Monty arrived at the office, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Fortunate Son playing quietly on the radio as he pulled into his marked parking spot, wincing behind his mirrored aviators as the rumbling of the engine made his skull throb in concert. A thin, well groomed Red Fox was leaning against a Prius, obviously waiting for someone. That someone was probably a scruffy Coyote named Montreal, and that meant Jason had something to tell him.
“Shit…” Monty muttered, wincing, his grip tightening on the gear shift as he quickly ran the cover story for his decidedly haggard state back through his mind.
“Rough weekend, Monty? You’re limping like an old man!” Jason said, watching from beside his Prius as Monty shakily stepped out of his GTO, huffing and puffing like a geriatric as he struggled to exit the seat.
“Slipped on some ice. Stupid partying neighbors kept me up all weekend.” Monty replied, trying his best not to snarl defensively.
“Really? …'Cause Katya’s pretty sure she saw you coming out of Galespi’s with a sexy little vixen…” Jason said, smiling a warm, friendly smile.
Monty swore internally. He’d have to start being more careful. “What the hell would I be doing in a dump like that?” He replied, turning his collar up against the winter chill, wincing yet again as the cold air stung his nose.
“Yeah…you’re right, you live all the way across town from there too, must’ve been some other guy…You need some help getting your stuff inside? Moving your compy every weekend must be such a pain.” Jason asked, already stepping forward to help.
“…Yeah, I could use some help. Thanks, Jason.” Monty said, opening the passenger door of his GTO and unfastening the seatbelt from around his computer.
“That’s what friends are for!” Jason said, delicately removing the large gaming PC from the passenger seat, puffing slightly from the weight as he held it to his chest.
“…How was your weekend?” Monty asked, trying not to sound too awkward as he grabbed his keyboard, headset, microphone, mouse, and cables from the trunk, checking to make sure none of them were damaged. Sam had woken him up late and he had rushed through his morning routine, taking the lazy way out and just tossing his stuff into the trunk, not bothering to put any of it in the respective protective cases.
“Oh, same old, same old. Katya and I streamed friday night, then we just had a slow weekend at the house.” Jason replied, following Monty into the office.
“Nice, had some time chilling with your lady, then.” Monty said, beginning to relax, feeling sure enough that Jason had no idea of his Secret to let himself do so.
“Sure did! I’ve been meaning to ask you, where did you get your sunglasses? Katya wants a pair.” Jason asked, tail swishing as he gently set Monty’s PC down on his desk.
“I got these from good ol’ Uncle Sam, but you can get 'em from any military surplus website.” Monty said, giving Jason a friendly pat on the back. He had known Jason since high school, but they had very nearly drifted apart entirely after Monty had joined the Rangers, due to drastically differing military views and general lack of consistent contact. Monty had only recently reached out to contact him after discovering he was in the area and a reasonably successful youtuber, and after some heavy negotiation and only a few strong drinks, Jason had accepted the offer to join the group. Recently Jason had developed a small, but still highly irritating habit of sometimes trying too hard to recement the friendship by trying to learn about Monty’s life (which Monty regularly compared to Russian interrogation) and asking Monty where to get small, inconsequential things in short, withering bursts of small talk, all under the seemingly innocent umbrella statement of ‘simply not wanting to lose his best friend yet again.’
“Thanks man! I’ll tell her when she gets in!” Jason said, smiling brightly.
Monty waited until Jason was out of his office to mutter ‘cheerful son of a bitch…’ under his breath. “Now where’s my frickin’ coffee…”
Sam had kept him up most of the weekend ‘reacquainting himself’ with Monty’s body, and Monty was feeling it. Bad. He slumped in his swivel chair and pinched his muzzle under his eyes, attempting to stave off what was becoming a very irritating headache.
“Here’s your coffee, Sir.” Will, a lanky shiba inu of an office intern said, gently placing a large, tankard style mug in front of Monty.
“Thanks, Will, and remember, drop the ‘sir’ shit from now on. I’m a youtuber, not the President.” Monty said, standing and busying himself with setting up Natasha, his gaming rig, for the week.
“Yes, S- …Sure thing, Monty.” Will said, nervously shifting his weight from footpaw to footpaw, and, most annoyingly, not exiting Monty’s office.
“What is it, Will?” Monty asked, sitting down in his swivel chair, leaning back, and placing his sunglasses on the table behind him.
“Well…My car busted a ball joint on the way here and-”
“And nobody else wants to give you a ride home.” Monty finished for him, taking a sip of his coffee, feeling his headache subside slightly as the bitter brew hit his tongue. Maybe Sam was right about him being addicted to the stuff, after all.
“Yes, S-…Right.” Will replied, fidgeting as if this was the most important request he had ever made in his life. Monty watched him fidget, mulling over the options in his head, taking another sip of his coffee. One sugar, two tablespoons of creamer. Just how he liked it
. “Did you offer to pay for gas?”
“Yeah, everybody said all their seats were occupied.” Will replied, wincing slightly. Monty and Will both knew that was probably bullshit. The kid knew full well he hadn’t quite earned his place in the office yet, and was trying everything to prove himself. Monty stopped himself as he began to tell Will to call a cab at the end of the day. He heard Sam telling him to ‘Be nice, it won’t kill you.’ in the back of his mind. He looked the kid over. He was genuinely trying his hardest to win a spot in the office, and Monty respected that. Maybe he deserved a little bit of a break.
“Where do you live?” Monty asked, sighing into his mug, closing his eyes as he felt the steamy backdraft wash over his tawny muzzle.
“Westin Pointe.” Sam said, wringing his paws nervously. Monty winced. That was Sam’s neighborhood. “I can pay for gas, and I promise not to talk your ear off, and I won’t-”
Monty held up a finger to silence the Shibe.
“First off, You’ve already started talking my ear off. Secondly, I have a set of rules for riding in my wonderful GTO, and they will be followed to the letter. Directions to the destination will be clear, direct, and concise. No food will come anywhere near the interior of my car. Period. No music made after 1990, with the exception of the band Aerosmith, will be heard coming from my radio. Seatbelts WILL be worn and my doors will. Not. Be slammed. Finally, no footpaws will be placed upon the dashboard of my Pontiac GTO, whatsoever. Are we clear? This is the one and only time you can and should answer me with a certain and unwavering ‘Yes, Sir.’” Monty said, gently tapping the claw of his index finger on his desk with the utterance of each rule.
“Yes, Sir!” Will replied, his eyes lighting up, a bright smile plastered across his muzzle as his ears perked straight up to the top of his head.
“Good. Be outside, at my parking spot, ready to go, at 430pm on the dot, or you will be calling a cab for a ride home. Understand? No ‘sir’ shit this time.” Monty said, disliking how much he was sounding like his old C-O at that particular moment.
“Of course! …will I need to bring gas money?” Sam replied, ears drooping slightly at the prospect of having to pay for filling the tank of a guzzler like Monty’s GTO.
“…The first one’s free.” Monty said, taking another sip of coffee, the taste souring a little at the thought of having to give someone a free ride, especially all the way to Westin Pointe.
“Awesome! I’ll be right on time! Thanks Monty!” Will said, positively bubbling with excitement. Monty merely nodded in reply.
“Will?” Monty said, catching the shiba inu right as he walked out the door.
“Yeah?”
“You make a damn fine cup of coffee.”
* * *
Monty couldn't focus on his recording worth a shit. He had started over three times now, loudly cursing every time he played back the awkward silence-y, 'uhm' filled cluster fucks. Then his phone pinged a notification, scaring him half to death. He growled audibly when it went off again. He grabbed it, angrily swiping in his code. Two messages stared back at him.
‘Hey Soldier Boy’
‘Hows your day going?’
Monty sighed, his angry grey eyes softening. It was Sam. He typed back a reply, glancing up at his door every so often to check that no one was coming his way.
‘Like shit, Honestly. Head hurts and recordings are turning out like crap.’
Monty paused, wondering whether he should tell Sam about giving Will a ride to Westin Pointe.
‘Aw, poor baby…’
‘…’
‘That intern I recommended working out?’
Monty smiled. Somehow Sam always knew what was on Monty's mind, even if not the exact subject and predicate.
‘Yeah, he works real hard, although he needs to cut the sir shit.’
Monty frowned. Sam wouldn't get that.
‘Sir shit?’
Monty tapped back a quick reply as Katya walked by, curled tail bouncing gently behind her, and set his phone down, busying himself with editing some previously recorded footage.
‘He calls me Sir a lot. I don’t like being called Sir.’
Monty edited until his phone pinged yet again, blinking his stinging, bleary eyes as he clicked away.
‘lol. silly yote.’
Monty smiled, typing out his standard reply to that text.
‘Your silly yote.’
‘…I’m actually giving the intern a ride home, his car broke down.’
‘He lives in Westin Pointe’
Monty had added the last text as an afterthought, already knowing Sam would ask where.
‘Poor thing…’
‘Oh?’
Katya quietly knocked on Monty’s doorframe, her honeysuckle perfume wafting into the room. Not too weak, not to overbearing. Just like her. “Monty, time to film Drone Challenge.” She said, just the barest hint of a Ukranian accent in her voice. Monty flinched in surprise, and immediately hoped she didn’t notice. “I’ll be right there, just a sec.” Monty said, typing out a quick message to Sam.
‘I may see you later, be careful wut u wear today’
He then silenced his phone and put it in a drawer, standing and following the female husky down the hall. He readied himself up and went to stand next to Max, a slightly overweight, stoner of a German Shepherd. Katya stood behind the camera after handing them both an R/C controller and counted down from ten on her fingers. Monty watched the countdown and waited for the queue to start.
“Hey everybody! I’m Blackemagicka and I’m joined by ShepperDogger, who is…well, joining me for another invigorating episode of Drone Challenge! You asked for more, and we’re bringing you more!”
* * *
Monty's mood had drastically improved since earlier in the day. Filming had gone off without a hitch, and he had even won the stupid drone challenge. Then Max had turned him on to mixing a little peanut butter into his ramen after draining it, which had turned out to be the perfect thing for his irritable stomach. He had even gotten some good recording done. Monty opened his drawer and pulled out his phone, swiping his code into the screen as he turned it on. A single message blinked up on the screen.
‘Don’t worry, Soldier Boy, I’ll be careful. Always am. ;3’
Monty winced, Sam only typed that semicolon three face when he was feeling clever. He liked to push his luck when he felt clever.
“Fucking foxes…” Monty muttered, the side of his muzzle twitching.
“Whazzat?” Jason said as he passed, shifting his backpack to the other shoulder as he stopped outside Monty’s open door.
“Don’t worry, Jason, not talking about you.” Monty said. making a lazy, distracted gesture in Jason’s direction as he continued to look at his phone.
“Oh, okay! See you tomorrow, man! Try to get some sleep!” Jason replied, waving as he walked out the front office door.
“Shit! What time is it?” Monty said, blinking and looking back at his phone. 1615. Fifteen minutes to pack up and get the hell out of the office, pick up Sam and- “Fuck. Will…” Monty groaned, pinching his muzzle below the eyes. He had to take the kid home fucking first. Monty loaded up his bag and walked out the office, wincing at the fading light that wasn’t blocked by his aviators. He took the things off as he walked to his GTO, He’d look like a crackhead if he wore them this late.
At 429 and 49 seconds, Monty pulled his keys out of his pocket, unlocking his door as he got ready to leave.
At 429 and 58 seconds Will came running over to Monty’s parking spot, tongue lolling out the side of his muzzle as he stumbled to a stop in front of Monty.
“You cut it close, kid. I was about to leave.”
Will nodded, panting as he opened the passenger door and sat down heavily.
“Treat her with respect, kid. or else I’ll dump your ass on the curb. Got it?” Monty said, turning the key and wincing as the engine rumbled to life, the inside of his head rumbling in turn. Will gulped and nodded, taking care to close the door without slamming it. “Good.” Monty said, shifting into first and pulling out of the parking lot, tires chirping as he accelerated.
* * *
Westin Pointe was an egregiously overly sophisticated name for the dump Monty was pulling into, the faded black grafitti on the welcome sign adding a very fitting and somewhat poignant testament to the fact that this place was no longer the shining section of urban metropolis it once was. It reminded Monty of the outskirts of Old London, which meant unwelcome memories of nerve shattering night raids, countless firefights, and several of Monty's buddies who were now residing six feet underground in various military cemeteries around the country. Monty blinked, attempting to keep his heartrate at a less distressing level. He succeeded. For the moment.
“Which one is your place?” Monty asked, wrinkling his nose at the smell of cheap weed, trash, and depression. He did it every time he came here, and Sam chuckled every time he did. Will looked around, clearly nervous at the possibility of getting his directions wrong.
“F-further down, I live in the more artsy part of the neighborhood.”
Monty swore internally. That vague, simple set of instructions put them dangerously close to Sam's place.
“Give me a building number.” Monty said, tapping his paws on the steering wheel, his soldier’s sense tingling in the back of his mind as he felt the number of eyes on them increasing. This was beginning to feel distressingly similar to the ambush that had gained monty possession of this particular GTO.
“C’mon, kid.” Monty said, his voice gaining an urgent edge as he idled the car down the road, never completely stopping. The fading light and Queen’s Another One Bites The Dust playing on the radio definitely didn’t do anything for the ambiance. Will gave him a number and Monty revved the engine, barely keeping it under the 35 mile an hour limit. Soon the apartments began to improve, and monty began to see fewer and fewer bars on windows and more and more Starbucks on the corners. They arrived at Will’s apartment, a swanky little loft, and they said their goodbyes.
“Will?” Monty said, leaning over to look at the shibe from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah?”
"Call me tomorrow morning, don't take the bus. Stay inside until I come to pick you up. Capisce?" Monty said, looking at the shibe, his eyes dead serious. He wasn't letting the kid get mugged on his watch.
“Capisce. See you tomorrow morning. And I didn’t say anyting, but I think that vixen over there is eyeing either you or the car.” Will said, shutting the door, being careful not to slam it, and walking up the steps to his apartment, disappearing inside with a casual wave. Monty was frozen in his seat. He wouldn’t be that reckless, would he? Monty flinched as he heard a gentle tap on his window. Monty turned, slowly rolling down his window, looking up at the slender, flat chested grey vixen standing outside his car.
“Hey, soldier boy, wanna entertain a lonely girl for awhile?” she said, her voice dusky, jade green eyes meeting Monty’s.
“I would never deny a lady a good time.” Monty said. He could never deny those eyes what they wanted. He sat in silence as the grey vixen slide gracefully into the passenger seat, smoothing her black, knee length skirt after buckling her seatbelt. “My place or yours?” Monty asked, tightening his grip on the gearshift as the vixen placed her slender paw atop his. His grip relaxed as the vixen gently stroked his fur, pawpads slowly warming his cold paw.
“Yours. You have better wine.”