Work Text:
Tot Best sat on a couch in the LA Unlimited Tacos’ clubhouse, scrolling through the news on their phone. More players had started to appear, but there was still no sign of their friends. Yet, they felt Alieu tell them. Keep positive, I’m sure they’ll show up any day now.
They heard wet footsteps from down the hall, and a moment later, Allan Kranch walked in, figuratively and literally steaming. “Blasted heater turned on again!’ they shouted, not bothering with a greeting. “I’m getting boiled in me own room!”
Tot glanced up at them. "Oh, that reminds me, Pastor told me this morning that apparently he actually hired a maintenance tech? Maybe give them a call. They were supposed to start with the fridge today, I think it should be working by now."
"About time. What's the point of all this 'modern' flotsam if it doesn't even work?" Kranch shook their head. "We better go give it a look-see. Make sure everything's ship-shape."
Tot waved a hand, not bothering to look up. "Be my guest."
They heard Krach's watery footsteps pass behind them and into the kitchen. A few moments later, they heard the creak of the refrigerator door opening- immediately followed by a brief shout of alarm and a blast of cold air that sent them reeling forward.
Tot pushed their dreads out of their face and stood up, grabbing their cane off the couch next to them and hurrying to the kitchen. Looking inside, they saw Kranch standing in front of the open refrigerator door, the elemental frozen solid and the crayfish locked inside. A cone of frost spread out from the fridge, coating the table and most of the counter in glittering white crystals. "What... happened?"
I think that new maintenance person did something to the fridge, said Colum.
Tot sighed internally, feeling the shadow of its amusement in the back of their mind. That was rhetorical and you know it. They slipped into the kitchen, nearly instantly starting to shiver, and carefully closed the door. Then they turned to the frozen Kranch. "I'm gonna go grab a hair dryer to thaw you out, then we can go find that tech. In the meantime," a slight smirk formed on Tot's face. "Just chill out, kay?"
Inside the ice, the crayfish's eyes narrowed to a glare. Evidently they didn't appreciate a good joke.
Tot and Kranch stood in front of a door in the depths of LA Taqueria. The placard on it read "Kit & Crew-" though under cursory inspection the ampersand was clearly a recent addition.
"Is this the right place?" Tot asked. "Pastor made it sound like it would be a lot farther away."
"'Round these parts, getting where yer goin's more about followin' your gut than followin' a map. When you lot have been here as long as we have, you'll pick up on that sort of thing."
"But you've barely been..." Tot shook their head. "That's not important." They stepped forward and rapped on the door. "Hey! Anyone in there?"
A voice called out from inside. "It's open!"
Tot grabbed the doorknob and twisted- then watched with mild confusion as the door slid upwards into the ceiling, knob retracting into the wood to make it fit. Stepping through the doorway, they saw a room in complete disarray. Three car frames rested on cinderblocks, their engines in varying states of disassembly. Various tools and machine parts were scattered everywhere, along with a curious collection of cloth mice and bells on sticks. The smell of oil lingered in the air, and despite there not being a cat in sight Tot felt their allergies start to kick in.
A shape leapt from one of the rafters and swooped down towards them. Tot couldn't make out what it was at first until it alighted on the hood of the car in front of them and the blur of feathers solidified into a peregrine falcon, head turned to the side and staring at them with one keen eye. "Are you my crew?" she asked.
"No, we-"
"He never said anything about a crew," the falcon—Kit, probably—continued, her babble completely overpowering Kranch. "But the door says crew, and there's gear for a crew, so I must be getting a crew. Never had a crew before." She cocked her head to the side and looked up at the ceiling. "'Crew' doesn't sound like a word anymore. Am I saying that right? Crew. Creeeeew. CreeeeEEEEEeeeee-"
"We're not yer stinkin' crew!"
She blinked. "Oh. What are you doing here then?"
"We-"
"If this is about the scoreboard, I know, it's on my list, I’m just waiting on the parts.”
"It's the fridge, dammit!" Kranch was practically steaming. "It's too cold!"
Kit cocked her head to the side? "Too cold? What do you mean? It's supposed to be cold, isn't it?"
The crayfish, too angry for words, was barely visible through all the bubbles around them. It’s supposed to be cold, not sub-zero, signed the elemental, their movements quick and pointed. I can’t even open it without freezing solid!
"Oh, I see. Why didn't you just say so? One second." As Kit took off, Tot realized why they'd had such a hard time recognizing what she was when they'd first seen her. When Kit lifted her wings to fly, instead of the sides of her body, Tot saw another pair of wings beneath- and another when those lifted, and another when those lifted, seemingly without end. It made Kit's mid-air silhouette a near-unrecognizable mass of feathers, and together with the eye pattern was enough to make Tot's head spin.
By the time they'd conceptualized what they'd seen, Kit was already flying back, a strange gadget clutched in her talons. "This is a thermobaric hyporegulator," she said, dropping it into Kranch's hands. "Attach it to the back of the fridge and it should get the temperature up right quick."
“Finally! Come on you lot, I’m sick of this.” Kranch turned and stormed out of the workshop.
Tot watched them go, then turned back to Kit. “Well, um. Good to meet you, I guess? We’re the Besties, by the way—I’m Tot, you’ll probably meet the others at some point. I suppose we’re teammates now.” They offered a hand.
Kit reached out with a wing and shook it. “Kit Seraph,” she said. ”Looking forward to working with you.”
Tot and Kranch stood in the kitchen, starting in disbelief at the sheet of flame that now covered the back of the fridge. In blatant disregard for the laws of thermodynamics, it had somehow perfectly counterbalanced the freezing temperature, leaving the fridge at a perfect 40 degrees Fahrenheit.
“Technology was a mistake,” Kranch said, shaking their head as they walked away. “I’m going back to the bog.”