𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 ▻ trollhunters

#OO . . . the arcadian canal

          𝓣𝑶𝑩𝒀 𝑫𝑶𝑴𝒁𝑨𝑳𝑺𝑲𝑰 𝑾𝑨𝑺 already at Jim Lake Jr.'s house by the time Michael Burkowitz walked his bike there. He was typing away at his phone with his bike leaning against his short, stout person. As per usual, no Jim Lake Jr. to be seen.

"Morning, Tobes," Mike said, red head of hair whipping up to face him at the mention of his name.

"Right back atcha, Big Mike!"

He noticed the garbage can on its side in the driveway as he ran his hands through his dark brown hair. "Ugh, did those raccoons come again?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

"Seriously, we need to get that checked out — we're getting an infestation!"

Mike put down his kickstand before carrying on the conversation. "Jim still cooking in there?"

"Yup," Toby popped the "p" and paused for a moment before continuing. "Ten bucks says he's made us those Italian subs."

"Oh, you're on," Mike nudged the chubster with his elbow right as the garage door began to open, grinding and struggling up the climb before a certain Jim Lake Jr. was in full view — signature blue jacket and all.

Jim was always appealing to Mike. He had this sort of humble optimism in him, like he could be facing the end of the world and still be looking for the good stuff. And as the sun leaked into the garage and onto Jim and his bike, the exact look of "today's gonna be a pretty good day" was plastered all over his bright blue-eyed face.

That is, until he spotted the garbage can.

"Ugh! Raccoons!" Jim cried in annoyance, bending down to pick up the litter as Mike gestured to it all saying, "See? I told you! Infestation!"

"We're late for school, Jimbo," Toby sang, completely ignoring Mike's comment.

"Sorry, guys. I was busy with lunches." Jim pulled out a couple of brown paper bags after he finished cleaning up the mess those damn raccoons made. "One for me, one for mom, and..."

Toby snatched one of the bags before he could finish, taking a good sniff. Jim offered the other bag to Mike, who — like a normal human being — accepted it graciously with a small "thanks" and — also like a normal human being — opened the bag as Toby puzzled out the contents using the power of smell.

"Balsamic mushrooms... meatloaf — chunky... sun-dried tomatoes..."

"And cardamom," Jim pointed, walking his bike towards the end of the driveway.

Mike perked up, he put his lunch in his backpack before following the taller boy. "Ho ho! Takin' a chance there, buddy!"

"What's life without a little adventure?"

"Aw man, Tobes! You owe me ten!"

Toby, however, was staring the paper bag down in indecisiveness, inhaling through his braces and teeth before forcefully putting distance between his face and the bag, extending his arm away declaring "I can't eat this. I'm on a diet."

"You've been on a diet for the past fourteen years!" Jim protested.

"I know!"

"Dude. You're fifteen!" Mike added.

"Long-term goals, Mikey!" Toby said, shoving the lunch bag into his book bag anyway. "My body's still changing!"

"Please, you've been using that excuse for the past three years," Mike argued, the three boys hopping onto their bikes and riding off towards town.