Raivis Galante vs. The World: Round Four- Ba Ba Black Sheep
New Year's had been nice. Quiet. Raivis had been pleasantly surprised at how genuinely pleasant it had been.
Been. As in- 'started out', as in 'began pleasantly but did not remain as such'. As in the most definite past tense because the way 2011 had started was most certainly not in any way, shape, form or dimension of 'nice'.
He'd just meant to take a walk to the market. Had to orientate himself with the area anyway and honestly, it shouldn't have been so abnormal to be out and about on January first seeking a gift, fresh flowers for the flat and ingredients for dinner, right?
Never mind that his perspective still had the world looking like it'd come out of a quirky indie comic. By that particular outing, he'd come close to ignoring a development that should have worried him the visually manifesting sound effects nearly completely, capable of not flinching as the 'BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP's drifted past while the cashier had rung up his two cans of beets, his quarter pound of pork, a small box- two?- of Scottish sweets for Rory, his vegemite.
Vege-?
Oh.
Dievs.
Because of course, who else would be at the international market in the Lakeside part of town buying the exact same box of candies than Peter's elder half brother, the giant with the painted face.
Raivis had opened his mouth-
Then promptly choked as -had the Indian pop on the overhead speakers suddenly become 8-bit sound bites?- the behemoth had picked him up by his shirt collar.
"You." He'd said.
"A-ah." Raivis had replied.
"So you think you're part of the family now do ya-?"
Words had appeared around them, big flashy words he'd been too terrified to read that may have proclaimed 'Raivis Galante versus John Paul Key' or might really have just been the neon signs in the front of the store reflected back in the glass. How he had ended up dashing across half of Liberty chased by (apparently mechanical) sheep thereafter, he wasn't certain (where had they come from? Hell?). All he'd known was that he'd kicked Peter's (half) brother in the shin, he'd still needed to deliver a present, his pork needed refrigeration and he might just have been about to die the most spectacularly bizarre death Liberty had ever seen.
Whenever a sheep had nipped at his heels, he'd thrown another unfortunate item from his bags at them. The ever present bar above his head had depleted with every snap of blunt teeth.
He'd been on his last can, Mister Key dashing after him behind his demonic flock when Raivis had done the only thing he could think of doing to avoid them closing in-
"Oi!"
A strategy often utilized by his husband.
Run directly into traffic, do not pass go, do not collect the two hundred dollars in groceries he'd just lost.
It'd taken care of the sheep, no problem. The man, however, had been apparently indestructable. As the drivers in their cars had cursed and honked at the more or less obliterated animatronics, his brother-in-law had miraculously navigated the maze of aggitated, shocked motorists undeterred.
"I'm s-s-sorry I-"
"-Was just tryin' t'ask if y'needed a ride to Rory's place since it looked like y'were maybe gettin' those candies for her."
Raivis had stared.
And stared.
And stared.
And, again without his knowing precisely how, been transported into the Kiwi's vehicle, strapped in with the doors child-proof locked before he could fully realize what had been happening.
The proceeding drive was one he would need years to wipe entirely from his memory. There had been questions- many about life with Peter he'd felt were far too invasive- and several pedestrians destined to be run over if Raivis hadn't jerked the wheel out of Mister Key's grip. The drop off had been successful- if not awkward- but the drive to the Buccanear Appartments in Lakewood-
"You're a bit of alright, Galant."
Raivis had forced a smile after shakily exiting the vehicle, casted glances at the battered remains of the mechanical sheep in the backseat (explained away as necessary for a holiday event at one of the local parks). His HP had leveled out. He'd been desperately wanting to escape with his beets back to the safety of his home.
"Th-thank you, sir."
"Call me 'John'. Happy New Year, eh?"
"Y-yes, the same to you-"
"And Galant?"
"Sir?"
"...make my bru cry and I won't be comin' after you with an offer for a ride next time."
Relative safety.
"If this is the way the rest of the year will be-" Raivis had murmured to Boom after locking the doors and windows. "I'll take my chances with 2012..."
Been. As in- 'started out', as in 'began pleasantly but did not remain as such'. As in the most definite past tense because the way 2011 had started was most certainly not in any way, shape, form or dimension of 'nice'.
He'd just meant to take a walk to the market. Had to orientate himself with the area anyway and honestly, it shouldn't have been so abnormal to be out and about on January first seeking a gift, fresh flowers for the flat and ingredients for dinner, right?
Never mind that his perspective still had the world looking like it'd come out of a quirky indie comic. By that particular outing, he'd come close to ignoring a development that should have worried him the visually manifesting sound effects nearly completely, capable of not flinching as the 'BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP's drifted past while the cashier had rung up his two cans of beets, his quarter pound of pork, a small box- two?- of Scottish sweets for Rory, his vegemite.
Vege-?
Oh.
Dievs.
Because of course, who else would be at the international market in the Lakeside part of town buying the exact same box of candies than Peter's elder half brother, the giant with the painted face.
Raivis had opened his mouth-
Then promptly choked as -had the Indian pop on the overhead speakers suddenly become 8-bit sound bites?- the behemoth had picked him up by his shirt collar.
"You." He'd said.
"A-ah." Raivis had replied.
"So you think you're part of the family now do ya-?"
Words had appeared around them, big flashy words he'd been too terrified to read that may have proclaimed 'Raivis Galante versus John Paul Key' or might really have just been the neon signs in the front of the store reflected back in the glass. How he had ended up dashing across half of Liberty chased by (apparently mechanical) sheep thereafter, he wasn't certain (where had they come from? Hell?). All he'd known was that he'd kicked Peter's (half) brother in the shin, he'd still needed to deliver a present, his pork needed refrigeration and he might just have been about to die the most spectacularly bizarre death Liberty had ever seen.
Whenever a sheep had nipped at his heels, he'd thrown another unfortunate item from his bags at them. The ever present bar above his head had depleted with every snap of blunt teeth.
He'd been on his last can, Mister Key dashing after him behind his demonic flock when Raivis had done the only thing he could think of doing to avoid them closing in-
"Oi!"
A strategy often utilized by his husband.
Run directly into traffic, do not pass go, do not collect the two hundred dollars in groceries he'd just lost.
It'd taken care of the sheep, no problem. The man, however, had been apparently indestructable. As the drivers in their cars had cursed and honked at the more or less obliterated animatronics, his brother-in-law had miraculously navigated the maze of aggitated, shocked motorists undeterred.
"I'm s-s-sorry I-"
"-Was just tryin' t'ask if y'needed a ride to Rory's place since it looked like y'were maybe gettin' those candies for her."
Raivis had stared.
And stared.
And stared.
And, again without his knowing precisely how, been transported into the Kiwi's vehicle, strapped in with the doors child-proof locked before he could fully realize what had been happening.
The proceeding drive was one he would need years to wipe entirely from his memory. There had been questions- many about life with Peter he'd felt were far too invasive- and several pedestrians destined to be run over if Raivis hadn't jerked the wheel out of Mister Key's grip. The drop off had been successful- if not awkward- but the drive to the Buccanear Appartments in Lakewood-
"You're a bit of alright, Galant."
Raivis had forced a smile after shakily exiting the vehicle, casted glances at the battered remains of the mechanical sheep in the backseat (explained away as necessary for a holiday event at one of the local parks). His HP had leveled out. He'd been desperately wanting to escape with his beets back to the safety of his home.
"Th-thank you, sir."
"Call me 'John'. Happy New Year, eh?"
"Y-yes, the same to you-"
"And Galant?"
"Sir?"
"...make my bru cry and I won't be comin' after you with an offer for a ride next time."
Relative safety.
"If this is the way the rest of the year will be-" Raivis had murmured to Boom after locking the doors and windows. "I'll take my chances with 2012..."