"Arms, ears and eyes, baby. You can be my arms, ears... and eyes baby." - An eery voice in Skim's dream.
~~
The racoons eyes flicked open. Some light-switches feel haunted, and don't really want to shut off. Its like the dark room can suffocate you through a matte-black pillowcase.
"You alright?" Evan asked from across the campfire. Adrian was no where to be seen.
"Yeah." Skim said. He thought for a second, before sliding his body out from the beach towels they had salvaged from Evan's car back before sundown. "I'm j-just gonna get some air."
"Take your time, man." Evan yawned. He threw a chunk of car-seat into the flames. It sizzled and stunk. 'It's all you have..." he said softly.
The racoon shivered as he made his way up the mountain's ridge. Not really a mountain; more so a hill in a dirty abyss so flat that it looks like a mountain. Evans idea was that it was better to be up high in case headlights were to start scanning the horizon. Skim had wondered whether he had meant Filler's headlights or the polices', but the otter hadn't seemed optimistic.
He wore his broken arm in a sling made from a shirt, meaning that all that protected him from the cold was an itchy jacket, un-stylishly ripped jeans, and shoes that he had leant to Evan since Evan had volunteered for watch-duty and had melted his own when sifting through the wreckage for the drugs.
At the top of the mountain, the breeze blew hard. Skim wanted to be cold, so he took off his jacket. He shivered hard as the night air and all its beautiful stars up there watched and caressed his bare, grey-furred chest. He felt wild, and grungy. He felt more alone then ever. He felt that he deserved it.
He played with the word 'Jake' in his mind.
A match was struck near a bush beside him, its sad flame struggled to light the cigerette in Adrian's mouth, but the bush was cover enough for it to work out.
"Y-know..." The sheepdog mumbled. "I always save a pack of cigerettes on my ankle for sentimental moments."
The wind whistled. The dim white plate of a full moon.
He shrugged, and the smoke that poured from his mouth was quickly carried away. Oil in a glass-waterfall. "Seeing as we all might be dead soon." He puffed the cancer-stick gently, before digging into the cuff of his ankle and throwing one to Skim.
Skim caught it and perched it in his mouth. The untrimmed fur on his shoulders rustled gently. Adrian approached him - a glowing pair of canine eyes in the darkness - and struck a match for Skim's cigerette.
The wind changed and Skim caught his scent. The tangy mintyness of aftershave. Which was strange given how gruff the sheepdog looked. How tired his grey eyes were.
Adrian looked down at Skim's jacket then back at him. He regarded the boy's nakedness with hesitance. "You thinking about your brother?"
The racoon nodded. The cigerette just hung in his mouth. It was though he were immobilized, yet his body rocked back and forth like the gently sway of grass.
Adrian turned away, and for a while all they could really do was appreciate the desert. Its distant, vast feeling of loneliness personified in dead relics of life. Hot soil steaming into cool air. A yin-yang symbol sprawled out across miles. Fleeting curvature of a rainless land.
The racoon agreed with gravity and sat down on the cliff-edge, rocks sprawled out below in dark red gradient. It wouldn't be a lethal drop, but that wasn't the point. He looked up at the sheepdog, who was still eyeing the horizon. "You want to s-sit down with me?"
Adrian said nothing.
Skim looked up at him. His hands were in his pockets. His ears were gently folded down.
Skim stared out across the desert and dusted cigerette ash off the edge.
"I really shouldn't call you Southy." Adrian suddenly said.
The racoon shivered. The sheepdog sat down next to him, sliding his paws off the edge which dangled freely alongside Skim's.
"I don't know why I do that..."
The wind softened.
Skim looked up at him. "Probably because you're an asshole."
Adrian shrugged. A chuckle escaped his lips. "Yeah, that's probably why."
"I mean, I don't mind it if I'm uh... eh-entirely honest. Reminds me of how hard I h-hit you."
"Mhm."
"And then your bitchass buh-b-bit down on my shoulder like a puh... p-pussy."
"Good times, huh?" Adrian yawned.
Skim smiled a little. It felt weird. "Uh-huh."
Adrian reluctantly peered over at the racoon's body. Sure enough, there's that scar like a necklace of pink tooth-marks, sprawling over Skim's chest, shoulder, back.
"You wanna tuh... t-touch it?" Skim jested.
Adrian regarded him with a strange look. It looked like a 'keep clear of the wild animal's' warning commercial. The sheepdog swallowed and looked back at the horizon. He shook his head.
There's weird things going on with him. Skim could see the slope of his Adams' apple twitching, the canid tail sprawled behind him entirely dead of movement. Even in the darkness, the pupils of the eyes were dancing. Like he's squinting at something impossibly far away, yet wrapped up in something behind him. A paradox of black and white fur. It didn't make sense.
The raccoon leant his head against the sheepdog's chest. Adrian didn't move.
Skim closed his eyes. Dahdumdahdumdahdumdahdumdahdum. He stood up, discarded his cigerette off the edge of the cliff-face, scooped his jacket, and walked back to the fire.
~~
The campfire was dead to the point of just being a pile of embers. Evan was nowhere to be seen.
The racoon shivered and draped the jacket over himself, unwilling to commit to the struggle of getting it on and around his sling. "Evan?" He called out.
No answer. The embers seemed to glow darker by the second. Everything was untouched... except for...
The yellow bag was gone.
"Shit." Skim whispered.
He turned with the intention of getting Adrian, but there was a rumble of grunted and 'ows' coming from the bushes just down the hill.
"D-" The otter stammered. "Uh - I mean, Skim! We're in deep shit, man! Deep shit!"
"Wuh-what's going on?"
Evan weaseled his way up the rocks, the yellow bag an improved fanny-pack that slapped at his groin. scraped the dirt from his shoulders and grabbed Skim by the shoulders.
The racoon shuddered. "Can you tell me in a w-way where you don't g-grab me?"
But there's no need: all Evan had to do was point.
On that beautiful horizon... there were headlights. Not just two; but a whole fleet of them.
The reindeer bring the presents, kiddos.
As a side note: check it out! We've got ourselves an Adrian!
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