⌚ New Experiences

1. A New Toy

"Heh, Spanky," Marco called as they were leaving the workshop, "You coming down the Bother tomorrow?"

"Uhh..." the fox known as Spanky moved one shoulder in a vague circle, close to half a shrug but without expending as much effort, to imply that he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about sitting in a bar with a dozen drunken students to watch the game on TV. It was something he'd quite enjoy, but only about as much as everything else he did with his friends. "Don't know, mate. Think my package might have arrived by then. I mean..." the fox raised a paw to make another dismissive gesture. He had a whole arsenal of them, to represent different degrees of not particularly caring.

"Alright," Marco nodded, and ducked under the arms of a couple of lads to get past them in that way only a rat can. "Hey Francis, Spanky can't come because he's playing with his package."

There was some laughter, of course, but Spanky wasn't going to complain. He didn't care that much about his friends' joking, just like he didn't care too much about the professor always singling him out, or hitting the campus bars every night, or football, or running, or an endless parade of vapid television shows filled with stars and characters he couldn't tell apart. He was a third year student now, and should have been stressing over his final year project, but he found that even if he failed, it probably wouldn't get to him. He was drifting through life, passing time until something better came along. He'd go along with his friends and get enthusiastic about whatever they were enjoying, but only enough to fit in with the crowd. Spanky didn't really get excited about anything.

But...

He sauntered home, tail swishing gently in counterpoint to his steps. He was halfway there already before he realised he was quietly whistling. His paws tapped in time to the beat, his head was nodding, tail swaying. The tune was familiar, he knew that much, but he couldn't quite place it. Something from TV or film maybe, but that was about as much as he knew right now.

At the front of Melville House there was an elderly buzzard sitting behind a battered desk. Some of the residents wondered if the furniture or the porter might actually be as old as the building itself; it was hard to see which was the most battered. He nodded half-heartedly as he heard the door open, and that would normally be their sole interaction for the day. But Spanky glanced to the wall at the old geezer's right, where twenty-nine wooden pigeonholes were arranged in a grid. His eyes went to the bottom-right corner, where the hole with a little brass plaque saying 'S' was inexplicably placed. There was an orange card leaning inside the hole,and Spanky's heart skipped a beat. Was his parcel here?

He walked over and tapped the card with one finger, tipping it out of the pigeonhole. And before he even lifted it up, he could see the legend written in the old bird's scratchy handwriting: "Spankless, J. G. / 1 (one)".

"Hey, Ernie," he held up the card, "You got something for me today?"

"That I do, son. That I do. Hold your horses, I'll go get 'er from the back. Don't let any robbers or cheap floozies in while I'm away, you hear me?"

Spanky nodded, not managing to conceal his grin. It wasn't the joke that had made him smile, Ernest said almost exactly the same thing every single time he had to go into the back room for some errand. Theoretically the porter's job was to stop unsuitable types coming in to hold wild parties in the rooms or to cause trouble, but it was doubtful he'd ever actually refused entry to anyone.

He got shakily to his feet, fumbled with the chain on his belt until he could bring a bunch of keys as large as most students' fists in closer proximity to the door, and after a few moments grumbling and cursing under his breath walked into the back room. He treated it like some ancient cave of mysteries, the holy of holies, and mere students weren't even allowed to look inside. So Spanky stood in front of the desk, drumming his fingers on ancient, dark wood, and trying to keep from humming the insidious tune that had been perking him up the whole way home.