruits and vegetables and tucking them away into his bag. He gives the owner a polite nod and a few extra dollars, before moving on to the next stand that his partner long passed several minutes ago. By the end, his bags are stuffed full, and they’re tucked away with the boxes in the back.
Their third stop is far less interesting. It’s little more than a gravel lot, two doors down from a construction site. A few picnic tables have been strewn about, but there is nobody to occupy them.
None of that seems to bother the pale one. As soon as the truck is parked, his feet are on the ground, and he takes in the space with a relaxed smile.
“Now would ya look at that! This’ll be a great spot! Just big enough, good open space!” He glanced over his shoulder. “Did you already put a notification up on the page?”
“You've already done it. You did it half an hour ago. Did you forget?”
With his sheer size, the taller man easily pushes up the truck’s awning, and props up a large homemade sign over the window.
’The Fox and Ronin,’ it reads, in elaborate black calligraphy.
After making sure both supports were firmly locked in place, he nodded in approval at his own handiwork. Upon seeing his companion, however, any positive energy faded.
“Izuna, I thought we had an agreement regarding the ears.”
“Feh! Come on, Nago, it works for the theme!” He replied, pointing to the fluffy white ears that had been placed on his head. They did, coincidentally, look plenty fox-like. ”Tell me it’s not charming.”
“It’s not charming.” The other man said. “You look like a child.”
Izuna sighed in faux dismay, propping himself up by his elbows on the now-opened counter. “Everyone looks like a child next to you, big guy!”
“You know that isn’t the point.” Nago shook his head. “Either way, we’d best get to work if we want to properly prepare.”
“Whatever you say!”
It wasn’t long before other trucks began to putter in and park themselves nearby. Very few minded each others’ presence, too distracted with their own work, though a few noted a peculiar aroma coming from the black-lettered truck.
Even more arrived shortly after. Pedestrians, sedans of rowdy children, still-uniformed workers on break, and general oddities blended together, shuffling towards the various food trucks that had set up shop. An impressive line began to form at the white truck’s side.
“Welcome to the Fox and Ronin!” Izuna greeted. “Today’s special is bonito onigiri!”
Though their food selection may have been odd for the greater clientele, the wait line never seemed to shorten. Plates of onigiri, fried tofu, takoyaki, and yakitori were passed out in droves. The two men swapped places every so often between the kitchen and the window, though despite their different styles, they handled the work with practiced flair.
“And a double-serving of fried tofu for you! And, might I say, what good taste you’ve got!”
A hair past two-thirty, a sweaty, white-haired mop ran into the lot with reckless abandon. Upon noticing the movement, Nagoriyuki calmly stepped away from the window and let his cohort take over.
The white-haired man tore past the line of waiting people, to their frustration. He ignored them to slam his hands on the windowsill.
“It’s you! The furry guy! I knew you’d be here!”
“Why, yes, I’m sure you would. We put the location information on our webpage, after all.”
“I figured out the riddle! I’ve been following you for four months!” He said, panting after every three words. “I've come to all of your stops! You remember me, right?!”
“I’m not sure if I recall.” Izuna feigned a look of confusion. “Perhaps it will come back to me! Though for now, I’d politely request that you wait your turn.”
The man sulked off. As soon as he was out of earshot, Nagoriyuki leaned across the truck. “‘Riddle?’ Izuna, don’t tell me you’re still doing that instead of just putting the location up.”
He shrugged innocently. “I’d say it fits the motif! Isn’t that what you’d expect from a fox?”
Nago shook his head and went back to rolling rice.
The rest of the evening went by with considerably less fanfare, though no less busy. By the tie the sky started changing color, many of the trucks that weren’t already long gone packed their things and left. The white truck was among the last to leave, partly due to the seemingly never-ending line. Even then, though, there was a point where it finally dwindled.
“Thank you for coming, everybody! Have a nice day!”
“I suppose it’s good we increased our supply amount after all.” Nagoriyuki folded down the awning, while Izuna cleaned and put away the utensils. “I had worried it would go to waste.”
“You’ve got real good intuition, don’t act so surprised!” Izuna chirped. “Save that thinking for the road! It’s a long way to Fresno!”
“Fair enough.”
“Hey, hey, I know that tone of voice. Don’t get all downbeat, now!”
When Nago looked up, there was a small white fox on the countertop. “We’re partners! So you can talk to me about personal stuff, got it?”
The man half-chuckled under his breath. “I understand. But what exactly am I to do if my problem is you?”
The fox hopped up onto his shoulders, snout held high. “Well, I suppose you’re on your own, then.”
“That’s about what I expected.” Nago put away the last of Izuna’s abandoned dishes, tucking the bowls under the sink and the butcher knives in a long cabinet next to an immaculately-polished katana. He carried his work partner up to the driver’s seat and settled down into it.
“You’re not gonna make me drive?”
“You’re a fox, Izuna.” He jammed a key into the hole until the truck gently purred to life. With the other hand, he grabbed the fox by the scruff of the neck and dumped it into the passenger’s seat. “If foxes can’t finish the dishes, they can’t drive.”
Izuna managed a look of disdain, ultimately curling up in his seat. “Well, fine. Suit yourself. Don’t go falling asleep at the wheel, now.”
“Only one of us has done that, Izuna, and it was not me.”
“...Rude.” He yawned. “Good work today, Nago. Good work.”
“Likewise. Let’s hope the same can be said for tomorrow.”
The van peeled out of the lot and headed off for a dusty back road. As the sun started to sink, its chassis was painted a soft orange.