Homeward Bound
In his adventures around the
world, places where paradise forbids the mundane from entering, in towns with
shallow candles and aromatic melodies, nothing prepared him for
Myrand slid back in his seat. In his lap, Rix purred in gentle relaxedness, eyes wide and unconvinced. At the train station his fur had been doused with three water bottles to clean his injury and in general, revealing a clotted gash from heel to ankle. His dirtied fur cleared. Stained white turned in the color of bleached paper, black splotches turned charcoal and pooling, tan spots transformed into caramel-coffee cream. The tricolor blends streaked along his body (apart his belly, paws, tail tip and ankles, which remained a Renamon's white) to the paintbrush tail. His gloves remained dirty until Myrand could wash them back home.
“It's beautiful.” Rix murmured.
“What is?”
The fox sat upright. “The city. I've never traveled up this high to see the sunrise, or watch people far below. So many humans living in bliss going on about their day without a care in the world. It feels like a dream and we're coasting on the clouds.”
“Then I'll be the first to tell you: this isn't one and it gets better.”
“Since I found you.”
“Me, what's so important about me anyway?” Myrand scratched under Rix's muzzle. “I mean, why waste your time?”
“My mother taught me that every being that has ever lived is important—even the bad ones—makes our lives worth living. When those dreams about you started surfacing in my head, I couldn't get them out. All the sorrows of your life, terribly mournful. I pitied you for the first couple years. Then when that dream of your friend Marcus's death and you lived in isolation, for the first time I wanted to meet you, and give some hope in those lost eyes.”
“How long did you wait?”
“Honestly, I lost count after five years.”
Welling tears collected in Myrand's eyes. “All that time just for me. Shouldn't have done that ... stupid digimon.” He wrapped his arms around Rix's neck, face diving into mossy-stenched fur. A sniffles escaped into the air. The tears escaped his eyes into the tangled abyss, trickling to the scalp. “Thank you.”
“It's what best friends are for.” Rix nuzzled his maw against Myrand's cheek. “I'm honored to be your partner.”
“You know that I hunt digimon like yourself.”
“Only the bad ones, Kiyra explained everything before she phased to your home; how you saved her tamer and various other children. Although giving a fugitive food and shelter is against military regulations in your world right?”
Myrand scratched the ears now, from base to tip. “I won't tell if you don't.”
“Since I'm going to be staying in your home—“
“Just Home.”
“Home ...” Rix corrected and smiled, “As long as your my partner I'll be quiet as a mousemon.”
“That'll make two of us then. I think you're gonna fit right in with Kiyra (for the duration) and me, one more question.”
“Yes?”
A smile formed over half of Myrand's face. “Steak or Ribs for dinner?” Rix drooled at the mouth for a moment, causing the soldier to chuckle. “Don't answer right away now, we have about fifteen minutes of walking until we hit home.”
“Can we have both?”
He onced it over. “Since it's your first time in the Human World, why not?” Rix tongued his lips and reset his head back in Myrand's lap. “Relax, in a couple minutes we'll be getting off this train, then towards home.”
Those minutes came sooner than Myrand
expected. The above ground train station paled in the sunrise climbing up the
sky. Benches unhindered by looming shadows turned identical gold like the cars
Myrand saw in the street, and the stations clock appeared caught in glare,
almost five in the morning. Too young in the day for people to venture outside,
buying both digimon and tamer time to flee homeward. Rix didn't limp after him
at first, allured by the sight of
Danger still loomed, in spite of Myrand's plan. Along the rising path uphill, Rix paused in his steps between two wide tree trunks separating cover from open field, a washed in gold dawn light. Myrand stepped behind and, not to disturb the digimon, bent to eye level out at the open field. Seconds later the whispered shouts trumpeted with pulsing whistles. An early soccer tournament, four teams against each other on two symmetrical playing fields side by side. The soldier recognized two local teams; The Blue Bombers and Shato Samurai's. The green and gold jerseys must be out of town. They watched a Blue Bomber score a goal and the crowds roar afterwards, shaking leaves off their branches.
“Look Myrand.” Rix pointed to the closest child. “Kids.”
“Yea, they're everywhere during the day. Sometimes when there's nothing to do I come down here just to watch, and those Blue Bombers are on a roll, they might grab the tournament.”
“Looks like a energetic bunch.”
“Well they're kids.”
Rix shook his head. “I mean the parents.” Leaves rained down from another blast of team spirit. “Any louder they'd knock the leaves off.”
“Which is why we need to keep going. I can't afford someone noticing a seven foot fox walking around the woods.”
They pressed on. Over the hills and through the vineyard gallows, jumping across the shallow creek that fed Shinjuku's lake, and near the park's other side. A secluded step stone path cataracts down the gradient until leveling off at the sidewalk. Up on the hill's zenith, Myrand peered between the rotting foliage. The hotel's blue trim roof glimmered street blocks away and if both parties walked without slowing, their arrival would remain unseen. Myrand nudged Rix down the gradient. He told the him to walk fast as his furred feet could carry.
Crossing
“So Myrand, what are these creatures called?”
“Eh?” The soldier turned. Rix streaked a paw across another car hood. “That's not a creature silly, it's a car.” Rix's head cocked. “A machine that helps humans get from point a to point b.”
“Then why does it have eyes and a tail?”
“Well people need to see where their going in the dark and need the tailpipe to keep the car clean.”
The digimon shook his head. “Human contraptions are weird, who's lazy enough to have something look and clean after them?”
Myrand wrapped his arm around Rix's neck and sighed. “You have a lot to learn Rix, and boy are there somethings that will throw you for a loop.”
“I hope your not lazy like these people who use these cars. Even the thought of being cleaned by a machine makes my fur crawl, wouldn't it hurt?”
“Rix you're a trip you know that?”
“It's your world, in mine I usually use the bathroom like any other sensible creature if we wanted to 'clean ourselves'. Goddess protect me from the other terrible machines you humans created for your own pleasures. I hope Kiyra hasn't fallen victim, the poor female.”
“Poor? Don't worry, dear little Princess is far from being a victim. It's more like I'm the victim of the water bill, do you know how much water she uses when she showers?”
“I'm not sure we're talking about the same female. Kiyra seems like the honorable warrior.”
Myrand chuckled, scratching all over Rix's head. “You're in for a crude awakening. Don't worry though, I'll help ya along the bumps.”
They passed more blocks until turning to the final sidewalk. The hotel lingered a few yards ahead, its hanging sign wafting above the awning in an unfelt wind. Myrand stepped on the carpet nearing the threshold into home, when something caught his attention, hunkered between a potted furn and the actual door. When he squandered over to it, however, he lurched backwards. Buckling in a rusted bar chair sat a skeleton with a bell boy's uniform. After the shock receded, Myrand could make out leathered flesh stretched across the face into a crinkled, dollar-bill smile.
“Unless my ears deceive me, is that little Myrand that almost passed me by?” The old man said.
“Mr. Deter it's been a while since—“
“Stop right there.” Mr. Deter leaned on the cane with both hands, sucked of fullness and tissue. “Now Myrand, I told you not to call me that anymore. It's Desmond. Now just because I'm not in my prime anymore doesn't mean I want to feel like it.”
“I'll remember that Desmond.”
Desmond smiled. “Good. Now how long has it been since I heard from you last? Three, four years maybe?”
“Four, I'm Twenty-four now.”
“Twenty-four, holy Virginian spices, I must be getting old.”
Mr. Deter was an old man. His feet couldn't lift a step, worn from bone disease; however, that didn't stop him from moving about town like a spring dickens, in fact people grew accustomed to the haggled shifty-scrapes of slippers or sandals either on the street or in a store. He never liked carpeted floors. He said it 'muffled the advent of his coming' and avoided the stores that had them, even taking the bus across the city just for a library with hardwood. Every morning Mr. Deter shuffled those feet outside next to the hotel door in greeting people and new guests.
The Bell Hop's Jacket was a wishful blue with gold trim around the shoulders, a couple gold tassels along the lapel, and the brass buttons tarnished over time. Mr. Deter kept it washed after each work shift, pressed creases out with an iron instead trusting the washing machines. Ten years and not another jacket needed. The Slick's Pants he wore were sold in the 1950's with a permanent crease in the hem. That same fifty year-old crease rests in the exact place, starting from the pant cuff straight up into the waistline.
A tick-tick-tick sounded in Myrand's ear, his friend's gold tipped cane struck the pavement. “Well, unless my ears are deceivin' me again, is someone with you Myrand?”
“Uh, a friend that I met a couple years ago.”
“It wouldn't be man's best friend would it?” Mr. Deter lifted his head. His fogged cauliflower-colored eyes glinted, steel tangled eyebrows stretched in interest. He beckoned for Rix. “Come now friend, no need to be shy. Let me get a good look at you.”
The supposed dog glanced at Myrand, who ushered him forward slowly. “His name's Rix.”
Rix's head grazed Mr. Deter's open palm, waiting. The old man kept it there for a good minute. He guided past the head along the cheek, rested, then continued across the muzzle then sloped down the chin. His face scrunched into expression Myrand couldn't put his finger on, like an abstract mix in a painting or song. It reminded Myrand of that silly game where you were blindfolded and given different things to touch, the 'eyeball' grapes, 'intestine' spaghetti, etc., yet Mr. Deter smiled at what fingers grazed. Sometimes it makes a person think on how he sees without sight.
“You're a big fella aren't you boy?” Rix mustered his best bark. “You know, I bet you think Myrand's silly for calling you a dog when you're a big hearty fox.”
Myrand went wide-eyed. “Fox? Ah come on Mr. Deter now how would you know that?”
“You can't see it? I saw it, and I'm the blind old coot.”
“Sometimes you amaze me Mr. Deter.”
“It was all in how he approached me, the elegance in stride, much too hard for a dog's nimble legs. And his whiskers have that thick feel of a wild animal. Now the color of his bark gave was the culprit, lord bless me, he has an awful bark.” Myrand gaped in shock. “Ah. Now don't gimme that look. Now get before you start creatin a scene I nor our lord could ever part.”
“Yes Mr. Deter, it's been nice seeing you again.”
Rix rejoined Myrand's side and both walked into the threshold. “Oh and Myrand.”
“Yes?”
“It's Desmond from now on.”
The soldier chuckled. “Sure, Desmond.”
Laughter lingered behind him. Myrand shook his head before leading Rix by hand towards the closest elevator. His gaze monitored the sweeping upstairs and courtesy desk, now empty for the duration, until a morning work hand ambled into it. Flavored chimes uttered from the wall clock which rang seven strikes. Across the elevator board, a single box rolled down all the floors in a slow, robots stroll. A door shut somewhere close. Behind him, dress shoe heels clapped somewhere random in close proximity. Whispers curled into his ears. Soon it turned into audible chatter, and the clicking of dress shoes clamored down the steps.
The elevator doors slid open. Myrand grabbed his partner by the gruff, shoving him inside with himself following. He pressed his floor's button. In seconds, internal motors wound the doors closed, vaulted upright to the appropriate level. Dazed, his gaze scratched over to where Rix stood, seeing that the fox appeared shaken and unharmed, breathed out the stale air his lungs concealed. Maybe keeping another furry guest was proving too troubling to conceal.
“You could have warned me.” Rix rubbed the back of his neck. “After all you seemed pretty lenient around that Desmond guy.”
“Desmond's been a good friend ever since I arrived from the states. He used to be a scientist until a retinal disease eroded his vision away, he's a blind man Rix, I try to make him feel comfortable.”
“How did he know I was a fox?”
“I have yet to figure it out.” Myrand hugged an arm around Rix's neck. “The man sees without eyes. He even told me that emotions took certain forms, and colors give off their own sounds. But I'm glad someone got a look at you, makes me feel less guilty about trying to hide you from everyone else.”
“From people like you.”
Myrand clamped around the muzzle. “No, not entirely. Jade Dragoons defend the people. If there's no danger.”
“So I'm like a Jade Dragoon Fox now right?”
“Ah it's a little early to generate an epithet there Rix, but I'll settle with best friend for now.”
The fox's amazon green eyes twinkled. “Best Friends.”
On their floor, Myrand led Rix to his condo door. He fished around and brought out the key, but hesitated before sliding it into the lock, lost in thought. The key folded back into his palm. A flick of the wrist, Rix reached out to catch it in his palm.
“Whatcha' waiting for? Are you gonna take us home or just sit here?”
“Th-Thank you Myrand.”
Rix turned the knob, stepping into the threshold now called home.
(To be Continued)