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Today was the day of all days. If days could be ranked, it would definitely be a day. In other, less complicated words, today has been pretty good, verging towards being great. Roark managed to snag a day off on Volkner's supposed day off, letting them hang out together for the first time in a millennium. Maybe saying it's been a millennium is exaggerating things a bit, but, in Roark's defense, it has been a long while.
However, something went wrong. Of course, something went wrong. Everything always goes wrong at this time of year (as if there's ever a point in time where everything isn't going wrong). Volkner made sure that his schedule for his electrician work was clear, which had been the hard part.
Unfortunately- and this made Roark pinch the bridge of his nose in disbelief upon hearing this- Volkner forgot he was a gym leader.
Now, to be fair, it wasn't often Volkner got challengers; he was 1st on the circuit after all, meaning he was the strongest gym leader available. Rarely having challengers was a concept foreign to Roark, but then again he was 8th on the circuit. He got gym challengers practically every damn day, which made it even harder to coordinate this outing. This didn't change the fact that Volkner forgot to check his gym schedule, which just so happened to have three challengers lined up for today. Three. It was going to take around 2 or more hours to get through all of them, assuming they're not rookies who didn't do their research. Roark sighed as he readjusted his glasses, dumbfounded at the situation the two of them were suddenly in.
"Yeah yeah, I know," Volkner, meanwhile, was on call with a very angry manager. And by manager, it's Flint. Flint, who had chosen the worst day ever to conduct a gym inspection to ensure Volkner was still strong enough to maintain his position in the league, "I'm gonna be down there in 10."
More muffled yelling on the other end of the call. Roark couldn't help but wince; rarely did he ever manage to peeve a gym inspector. If he weren't already aware that Volkner and Flint were platonic high school sweethearts, he'd be thinking Volkner was about to lose his job with how pissed Flint sounded. Volkner merely shrugged off the yelling, begrudgingly pulling on his trademark blue coat, "ey, I'll get back to you when I get down there, okay? Arceus on a stick, I've got a visitor, Flint."
There was a loud grunt on the other side of the phone, one that made Volkner roll his eyes. His phone beeped, signifying that Flint hung up on him; there had been no goodbyes, see you later, or any of that nonsense. Volkner shoved his phone back into his pocket, offering Roark a nonchalant look, "fire type specialists, amirite?"
There was absolutely no joke in there, none whatsoever. Roark couldn't help but laugh anyway.
"I'll be gone for about... maybe 2ish hours?" Volkner estimated, alternating his gaze between Roark and possibly the ugliest clock the latter has ever seen anyone proudly own. It had 4 hands for no discernable reason and there weren't any markings on it other than a crudely made picture of... what the hell was his name... Creg Gohan? Either way, nearly impossible to tell the time; whether it be from a mysterious 4th hand that seemed like it had stopped working or by getting distracted by an abstract version of Creg Gohan's face, "I see you're enamored with my new clock."
"It's horrible," Roark deadpanned; this was one of the few things he would not sugarcoat, "how can you even tell the time on it?"
"I've yet to figure that out," Volkner stated, smugly, as if he hadn't just admitted he'd spent probably 20 bucks on probably the worst thing Roark's ever laid eyes on, "but it's got Creg Gohan on it, so it's perfect."
"Don't you have an appointment to be getting to? Or are you waiting for Flint to come up here and drag you down there himself?" Roark inquired, resting his cheek on his hand, whose elbow firmly planted itself into his thigh. His lips were stretched out into a grin, despite his eyebrows burrowing into his lids, "I'm not going to protect you from Flint's wrath, Volkner."
"Whatever, you want to come and ref?" Volkner asked, snagging his keys off of a nearby desk, along with a pair of sunglasses, "would be a lot more fun than laying around here waiting for me all day. Maybe you'll get to see me wipe the floor with someone who was nasty with you."
"I thought Flint's supposed to ref the matches during a gym inspection," Roark raised an eyebrow at the request. Volkner was right; it would be way more fun than standing about doing nothing in wait for him to get back. However, the last thing he wanted was to irk an already pissed off Elite Four member. So, as great as it'd be to startle some long forgotten faces, he would much rather not get directly involved with a hissing, spitting glameow. Who just so happens to go by the name of Flint. And has a Steelix despite being a fire type specialist.
"Well yeah, but..." Volkner suddenly realized that he probably shouldn't push Flint's buttons any further than he already has. Thank Arceus. He does have a semblance of common sense left in him after all. His mouth fell open in a weary sigh; it was more than obvious he was not in the mood for pokemon battling, but there wasn't much he could do to avoid this, "you're right, I probably shouldn't push my luck that far. You sure you don't want to come and watch at least?"
"It's fine, Volk, really," Roark waved off the offer. On one hand, he did want to see how Volkner managed to land first on the circuit; on the other hand, he didn't want to add any unnecessary pressure. Gym inspections were rough enough with an Elite Four member taking notes on your battling, their oftentimes cold gaze piercing your soul in the process. Adding someone else into that equation- especially somebody that's close to you- would most certainly break Volkner's concentration a little bit. It would break Roark's for sure, "you need to be as focused as possible today, otherwise, Candice will take your spot on the circuit."
The thought alone caused Volkner's face to stretch into a grimace with a shiver crawling down his back. Roark wanted to say it wouldn't be that bad, but seeing how inflated Candice's ego got for a few weeks after claiming the 2nd position from his dad... hoh boy. Yeah, no, neither of them wanted to deal with that at the next few conferences. Just the thought alone made Roark's headache ever so slightly.
"That's a good point, I'll see you in a bit then," Volkner waved, letting a small grin contort his face for a little bit before leaving, locking the door behind him. The house fell silent immediately now that Volkner's presence was no longer there to carry a conversation. Roark's gaze shifted around the room for a little bit, now realizing that- wow- this place was quiet. It's probably silly that that was the first thing that came to him now that Volkner was gone, but, to be fair, it wasn't very often Roark experienced near silence. The whirring of the ceiling fans was minimal, none of the lights that decorated the ceiling buzzed with poor wiring, which was surprising for an apartment complex. Then again, Volkner was an electrician; he probably fixed the apartment's shoddy electrical work when his landlord was away. The only loud-ish noise that caught Roark's ears was the ticking of that god-forsaken clock on the wall next to him; he cast a glance towards it and Cheg Gohan stared back, his lifeless, crooked eyes piercing into his soul.
Well, there had to be something to do in the meantime. He'd be more than willing to sit on the couch, scrolling through random social media accounts that the league's PR team set up accounts for, but his phone was almost dead and he didn't have a charger. That and he wasn't allowed to post, save, or like anything on those league-managed accounts without running it over with the PR staff lest he get a phone call like the one Volkner got earlier. At that point, what was even the point of having a social media account? Maybe that's why Volkner had several backup accounts the league couldn't track him to.
Wow. That thought had entertained him for a shorter amount of time than he'd hoped. That's unfortunate; Roark didn't really have much else to ponder while Volkner was away and it had only been about... his eyes strained to make out the clock hands on the Creg Gohan clock... five-ish minutes? Maybe he should put on a movie or something; if Roark recalled correctly, Volkner had a box of burned CDs in his bedroom. Maybe he'd find a good one, like... well he didn't really know what genres Volkner liked the most outside of "so bad it's actually the best thing you've ever seen" B-movies, but hey, you miss all of the fossils you don't bother to mine. Maybe he'll find a new favorite movie... probably not.
Roark pushed himself off of the couch that he had since sunk into, the insides of the cushions crackling as they puffed back out. Leaning back produced a satisfying crack in his lower back, earning a soft grunt. His socked feet dragged along the carpet as he meandered about the apartment; if he recalled correctly, the bedroom was just over- his hand gripped the brass doorknob, opening the door- that was, in fact, not the bedroom, but the bathroom. He blinked in surprise, only to realize he'd mixed up his left and right. If Volkner was here, he'd be howling at the dumbfounded expression Roark likely wore upon being greeted by stained tile instead of even more carpet.
His sigh sounded almost like a laugh as he closed the door, turning around to his other right. His hands latched onto the correct door's doorknob this time, pushing it open with minimal struggle. Inside, he could just barely make out the shape of a bed and two dressers, along with a- is- is that a- Roark's eyes peered into the room as he flicked on the light- is that a fucking-
As light filled the room in waves like how the ocean crashed against Sunyshore's beach, Roark's eyes met with the last thing he'd ever want to see.
Another fucking Creg Gohan clock. Same design and everything. What the fuck.
Roark leaned against the doorframe for a moment as he pressed the palm of his hand to his face. Why. Why did Volkner buy two of them. How did he find two of them. Sweet Arceus, kill him now. Actually don't, please don't; it was the time of month where when he wished for that, it would almost happen, leaving him just barely clinging onto life like a sopping wet glameow clinging to the edge of a bathtub.
Anyways, pushing that train of thought behind and hoping nothing will come from it- which something probably will knowing his horrible luck- Roark wandered into Volkner's room. It was the first time he'd ever been in here alone; it almost felt a little eerie in here because of that. Usually, whenever chance brought them in here, Volkner would crack a sex joke the very nanosecond Roark stepped through the doorframe. Somehow, a lack of that gave him the littlest bit of unease. It was little though, so he was able to shrug it off as quick as it came.
Roark squatted down to take a look underneath the bed, which was where he remembered the box being. Thankfully, this time, his memory didn't fail him. Within the shadow of the bed, his eyes caught the form of a beat up looking box; there were tears and water damage practically everywhere you looked. His hands gripped the handles, pulling it out with a minute amount of effort; all of the CDs were inside their own individual cases, unorganized, but thankfully labeled. Roark began shifting through the lot of them, pushing away titles that didn't sound the slightest bit interesting. Thankfully, it didn't take long for a few to catch his attention, whether for better or for worse.
There was "Dinosaur Kings", which almost sounded up his alley. "The Rampastordos"...? He took that one out and set it to the side; that one just begged to be watched, if only to figure out what in the world that title was supposed to mean. "Attack of the Killer Tamato Berries" had a title that was a ride in itself; Roark decided to put it back, given that he vaguely remembers having already watched it before with Volkner. If he remembers right, there were aliens. Very... strange ones. "Sharpnado'' was one Roark vividly remembers watching with his dad when he was... about eight? Gave him a fear of the ocean that lasted until he was 22. Not going through that again. "Hot blonde studhorse and twink redhead-" actually, he wasn't going to finish reading that title. He quickly put that one away, pink dusting his cheeks as he realized they, coincidentally, shared the same hair color.
After that little debacle, Roark decided that he was satisfied with the selection at hand, that being "Dinosaur Kings" and "The Rampastordos". He pushed the box back underneath the bed right where it had once sat, hoisting himself back up using the fitted bedsheet on Volkner's bed. His eyes connected with the Creg Gohan clock again as he walked out of the room, turning off the light; he wouldn't be surprised if that thing was possessed with how its eyes looked.
Roark managed to make his way back to the living room without any hassle, setting the CDs on the table as he contemplated which movie he should watch. It was likely he wasn't going to get through both before Volkner came back; maybe he should watch the most boring sounding one first and leave the other for when Volkner makes his grand return. And probably announces that Flint kicked him in the balls in front of very impressionable young trainers. If that sounds oddly specific, it's because it's already happened before, minus the grand return being at Volkner's apartment. Last time it was in Roark's dms at around 21:00.
Blunt force trauma induced infertility aside, Roark decides that "Dinosaur Kings" sounded the least interesting compared to "Rampastordos". He pulls open the case, being careful not to accidentally crack the plastic, and pops out the disc. It's difficult to tell which side is upright, so he hopes for the best and plops it into the awaiting DVD player tray. The tray slides back into the player, a soft whirring sound emitting from the machine as it processes the disc placed inside. Roark snags the remote off of the table, pressing the power button. Nothing happens. He presses it again.
Oh. So this is how it's going to be.
Roark raises his arm as high up as it can go, pressing the power button. Still nothing; fuck. He leans over to the side, pressing it again. Nada. Maybe to the left instead of the right? Nope. Roark takes a few steps backwards, stumbling a bit as he accidentally bumps into the table. Another button press. Fuck all.
Irritation began twitching his eyelid as he backed away to a different corner of the room, single presses now becoming many. One of these spots has to work, please, Arceus. Now behind the couch, Roark stands on his tippy-toes, straining to remain upright as his thumb presses the power button at a speed that would make rhythm gamers jealous. Eventually, after minor adjustment, the red dot on the TV flickers on; Roark just about collapses onto the back of the couch with the heaviest sigh of relief he's probably ever had in his life. That's a lie. He had a heavier one after an osteology quiz in his Dino 301 class was removed from the grade book due to literally everyone failing it.
He pressed the source button on the remote; thankfully, it was far more cooperative than the power button and only took three tries to get it through. He scrolled over to the DVD button and clicked, which brought up the DVD player menu. Thankfully, it seemed like he managed to insert the disc right on the first try. The sound was crunchy, but as long as the dialogue didn't sound like complete gibberish, he could care less. Alright, everything was just about... prepared.
Something was missing, something crucial; thankfully, Roark spotted it immediately. There were absolutely no snacks in sight; for movie watching, this was likely the most egregious sin one could make, at least in Volkner's eyes. Where could he... Roark facepalmed as his eyes connected with the very open room right behind the living room; why didn't he immediately think of the kitchen?
Gingerly walking into the kitchen, Roark's eyes connected with a variety of goods that could make good snacks. He was hesitant though; he didn't want to make an ass out of himself and start eating something Volkner was saving for later. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, which was nearly dead; his eyes wearily checked the battery, it was only 35%. He opened up the messaging app he and Volkner only used in times of dire need, and by times of dire need he means when it's anything but stupid memes.
Before sending anything, Roark decided to pick something out that he wanted for certain, just so he wouldn't blow up Volkner's phone with messages. He scoured the kitchen like a rattata, peeking into the fridge and a few cabinets. However, nothing really caught his eye until he spotted a bag of brownies neatly tucked into a corner. He hadn't had a brownie in forever; what possessed Volkner to bake some? Right next to them was a Tyanowear container filled with... even more brownies? Roark paused for a moment, wondering why in the world Volkner would make so many. He shrugged it off a moment later, deciding that it was probably a result of a random recipe online earning a fixation from him. Roark doesn't have enough fingers or toes to count how many times that's happened.
Roark settles on the bag of brownies as the container practically screams "don't touch, I'm meant for somebody that is definitely not you". Reluctantly, Roark pulls up the messaging app and shoots Volkner a quick text, 'Is it alright with u if I have a few of your brownies?' He decided to leave out which ones he was planning on eating because it was just too painfully obvious for it to not be an open secret type deal.
He waited a little bit, deciding to lean on the countertop and use what little precious battery life was left scrolling through TubeYou videos. About three minutes passed until he got a message back from Volkner; that was quicker than expected.
'Yea sure 👍' was the reply given; it was short, but the one he was hoping for. Roark smiled as he returned his phone to his pocket, the thin sheet separating his pocket from his thigh did little to protect his skin from the warmth of the screen. He pulled open the zigzalock bag with ease, reaching inside to grab two, leaving four remaining. He leaned over to grab a paper plate from the stack on the nearby countertop; the last thing he wanted was to litter the couch with even more crumbs than it already had.
Carefully, Roark wandered back into the living room, pleased to see that the movie hadn't started without him; it was always the worst coming back from getting snacks just to see the movie playing without him. He pressed the play button on the TV remote and, miraculously, it worked first try! Maybe his luck was starting to come around after all...
The title for the movie began to fade in from a black screen, text followed saying that no fossil pokemon were harmed in the making of this film. If Roark hadn't already been aware of what this movie probably was upon seeing the menu screen, he would've figured it out then and there. As with almost all B-movies, the intro was long and tedious with an information dump he'd forget 5 minutes later. Thankfully, the audio was near perfect in terms of volume and the dialogue was intelligible. Roark decided to start nibbling on the brownies he got earlier about 20 minutes into the film.
He took a bite and- he couldn't resist the smile that twisted his lips- it was fucking heavenly. Roark doubts he's ever had a brownie this damn good before; he needed to tell Volkner he was an incredible baker when he got home. The sweetness of the chocolate blended perfectly with the hints of salt he could pick up on. The soft, spongy texture only enhanced the flavors of it as well. The aftertaste was a little earthy, but it was still delicious nonetheless. Thankfully, the brownies ended up being filling enough to where he could restrain the desire to go grab another from the bag once he finished the both of them. Roark placed the paper plate on the table before leaning fully back into the couch, absolutely delighted with the early dessert.
The minutes passed by like mere seconds; thankfully, the movie was interesting enough to not be a total slog to get through. The fossil pokemon were obviously someone in the cast's pet as Roark was completely unconvinced they were threatening in any capacity. One of the Archeops started licking an actor's face right before they cut the shot; there was not a single evil bone in that bird's body. The Tyrantrum they were using as the big baddie was the second cutest thing Roark has ever laid his eyes upon; for fuck sake, it was wagging its tail in almost all of the shots he's seen so far. This was less of an action horror movie and more of a "look at all of the cute fossil pokemon pretending to be vicious predators" movie.
Near the end of the movie, Roark started feeling a little funny. It wasn't the usual illness funny, however; it was just... slightly off funny. About an hour had passed since he began the movie; he figured his brain must be rotting from trying to understand why in the hell the main cast would do any of what they're doing. His head felt lighter than usual and, for once, he felt... was loose the right word? For once in his life, he felt the tension in his shoulders leave. There were jokes in the movie that he normally wouldn't laugh at, but for some reason they got him bad in the funny bone. Like... clutching stomach cackling that the neighbors are probably getting annoyed at bad. Arceus, he hasn't felt this good in years; was he in heaven? Probably not; he hadn't died, yet.
Roark found his cheeks hurting from how much he was enjoying this movie; it was beginning to get ridiculous how much he was smiling at this flick. When the credits began rolling after the supposed death of the big bad dinosaur (he could still see the tail wagging, dammit; that tyrantrum was having the time of its life), he felt a little sad it ended. One: it was a really good movie, at least at the end; two: he really did not feel like moving right now. The couch was more comfortable than ever and- oh Arceus- he had never been this relaxed before. The credits faded to the copyright warning screen, something Roark had no problem not paying attention to as he powered back on his phone. Rather than texting Volkner something, Roark was here on a different mission.
On one hand, he would feel really bad if he ate through Volkner's fridge; on the other hand, he could really fucking go for something right now. He didn't know what yet, but his stomach ached for something. For the second time in his life, he opened the Accelgordash that he had installed before time had a name. He was immediately presented with far too many options for him to even begin considering; was a basic food tab not- oh wait, there it is. He found it. Well, there were multiple, but he had decided upon seeing the fast food tab that- fuck yeah- he could go for something that'll give him heartburn 2 hours after eating it.
Once again, too many options for him to consider, so he scrolled until he found something that looked- oh that looked delicious. That did too- wait- fuck- there were so many good looking things here. Roark furrowed his eyebrows as he continued scrolling between the options that had already grabbed his attention; a burger place, a taco place, and a- oh wait, that was also the taco place but in a different location. This app was confusing.
Since he was attracted to the taco place twice, he decided it was a 2-1 vote. Logically, that didn't make any sense, but it made enough sense to him. Opening up the closest location's menu revealed like... several different things he could really go for right now. They didn't just sell tacos, but a whole slew of other things too. Now the question was what he wanted; he could also pick out some stuff for Volkner, but right now he wanted to pick something for himself. Dozens of options scrolled by, all looking equally appetizing. Shit, how could he even begin to choose?
He did choose. Probably chose too much. The two fully loaded tacos looked heavenly and they were a combo! He decided to get some for Volkner too, because it sounded so delicious he couldn't imagine wanting anything else over it. Fuck whoever made the- he peered at the screen, trying to read the rather small text- Supreme Crunchtown image, because he just added one to his order due to that. Oh- can't forget drinks- there's nothing worse than no drinks; he ordered two mediums for himself and Volkner.
Annnnd next thing he knew he had about 55 dollars worth of shit in his order and he wasn't emotionally ready to say goodbye to any of it. He would actually cry and he's already close from how fucking good all of it looked. His stomach grumbled with how hungry he was (he wasn't entirely certain it was hunger, but he wasn't about to argue with his gut); fuck it, consider it a charitable donation to his and Volkner's movie night. Were they having a movie night? Well, they were now, because Roark just finished the order and had no hesitation in paying for it with his debit card. He would've used his credit card, but he pulled out his debit first and could not have been bothered to search his wallet for a few extra seconds to find it.
He immediately closed the app to prevent himself from catching a glimpse at anything else that looked delicious, opening the messaging app instead.
'Heyyy Volk, just bought some food for some movies tonight!! Hope ur doing well on ur examinaton'
Fuck.
'*examinatoin'
Double fuck.
'*Examniaton'
Fuck squared.
'I give up'
The menu screen for Dinosaur Kings had been on loop for Arceus knows how long now; thankfully, Roark was finally feeling somewhat up to moving off of the couch now. His legs were a little wobbly as he pushed himself up; thankfully, didn't immediately topple over onto the table. He carefully walked over to the DVD player, being mindful to ensure that, if he did fall, he would fall away from both the TV and the table. It definitely did feel like he was about to fall any minute now with how wiggly he was. Was that the right word? Felt like the right word.
He opened up the DVD player, taking out the CD relatively quickly. His hands were surprisingly stable, despite how- well- not stable his everything else was. Getting back up proved how unstable his legs were, as he ended up tipping backwards instead of up, falling directly on his ass, "Son of a-"
He trailed off.
He didn't have the willpower to be genuinely upset about the pain that caused; rather, he started chuckling about it. Arceus, something was definitely off. Honestly? He could care less; he felt fantastic. Will probably feel better when Volkner comes back and even better than that when the food gets here.
Roark managed to get back onto his feet this time, stumbling only a little bit. His limbs felt like they were floating- pushing through water? They didn't feel heavy, but there was a weird latency to their movements. Probably why he fell, especially when paired with his legs feeling like mush. He managed to walk over to the couch without stumbling, his feet dragging against the carpet. His entire face felt warm, along with his body as he sat back down on the couch; it was pleasantly warm in here, he now realizes, much nicer compared to how it usually is. Something vibrated against his leg; he paused for a moment, wondering why in the world that would happen.
Oh, yeah, his phone. It's in his pocket. How'd he forget about that?
He sluggishly pulled it out of his pocket, the browns and greys of his phone case seeming more vibrant than usual. His smile curled upwards even more; he didn't think greys and murky browns could be anywhere close to vibrant, especially on an old, beat up phone case. Powering on his screen, he sees that there's a message from Volkner. Opening up the notification, Roark squinted to properly read the message sent to him.
'Heading home now, Flint kicked me in the balls btw'
Roark giggled at the second part of the message; the tally counter rose to... what was it... five? He couldn't remember; he'd ask later when Volkner was back.
'lol' was the only word in his reply. He couldn't think of anything better- oh wait, he just did. He sent another text shortly after the previous one, 'see you soooooon'
Were the extra Os necessary? Absolutely, how else was he supposed to convey how dearly he'd missed his now ball bruised Volkner? Hehe... balls. That's a funny word. Balls. It seems like his humor has reverted back to when he was a teen.
Ha. Balls.
Haha.
His head tilted upwards towards the ceiling, having grown bored of staring at the patterns on the DVD disc menu. If he looked hard enough at the ceiling, he swears to the gods that there's little pictures up there. Little pokemon guys... little guys on little pokemon guys... there's peeled paint vaguely in the shape of an Onix over there. That's cute; almost as cute as Dinosaur Kings. Arceus that movie was good; he should ask Volkner if he has an-
A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts, though it took a moment for it to fully register in his head. He pushes himself up from the couch and opens the door, fiddling with the doorknob for a moment to undo the locks. How dare they make locks this hard to unlock, even if that's the entire point of why they even exist. Pulling the door open, it wasn't Volkner, but rather some... fuck... that hair was confusing. It was like a mix of blond and brown... there's a name for that, Roark thinks.
"Uhm, for.... Rock? Rock Onyx?" The delivery man spoke up, voice timid. It took a moment for Roark to fully process what he said before realizing his minor fuck-up.
"Ohhh, did it auto-correct to Rock on the order?" Roark asked, completely forgetting the implied question. It's happened to him before, but usually he catches it before submitting something, "my bad. It's Roark."
"Oh uh- you're Roark then? Roark Onix?" The delivery man reiterated, face burning a bright red. Roark blinked for a moment; it wasn't that hot out here- oh wait, probably just sunburnt. That makes sense, "Uh...."
"Oh, yeah, that's me, sorry!" Roark chuckled, realizing he'd been silent that entire time. The delivery man handed over the bag and it was far heavier than expected. Arceus, they were going to be eating good tonight, "Thank you so much!"
"Uh, no problem, um," the delivery man shifted in place, as if he wanted something. That piqued Roark's interest somewhat; he was still very distracted by how good the food smelt, "you're uh... you're Roark the- the gym leader, right?"
"Oh shit, are you a fan?" Roark asked, incredulous. No way, he had a fan? Like... the person kind of fan? That's crazy. Judging by the way the delivery man squeaked, Roark was, for once, right on the money, "that's awesomeeeee. I don't get a lot of fans."
"I- uh uh-" the man's face was fully red now- about as red as a tamato berry. There was a small square clutched in his hand. He looked like it took every bit of energy in him to finally speak, his voice small, "can- can I have your- um- your autograph?"
Under any other circumstances, Roark would be flustered to the distortion world and back right now, face just about as red as the others. Right now? He felt as smooth as steel, managing to somehow keep his cool despite being overjoyed. Oh who was he kidding, he was not keeping cool at all, "oh why the hell not, anything for a fan! Do you got a pen on you?"
"Yes!" The man handed over one, his mouth practically vibrating with how much he was shaking. Poor thing looked like he was about to pass out any moment now. He handed the little square to Roark, who clicked on the pen, signing the blank back. Thank Arceus that he went to so many of those "optional" meet and greet events where absolutely no fans ever came and it was just an excuse by the league to get leaders to sign biographies and whatever the fuck. Wait- wasn't he only supposed to sign stuff at league events?
"Not my best handwriting, but I hope it'll do," Roark handed it back to him, who looked like he was about to die of glee. Arceus, if he could always act as cool as he was now, he would probably have a lot more than just 5 fans.
"Thank you!" They clutched the image to their chest, Roark couldn't help but run the back of his head. He was... really hungry right now and the food was probably getting cold out here. The delivery man laughed nervously, as if something about Roark's demeanor changed, "I-I'll get out of your ha- hair now, sir- Mr.Roark sir."
"You have a nice day now," Roark waved; the delivery man almost tripped and fell down the stairs from that. Heh. Who could've guessed that making somebody's day would make you feel really good? He backed inside of the apartment, closing the door and gently setting the bag back on top of the table. The aroma of food beyond the definition of flavor, but rather defined by sensation wafted into the air. Oh holy hell, he was ready to demolish whatever was in here.
Roark felt a childlike giddiness take over his being, tearing open the accelgordash bag like it was a birthday present. Carefully, as if holding a child of the gods, Roark set a few various food items onto the table and- yeah- he was going to be having chest pains for the next week after this. Oh ho. Ohohohoho.
Another knock came from the door, this time with a muffled, familiar voice, "Ey Roark, I'm back."
Arceus, right when he sat back down and got comfy? That was horrible timing, but Roark wasn't about to leave Volkner waiting at his own door. Fortunately, Roark didn't lock the door after closing it, so he just pulled it open, cheerier than ever, "Hey Volk, was wondering when you would be coming back!"
"Hey Roark, sounds like you've be- holy shit," Volkner dropped his keys, eyes widening as he took one look at Roark's face. His own face paled, while Roark's grew red; was there something on his face that he didn't know about? He doesn't remember eating anything except for those brownies a few hours back, so there shouldn't be any food on his face, "Your eyes are... really red."
Oh, that was it? Roark laughed as he pulled the door open further, gesturing for Volkner to come inside, "Yeah, of course they are. That's my eye color, Volk."
"No I mean REALLY- wait," Volkner paused for a minute as he yoinked his keys from the ground, tossing them onto the nearby desk. For a minute, it looked like he was thinking intensely about something; whatever that was, Roark had no clue. He sat back down on the couch, sinking into the far too comfortable cushions. All he knew was that this food was about to be the best thing he's ever eaten in his life. Volkner spoke up again, voice wavering, "Uh Roark, you had brownies earlier, yeah?"
"Mmm, yeah," Roark suddenly remembered the very important thing he had wanted to tell Volkner when he got home, "oh, by the way, they're delicious. You're really good at baking, you should get... like... a bakery. Or something. You'd do fantastic."
"Oh Arceus on a stick," Volkner muttered to himself, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as if his worst nightmare just came true, "Roark, where did you get the brownies from?"
"The kitchen?" Roark gave him a dumbfounded look; where else would he get it from? The brownie store? That made him snicker a little bit.
"No no, the container," Volkner clarified, his eyes becoming more and more haunted with each sentence spoken, "the bag or the tynamowear?"
"Um," it took Roark a minute to remember that part. He had to sift through numerous fuzzy memories before finding a suitable answer, "the baggie. Figured you were saving the ones in the tynamowear for somebody."
"Oh no," Volkner paled significantly; Roark's heart rate began to race. All semblance of relaxation began to fade into anxiety; what the hell did he mean by 'oh no'. A million different reasons raced through Roark's mind, each spiking his panic to newer heights. Oh sweet Arceus, he was about to freak the fuck out; 'oh no's were never good- never good-
Volkner took notice of the growing anxiety, releasing a heavy sigh to calm himself down. His brain raced for ways to sort through the situation, specifically ways that wouldn't trigger Roark into a panic attack. He opened his mouth before he had much time to think, "calm down, it's alright. Just, how many did you eat?"
"Two," Roark felt near tears; oh Arceus, he should've specified when he first asked. The dread that pooled at the pit of his stomach crawled up his digestion system, burning the walls it touched. Thank the gods he hadn't started eating yet; he would've puked then and there.
"Okay, okay, that's- that's not bad," Volkner approached carefully, as if Roark was some wild animal that could be easily startled. He looked troubled, searching for a way to explain something; he ended up asking a question instead, "how do you feel?"
"I- uh-" Roark was about to vomit everywhere. Projectile. Volatile. Hey, those rhymed! He would laugh if he weren't so close to actually losing his shit, "afraid."
"All of the time or just because of- uh- right now?" Volkner asked, audibly treading carefully. He paused, deciding to rephrase it after seeing the bewildered look on Roark's face, "like, were you feeling good before this?"
"I- I was feeling the best I've ever felt in years just a few moments ago," Roark admitted, hands shaking as he stared at Volkner's face for some kind of reassurance. Luckily, he found a semblance of some in the way his face lost some tension, "Uh... why?"
There was a moment of silence. Volkner bit his lip for a moment, eyes deciding the ground was much more interesting to look at right now. It only took a few seconds for them to return to Roark with wavering confidence.
"Roark, you're going to have to promise not to freak out, okay?" Volkner placed his hand on Roark's shoulder, the pressure enough to ground the latter from his ever rising anxiety. It was calming, to a degree.
"Uh, okay. I think I can manage to not freak out," Roark stammered, voice audibly uneasy. His chest was racing, but he could manage it. He hopes. He really does hope. His hands gripped the fabric of his pants tightly, hoping that the material would be enough to keep him grounded.
"So, how do I put this nicely? Uh..." Volkner tapped his foot on the ground a few times. He was so very not good at sugarcoating things, "Roark, you're really fucking high right now."
"What?" The pool of dread froze to ice.
"Those weren't normal brownies. Those were brownies with weed in them. They're called edibles. I made them for fun and... um..." Volkner paused, rubbing the back of his nape guiltily, "I'm sorry for not elaborating when you asked earlier. I uh, should've figured you'd go for the baggie first."
Roark merely placed his head into his hands in response; he totally wasn't freaking out, no, not at all. It wasn't like he worked at a job that conducted drug testing every so often due to the operation of heavy machinery! Nope! Not at all, haha! His voice was shallow, like how his breathing was getting to be, "Oh Arceus- Oh my gods."
"Hey, hey, Roark-" Volkner shook his shoulder lightly, "it's okay."
"No, no- Volkner- I-" Roark felt sick to his stomach; tears began to leak from their sockets, "they do testing in the mines because of the heavy equipment!"
"Hey, Roark, it's going to be fine, listen to me," Volkner rubbed his thumb right above Roark's collarbone, causing the latter to sluggishly shift his gaze towards him. His eyes had managed to get even redder than before, probably from the onset of tears, "this is the first time you've ever had weed, yeah?"
Roark nodded, brushing the tears out of his eyes with his fist. It was a struggle for him to retain eye contact, "y-yeah."
"How often do they do drug tests?"
"About uh-" Roark sniffled, snot beginning to leak from his nose, "sorry. I think about once every two months? We just had a test a few days back."
"Oh Arceus, you're gonna be fine," Volkner patted Roark's back gently, a warm grin loosening up the rest of the features on his face. He pulled out a tissue from the nearby tissue box, handing it to him, "Your piss'll be clean in a week."
"What?" Roark raised an eyebrow at the last sentence, accepting the tissue offered to him by Volkner. He blew his nose, wiping away any snot that remained underneath his nose afterwards.
"You're a first time user; that means it leaves your system quickly. They won't be able to detect it in your system after a week," Volkner graciously took the tissue from Roark's hands, tossing it towards the trash can and missing. He's just going to pretend it made it in and keep this bit going, "by time they do another test, you'll be clean."
"Are-" His face lost some of the tension; Volkner couldn't help the relief that flooded his chest up to his shoulders, "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure, you see..." Volkner's voice faltered, his lips pressing together tightly. His eyes surveyed the area before deciding to speak, almost as if he were paranoid somebody was here, watching him. If there was someone watching, Roark thought, that somebody was probably the Creg Gohan clock which somehow looked even more fucking menacing than before, "I used to smoke a lot before joining the league."
"So...?" Roark inquired, his breathing was a lot less shallow, though the anxiety still persisted. He could actually think somewhat... dare he even say rationally while in this state?
"So I used to have to deal with drug tests, meaning I've got plenty of experience with all that nonsense," Volkner rolled his eyes, as if he were stating the obvious. The confused look on Roark's face reminded him that- oh yeah- he's high. That's why they're having this conversation in the first place. His brain wasn't really working right now. Volkner cleared his throat, deciding to elaborate further with an exasperated tone, "I worked at an electrician firm with a hardass for a boss. Couldn't go freelance without a stable income so I couldn't leave and everywhere was so much worse."
"Ohhh," the puzzle pieces in Roark's mind finally clicked together; only took him about... if he could read the Creg Gohan clock, he would know. He decided to speak again after a moment of silence, his voice quiet, but more stable, "so... you're sure I'm gonna be fine?"
"Yes, you're gonna be fine," Volkner sighed, wondering if this was how it felt trying to deal with him under the influence. His eyes caught something he hadn't noticed until now, though that was probably because he had to prevent Roark from spiraling into a panic attack. Now that the latter was mostly taken care of, his attention was more sparse, eyes flickering about more. Now he could see the little case containing a burnt CD, hidden behind the bag of food that he was starting to get hungry for, "oh, what movie is that?"
"Uh, which one?" Roark inquired, his vision straining to find what Volkner was talking about. There were two discs out after all; he couldn't quite remember where he left either of them.
"One behind the food bag."
"Let me think," Roark paused for a moment, trying to scour through his memories of the past however many hours. They were covered in a thick, syrup-like sludge that made it difficult to remember clearly, much less sort through them, "I think... uh... that one's 'The Rampastordos'."
Where did he leave 'Dinosaur Kings'? No idea. Probably somewhere obvious that he hadn't noticed because now that the anxiety was gone his appetite was back.
"Oh, that's a good one, love that movie," Volkner leans over, popping open the case with the CD following shortly afterwards, "the main star is Creg Gohan."
Because of course it is. Roark can only hope Gohan doesn't look as horrific as he does on the clock lest he have nightmares of him tonight. He really doesn't want to know how vivid those can get while under the influence, so please take mercy on him, Mr.Creg Gohan. Volkner immediately takes note of the terror that twists Roark's expression, "it's more like a comedy than a horror movie, don't worry about getting too scared."
"I was more worried that I'd be staring at a real life version of the freaky bastard on the wall all movie," Roark couldn't help but chuckle madly at his own joke. The relaxation had decided to settle back in, making him feel like his skin had turned to jello. His smile grew lopsided as he shot Volkner, the smug-eyed fuck, a hazy look, "now, are you just gonna let all this food go to waste? I didn't spend a nice bite of my paycheck on this just for it to go cold."
"Yeah yeah, give me a minute," Volkner sluggishly pulled himself from the couch, The Rampastordos in hand, to go mess around with the DVD player. Meanwhile, Roark couldn't resist the temptation sitting in front of him any longer; his hands delicately unfolded the wrapping of his food like it were the swaddle of Jesus Harold Christ from Monty Arbok and The Holy Grail, "good lords above, that is the hardest I've ever seen you eyefuck something and it's a Supreme Crunchtown from Tauros Bell."
"I took one look at it on the Accelgordash app and fell in love," Roark admitted in a near sing-song fashion, his eyes filled with joyous whimsy as he held the thankfully still warm wrap in his hand, feeling the ingredient shift from the added pressure.
"You're going to experience the worst heartburn of your life tonight," Volkner remarked absent-mindedly, voice drifting off as he clicked the DVD player, its gentle whirring making a well-awaited comeback, "as well as the best movie ever created."
"Better than DoubladeRunner 2049?" Roark pondered aloud, eyes clouded with wonder as if it were a feat he hadn't believed to be possible until now. Or maybe they clouded over due to how damn delicious this Supreme Crunchtown was.
"That isn't in the same genre as this one," Volkner rolled his eyes, a 'this fucker' smile twisting his often bored expression. Not that he ever looked bored while hanging out with Roark or Gardenia, but his amusement was something always pleasant to see.
"You've got a pretty smile, you know that?" Roark mused, momentarily distracted by Volkner's face. His attention immediately retreated back to his food once the comment fell from his lips, but it gave Volkner a moment of pause as he pushed himself from the DVD player.
"If I didn't know you were stoned before, I'd definitely know now," Volkner laughed softly to himself, cheeks dusted a light pink as he returned to his spot on the couch, falling back onto the cushions. His focus was immediately captured by the smell of the food on the table, leaning over to take a look inside of the bag, "what all did you end up ordering?"
"I forget," Roark confessed, shrugging as he took yet another bite of his food, "take whatever you find though; I bought it for the both of us."
"Did your father teach you to speak with a full mouth?" Volkner teased, grabbing the first thing that looked somewhat appealing out of the bag, which ended up being a wrapped taco. What kind of taco? Who knows; Roark can't remember, all he knows is that it looked divine.
"I'm hungry, leave me alone," Roark jabbed back, the DVD menu switching to a black screen. It seemed like this movie didn't have a pause menu; it immediately went into the media. A nice change of pace from 'Dinosaur Kings' whose menu track was still looping in his head.
"You're high," Volkner remarked, laying back into the couch cushions to get comfy, unwrapping his taco without even a fraction of the care Roark unwrapped his piece of food with.
"High AND hungry, thank you very much," Roark stated with every ounce of conviction he could muster.
The very first scene of the movie came through, burning through the previous black screen. It was of a relatively young looking man, perchance Roark's age. He was waving to his parents as he exited the grand church doors, adorned in priest attire. His parents waved back, only for an explosion sfx to play, the camera switching back to the priest. As fire sound effects played, his face contorted, mouth hanging open as he screamed 'no!'. The camera switched back to where his parents had been.
Instead of fire, there was text.
'VFX : Car on fire'
The two of them immediately nearly pissed themselves laughing.