Objects in the Rear-View Mirror (Thomas)

[Gunnar Frey]

A classic rock station was on in the background, the music sending waves of blue and green in rolling peaks across his vision as Gunnar tried to tempt the ball python to feed. The impressive female was two years old and a stunning example of a pastel pied, and Gunnar knew that if he could get her to a reasonable weight she would produce superb offspring. However, the problem was getting her to that weight. Like many of her species she was a problem feeder, and getting her to take her meals was always such a chore. Her temporary tank was bare, with nothing more than an upturned shoebox to give her shelter, just so she wouldn’t be distracted by exploring while Gunnar was trying to get her into a feeding schedule. “Come on, girl. It’s only one little mouse.”

Still the python was turning her nose up at it, and Gunnar gave a quietly frustrated sigh. It had been a week since she had last fed and, whilst she was nowhere near the risk of starving, he was trying so hard to get her in the habit of feeding once a week. He really, really didn’t want to have to resort to force-feeding her; that was far too stressful for everyone involved.

The song came to a close and the DJ started speaking, his pale orange voice sharply contrasting against the waves from the guitars that had been crooning moments before, and Gunnar heard him saying something about a band from Britain with a disappearing frontman. Hoping for a moment that perhaps he might have been talking about Manic Street Preachers, Gunnar gave another weary sigh as an all-too familiar guitar riff was joined by a voice that was so close to him and yet also so very, very far away.

Gunnar looked over at the python, balled up in the corner of the tank and looking quite content to not be moving to get her dinner, thank you very much. He decided to leave the mouse in there to see if she would take it while he was gone, since there was no risk of her choking on her bedding when there wasn’t any. Gunnar made his way out of the snake room long before the song had come to its ending. Heading downstairs and through the key-carded door into the main store, Gunnar was content to note that they had a different radio station on down here. One that didn’t trigger quite so many painful memories. After a check-around to make sure all was well, he went to get out one of the Gambian pouched rats for some socialising when he saw another man glancing into one of the enclosures. “Hello. Can I help you with anything?”

[Thomas Legrand II]

Thomas had decided that it was time for a pet. This was something he’d been considering for some time for several reasons. For one, he was in a big house all by himself. For another, he needed something to take care of. It might anchor him in a world that he felt increasingly detached from. And lastly, it would stop him from talking to himself. Talking to a pet might make him feel like he was less crazy. And lastly, well…he could use some company. He had lovers over occasionally, and friends, but in the end he was in his home alone and would continue to be so until he found some kind of company. He was not interested in a long term relationship, and while he could foster a child his hours weren’t conducive to that. So instead, he was going to look for a pet.

He’d wandered into the store because it was small and it had pets outside of the usual cats, puppies and birds. There was nothing wrong with those options but he dreamed of the day when it was possible to have something more interesting. Plus, it was a local business, and Thomas preferred to support those whenever possible. He entered the door, hands in the pockets of his dark jacket, and his eyes skimmed the surroundings. Definitely exotic. But he liked it. Some rock was playing, and Thomas realized his foot was tapping along until he stilled it. He did like classic rock. He’d spent a few days reading biographies and acting out through his favorite rock stars or stories written about similar stars. It had been fun. But this wasn’t what he was going to focus on. He’d just bent to examine a rather pretty red snake when he heard someone enter. He lifted his head and turned around, then offered a smile. “Hi. My name’s Thomas. I came looking for a pet. Ah.” He rubbed his head. “Nothing too long lived, I’m afraid. But friendly would be good.” Something else registered, and he smiled. “You sound like another import. Across the pond?”

[Gunnar Frey]

Unlike a few of the stores in town, The Ark always had music on in the background. If asked, Gunnar would say it was because music tended to make customers feel a bit more relaxed than if they were in a silent environment – but then again of course, it was hardly ever silent in a pet store anyway. The real truth was that he couldn't bear the silence and the void it created. If it was quiet there was no colour, no movement, and he had always found that very unsettling. And the reason behind choosing classic rock? Well, that was purely his preference. It beat the whiny modern crap any day.

As the other man introduced himself, Gunnar smiled and offered out a hand. “Good to meet you. I'm Gunnar, store owner.” Thomas' voice was a pleasant autumnal orange-brown, but a slightly confused frown creased the Brit's brow at the other man's next words. It wasn't exactly every day that someone was looking for a pet where longevity was a real factor, and he couldn't help his mind from wondering just what could be the route of that specification. “I'm sure we could come up with something. What kind of time-scale are you looking at?” If it was anything too close, then Gunnar knew he would have to turn down the sale. He cared deeply about the animals, and he had no intention of selling to someone if they would just be leaving it homeless in a short space of time.

When Thomas noticed his accent, Gunnar smiled and gave a small nod. “That's right. Exported myself over here a couple years ago. How about you? Been over here long?”

[Thomas Legrand II]

Thomas didn’t mind the noise. Admittedly he lived in silence most of the time. His house was empty and he rarely tended to play music while he was working unless it was classical. Thomas lived quite well within his own head ad needed very little other input to feel at home. Others of his acquaintance had found his habits to be isolating and worrying, his ex included. But Thomas still enjoyed the quiet. Still, he’d listened to quite a bit of rock and roll in his time and still did if he’d read some more modern material that day.

He took the hand with a warm smile of his own and shook it firmly. “Oh, not that short,” he said. “But not too long either. I can’t make a twenty-year investment. Or fifty, like for turtles and parrots. So something shorter than twenty should be fine, I think.” Thomas could ensure that the animal could be taken care of after he was gone. He certainly had the funds to do it. But he had no desire to put the creature through that particular brand of torment. “Ten years or so would be ideal, I think.” That way he might still have some time…

And this line of thought was getting morbid. Thomas shivered, just slightly, then pulled himself together with the ease of one never at home with sharing his emotions. “Besides,” he added, “I would never leave it without support. I just want to take…precautions. Have any suggestions?”

This man looked oddly familiar. He studied him curiously, then shrugged his shoulders. “Not too long. Only a few years. Hence the, ah, accent.” He rubbed his chin. “What made you come here? Not the largest city on the block.”

[Gunnar Frey]

Gunnar couldn't help but be curious about just why this man might have such a specific time-frame within which to have a pet. Sure he had people come in sometimes saying they didn't want a turtle or something because that could well be a lifetime commitment, but this was slightly odd and was causing his morbidly creative mind to start working overtime. Of course, it could have been something as simple as it being for his kids and him not wanting an animal that'll still be around when they're teenagers and ignoring it. However, it was far more interesting to imagine him being immortal and having to move town every few years so no-one noticed he wasn't ageing any more.

Gunnar's grip was firm but friendly as they shook, and he gave a small nod of his head as Thomas specified the ten-year mark. “There's plenty that'll fit in that range. 'Course, can never be a hundred percent certain. Fifteen years is about average for kingsnakes, and I've got one who's not far short of twenty six. Sadly, it sometimes works the other way too.” The Brit gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “That's the way of life, I guess. Were you more interested in something with fur, scales or feathers?”

A small smile left Gunnar's lips as Thomas mentioned about only being over here a few years himself. “I was in Burlington for a while, before I bought the store here. I like the quiet, and home just wasn't really doing it for me any more.” It wasn't exactly the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either. Most Brits who moved to America headed for California or New York or one of the other big cities. He'd moved to Burlington because he was pretty certain there wouldn't be a soul there who would recognise him. “How about you? Your story is probably a lot more interesting than mine.”

[Thomas Legrand II]

Yes, that would’ve been amusing. And wonderful. And had Thomas known that was what the man was thinking of he would’ve laughed. But not in a bad way. Not in a way that meant he was upset. He would’ve just laughed because it was funny. And because it wouldn’t have been a bad excuse for not needing a pet for very long. Mind, there were others. Completely innocuous and innocent reasons. It wasn’t just his reason that was valid. It was just that his happened to, in the words if the teenagers, suck like one of the worst.

But it wasn’t something to worry about. Instead he smiled at the man and his firm grip. Always a good sign. “That’s fine. I don’t worry if it’s over the mark. I know it can happen. And under is hard but also…understandable.” He’d lost enough things in his lifetime to where he’d adjusted to it and didn’t fear the pain. Life was hard. But you learned to buck up and move on. Then again, perhaps that was the English side of him. In the meantime, there were other things to focus on. Like why this fellow looked ever so slightly familiar. “Fur,” he said, and this was firm. He didn’t hate reptiles but he had an uneasiness with snakes probably borne from all the time spent studying Biblical literature. And while he liked things with feathers he was hoping for something more…cuddly. “Perhaps another later.”

He nodded in understanding. “Been there, bought the novel,” he said, then offered the man a smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He really was very familiar. “Got a job, fell in love. Neither really worked out. Now here I am, buying a pet, making a new start. You could say home just…wasn’t doing it for me either.” He tilted his head. “But if you were craving the small-town life I would have thought England would’ve been a better option. If you don’t mind me saying.”

[Gunnar Frey]

Of course it had occurred to Gunnar that there was a chance that Thomas was perhaps nearing the end of his life thanks to one terminal illness or another, but he didn’t like to dwell on thoughts like that. Having come incredibly close to meeting his maker himself, Gunnar tried to avoid thinking about death as much as his mind would let him. Besides, it was far more interesting to come up with more bizarre scenarios. Gunnar gave a small nod as Thomas said he understood that it could be under or over the ten year mark. “We only keep and breed sound, healthy animals so it’s not often they go much under the average, thankfully.”

No matter how long he’d been keeping his reptiles and how long he’d been working in and running pet stores, losing an animal never got any easier. He still always felt the loss, and as much as it sometimes sucked, he was pretty happy with that. He never wanted to be one of those cruel, heartless bastards who would see a dead hamster in one of the cages and only get mopey over the fact it was a couple of bucks of lost profit. “Fur we can definitely do. For around ten years you’d be looking at one of the slightly larger types; rabbit, ferret, degu, sugar glider, chinchilla… Depends on what you fancy. And your budget, obviously.”

Gunnar gave an understanding nod of his head as Thomas loosely explained his story. It was the same as many expat’s, he supposed, but there were far worse places he could’ve ended up than here. As far as views and scenery and quiet went, this place was like a haven for misfits. Gunnar’s lips gave a small quirk as Thomas mentioned about England perhaps being a better choice. “Ahhh, I dunno. It was starting to feel too small, I guess. A bit like everyone knew everyone else. Claustrophobic.” There. It wasn’t entirely the truth, but it wasn’t entirely a lie either.

[Thomas Legrand II]

Thomas chuckled. “I’m glad to hear it. For my sake and the animals. I picked to come here quite carefully, I admit. You had a good reputation and I heard you treat the animals well.” Thomas was at heart a deeply empathetic person. After coming into the first shop and seeing animals that looked less healthy than he thought they ought, and one particularly beautiful macaw missing several feathers, he’d gone back to regroup and look for a shop with a better reputation.

He got losing things, too. It had been tempting to get a pet that would last longer than him for that reason but…he knew that wasn’t the brightest decision. Nor was it fair. So he was doing this instead. And that would work just fine.

But what in the world was a sugar glider? Some kind of flying thing? A bat? Thomas didn’t object to that. He had a certain residual fondness for them from the week he’d spent as old-school Dracula back while he was still in training. But he couldn't picture one as a pet. Rabbits were too…timid. And frankly, he didn’t know enough about ferrets to even be sure he could consider it.

“Budget’s no issue,” he said absently. Ah, had he mentioned he was a janitor? If he had the man might think he was dealing drugs or something ridiculous for budget to be “no issue.” But he didn’t think he had so he let it slide. It wasn’t like his being rich was a particularly well-kept secret. “Ah, why don’t we start with chinchilla or a…degu? I admit, pets aren’t my specialty.”

Thomas nodded. He knew that feeling. That was much of the reason he’d come here, of all places. No one had known him and that had felt very, very good. “So you came to Vermont?” he inquired, voice slightly wry. “Where everyone knows each other? Still, at least they are fresh faces, I suppose. And friendly ones. I still am not used to strangers hugging me on first meetings.” That had only happened twice. Admittedly with some excitable members of the staff but still.

[Gunnar Frey]

Gunnar gave a small smile as Thomas explained that he’d chosen the Ark for its good reputation. “Oh, thanks for that, it’s good to hear. We’re not the cheapest place, I’ll openly admit, but it’s for a reason. I’m strict about what goes through the store; I’ll only sell the best quality possible, which means at least that the goldfish should massively outlive the ones bought at one of those big warehouse places.”

He idly wondered how long it would likely be until he got a bad review because he refused to sell someone an animal. It was true that he cared about the animals that passed through his store, and more than once he had refused a sale to someone he thought would not make a suitable owner. Newbie pet owners he was fine with, everyone had to start somewhere, but ignorant ones unwilling to learn were told to go and find their animal victim elsewhere. He’d rather lose a sale than subject an animal to a lifetime of misery and welfare issues.

‘Budget’s no issue’ were golden words to any store owner, and in that respect Gunnar was no different, though it did also keep his wariness a little higher. There were few people more worthy of loathing than the rich bastards who spend a few grand on pedigree dogs and then keep them locked in cages so they don’t get dirty. Gunnar gave a small nod as Thomas mentioned a chinchilla or degu. “Good places to start. They’re just over here.”

As they walked Thomas mentioned about people in Vermont all knowing one another, and Gunnar gave a small shrug. “True I suppose, but they are all fresh faces to me, and that’s what I needed.” He then gave a quiet breath of a laugh as Thomas mentioned about not being used to getting hugged all the time. “Can’t say I’ve had that problem. Guess I’ve just got one of those faces that isn’t so inviting for hugs.”

Gunnar led the way over to where the cages were that housed the larger mammals. Two huge cages decked out with numerous climbing branches and hides housed the degus, the brown guinea-pig like rodents play-chasing each other around or nibbling at the hay provided in the racks and making a whole commotion of excitable sounds. Across the little aisle from them were several slightly smaller but equally well decorated cages housing the chinchillas, the female cages having two in each and the males housed solitarily. “Degus are great display animals; they’re really active and entertaining and easy to care for, as long as your cage is strong enough so they can’t chew through it. If you’re wanting something a bit quieter and easier to handle, though, I’d go for a chin.”

[Thomas Legrand II]

Thomas nodded. He still wasn’t worried about the money. Vermont’s expenses weren’t of the sort that made his checkbook weep from overuse, and aside from the manuscripts, paid access to academic resources, and rounds of drinks, Thomas’s personal expenses were actually very little. Maybe a pet would change that, although he knew from personal experience that throwing money at something didn’t make it happier.

Oof. That had come out more morbidly than he’d expected. “Really? Ever-lasting goldfish? Huh.” That would be an interesting tale to tell. Then again, Thomas did not have a career as a writer, so perhaps his mind was…more interestingly skewed. He shook that off as well and smiled at Gunnar. “No, it is a good thing,” he said. “And worth being more expensive to take care of creatures properly. After all, we are all God’s creatures.” Said by a man who was pretty sure he was on God’s bad side for a multitude of reasons, if the fundamentalists were right. His college years alone… However, he wasn’t the type to drop a few grand and not treat the animal well.

“Now are these animals particularly friendly? Like, are they able to be out of the cage and don’t mind social interaction? I live on my own and was hoping for…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. He was sounding creepy now and odd and lonely. “Well, something to keep me company.” He glanced at him, frowning slightly as he studied him more thoughtfully. “No,” he said. “I suppose not.”

The degus were nice. Thomas wasn’t really tall enough to need to bend over but he did anyways, studying the animals. They were awfully active, though, which wasn’t really Thomas’s style. The chinchillas, however, were much more his style. Quiet and extremely fluffy. He examined them for some time although he seemed hesitant to touch them at first. “I don’t need display animals,” he said. “Don’t have much company. Is it okay to pet them?” He reached, then stopped, waiting for permission. “Also, are you sure we haven’t met before? You look very familiar. London, perhaps? I studied in Wales as well.”

[Gunnar Frey]

It was a definite effort for Gunnar to not roll his eyes at the mention of all being one of God’s creatures. He had never been religious, not even the slightest bit, and whilst he would never begrudge anyone their opinion it was not a subject that interested him. In his opinion, if people wanted to believe in a God then they were free to do so as long as they didn’t cause anyone else grief over it. Besides, if there was a heaven and hell he was damn sure which way he’d be headed, and it wouldn’t be the place with the fluffy clouds and halos. “Exactly. The way I figure it, if someone isn’t willing to pay a bit more for a healthier, higher standard animal then they aren’t going to be willing to pay for proper care of it. Someone happy to pay a couple bucks more is more likely to actually look after it the way they should.”

When Thomas asked about the temperament of the animals Gunnar gave a nod. “Yeah. Degu’s love being out and about and are fun to handle, but they can be really quick and don’t sit still much. They’re not really an animal you can cuddle, if you get what I mean. The chinchilla’s are much better if that’s the kind of thing you’re after. Not as constantly active; calmer and easier.” Gunnar didn’t think he was sounding particularly odd. Once you had a few years of people asking for snakes to watch TV with and parrots to scare away burglars, a chinchilla for company was nothing at all unusual. He didn’t like the way Thomas kept glancing at his face though, like he was trying to place him or something. Shit, maybe he knows…

Gunnar waited patiently while Thomas (thankfully) turned his attention to studying the chinchillas instead. As Thomas asked if he could pet them Gunnar gave another small nod. “Sure. I can take you round to the back and we can get one of them out.” Most of the cages and tanks in The Ark had solid fronts, and the ones that didn’t had gaps small enough to let ventilation through but not fingers. It stopped said fingers from getting bitten if one of the animals got a bit more wayward, and also protected the animals from being let out or being fed anything they shouldn’t. Gunnar walked the few paces over to where there was a door in the wall, swiping the key-card from his pocket that let him push the door open and step into the behind-the-scenes area. The back of all the cages could be accessed easily here, and he held the door open so Thomas could follow him in. “Did any of them in particular catch your eye?” If not that was fine, the chinchillas could be easily seen here and he could pick one out to meet up close.

Once again Thomas asked if they knew each other, and somehow Gunnar managed to stop the frown before it wrinkled his brow too much. “I spent a bit of time in London, years ago. We might have bumped into each other there maybe. Sorry, I’m pretty crap with faces.”

[Thomas Legrand II]

Thomas smiled a little. Gunnar might not have rolled his eyes, but it wasn’t hard to tell when a man thought a comment was full of crap. “I know, it’s contrite,” he said. “However, it seems to be the best explanation I could come up with that most easily accept. My own personal opinions are more along the lines that it has as much right to be happy as I do, simply because no being—“ He paused and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I swear, I was not into philosophy in university. Let’s turn our attention back to the animals, shall we?” He did sigh at the next comment. “Unfortunately, I have to disagree with you there. Some people think throwing money at something is the same thing as taking care of it.” He hoped he wouldn’t be one of those. He didn’t know. He’d never owned a pet before. But he tended to baby even the spiders living in his home, so he thought the odds were somewhat in his favor.

Ah, constantly active. Not a thing for a man on his feet all day, who liked to spend his time at home peacefully reading or translating. No, something quieter would be preferred. “Not a degu, then. They sound…nice.” Nice was a safe word to use. “But I’m getting old, and I work with young students. Something quiet would work better, I think.” But the animals were nice, all of them, and active enough to convince Thomas that the owner did take care of his wares. He smiled crookedly, then turned his attention to the animals until Gunnar invited him back. Then his mind drifted, as it was prone to, to other matters. He did look familiar, very familiar. Something to do with rock and roll as well. Perhaps he’d seen him at a concert, back in his days of spending all his family’s money, or perhaps…

He shook it off. Later. He’d think about this later. He nodded his thanks and slipped into the room, one quick onceover revealing to his discerning eye that this was kept clean as well, if easy to access. He paused at the question, considering, then nodded. “Yes, there was one that was darker in color than the others. He seemed…” He hesitated. Saying that he was interested in one animal because it was separate from the others might say too much about his own preferences and problems, so he said simply, “Calmer.”

Wrinkling his brow was an interesting sign. Thomas’s own eyebrows climbed up, and he managed a smile. “No worries, mate. I can be the same.” His memory was actually pretty good, but it was more polite to say otherwise, especially since he couldn’t remember. “Besides, London is a big city. Who knows? Sorry to keep pestering you about it.”