Soda Chapter 6

Chapter 6: House Banned

An unsteady hand groped for the handle, that familiar doorknob. Fingers probed the white, gloss-painted wood, searching for the cold metal. “Dude, be quiet!” He hissed. “Stop laughing!” He whispered angrily, shaking the raccoon by the shoulders, letting his head wobble loosely.
	“Hahaaa you call me dude a lot... dude...” Rigby replied, his eyes slowly rolling around in his head, as if inspecting unfamiliar surroundings. He grinned stupidly, hiccupping and continuing to chuckle.
	“I told you, man. What were you thinking?” Mordecai managed to turn the knob, pushing the door open carefully; the creaking hinges making him wince.
	“I was th-...thinking that how good... this beer...is...was.” Rigby batted Mordecai’s hand away from his shoulder and stumbled past him in to the room. He tripped over nothing and landed flat on his face. “Oof! Uuugh...” He groaned, picking himself up shakily and rubbing his nose.
	“You drank like five bottles!” Mordecai knew that most people could probably handle five bottles of beer, but Rigby’s tiny size made the effect of the alcohol far stronger. “Why didn’t you stop, Rigby?” He closed the door with his back, leaning in to it and folding his arms disapprovingly. He was thankful of the support, enabling him to remove the crutches. The plastic cuffs were starting to irritate his forearms. He picked them up and placed them lengthways on his bed.
	“I... didn’t stop cuz I’m so awe...sum.” Rigby made what he believed to be a straight line towards his trampoline, which was covered in old clothes and other assorted miscellany, as usual.
	“Dude, it was just dumb. You don’t drink. You never drink!” Mordecai followed him across the room, trying to make eye contact from above, but failing to catch his attention. Rigby flopped down on to his bed, but fell right through it; the soft pile of clothes collapsing beneath his weight.
	“Huh? Where’s my...? Aw man, did you ...? Uh...” Rigby started to dig half-heartedly through the fabric, searching for the familiar metal frame he so cherished. “Dude, where is it!?” He yelled, starting to panic. Mordecai looked on, confused.
	“Dude, I’ve not been home since you busted my foot, remember?” Mordecai hobbled closer to help the raccoon dig through the myriad of random objects that littered the floor. After a few seconds of furious searching, the raccoon sat bolt-upright.
	“Oh...” He seemed to have had an epiphany, though his tone of voice sounded disappointed.
	“Oh? What do you mean, ‘Oh...’ ?” Mordecai stood upright, carefully pulling himself up with his hand gripping the edge of the hole his skull had left in the wall the day before.
	“That’s right...” Rigby continued, as if speaking to himself.
	“Rigby, what is it?” Mordecai started to feel a sense of worry creeping in to his gut.
	“I took it there...” The emphasis on ‘there’ made wherever ‘there’ was seem of the utmost importance.
	“You took it where, Rigby?” Mordecai leaned against the wall with one hand, taking the weight off of his injured leg momentarily.
	“Anders’ place.”
	“You did what?! Why would you even do that?” Mordecai freaked out, trying to resist the urge to strike out at his drunken friend.
	“I took all my junk to Anders place, cuz Benson kicked me out.” Rigby rolled over on top of the pile and stared at the ceiling, finding patterns in it.
	“I know Benson kicked you out, dude; that’s not the point! Why did you take all your stuff to that psycho’s place?” He wondered how much of Anders had already pawned.
	“He’s a cool guy, man! Why d’you hate him so much?” Rigby picked up a sock, investigating the finer points of its existence.
	“That’s not the point, Rigby! Why did you take your stuff to Anders?!”
	“Because...” Rigby paused to belch, the rancid stink of stomach acid and hops momentarily pervading the air. He grinned as Mordecai fanned his nostrils. “...because he’s my friend, and he said I could stay on the couch til I find a place.” Mordecai stood with his beak slightly agape. What was Rigby even thinking?
	“Rigby, you idiot! That guy isn’t your friend! I’m your friend! We’re friends!” He yelled, yet again resisting the ever-growing urge to lash out. “He’s not stable! He’s probably out selling your crap to some shady dude right now!”
	“Pfft-whatever, Mordecai. You’re just jealous cuz he’s cooler than you!” Rigby delivered a half-hearted retort, blinking slowly as he started to feel his booze-induced stupor turn towards lethargy.
	“What?! Rigby, he’s a freak! He’s all like, ‘oh hey I’m gonna kill you’, then ‘you wanna have a beer?’. You really think you can trust him?” He seemed to be in disbelief of his friend’s stupidity.
	“Leave me alone.” Rigby grumbled, turning over to face the wall.
	“Oh, I see... ‘Mordecai’s right, so I’ll just mope. I won’t admit that I’m wrong because I can’t stand being wrong, ever.’ Whatever, Rigby.” Mordecai hopped over to his bed and pulled the crutches off of the blankets, letting them clatter on to the floor. He slumped on to the mattress, letting himself lie on his back. “You know what? I hope he does sell your stuff.” He blurted out, feeling vindictive.
	Before Rigby could respond, footsteps on the landing made them both sit upright. They watched the door as the handle turned and it swung open. “Alright, what’s going on in here? I could hear shouting from outside and- oh...” Benson stood scowling in the doorway, the backs of his hands pressed against his hips. “What’s he doing here?” He motioned to Rigby, who held up a hand and wiggled his fingers in apparent greeting.
	“He’s drunk.” Mordecai shot a glance across the room at the dazed-looking raccoon.
	“He’s what? Rigby’s drunk?” Benson didn’t seem to believe it.
	“Yeah. He thought he’d prove how cool he is to some random stranger.”
	“Shut up, man. I don’t need to prove how cool I am; you can already tell.” Rigby giggled, picking up the arm of a shirt and draping it across his face daintily.
	“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” Benson stomped across to the corner of the room, reaching in to fish Rigby out of the trash. “Why is he even here, anyway? He doesn’t live here anymore.”
	“Benson, he’s drunk. I couldn’t just leave him there.” Mordecai tried to reason.
	“Well, you should have. He’s a liability, and I don’t want him sitting around in the house. Rigby!” He yelled as the raccoon refused to stand. Benson tried to drag him upright, but his arms were as loose as ropes, flopping around heavily. Rigby laughed at his former boss, which infuriated him.
	“Rigby! Stand up!”
	“You’re not my mom.” Rigby teased.
	“I’m your boss!”
	“No you’re not.” The momentary silence that followed was uncomfortable, but Rigby smiled throughout. “You fired me, so I’m free!” Rigby moved himself in a way that suggested dancing, though he remained horizontal.
	“Well, you’re not allowed to be here.” Benson roughly yanked the raccoon to his feet, a motion that sent a wave of nausea through his body. “You need to leave, right now!” Benson shouted, his face glowing a characteristic red. Rigby smirked defiantly.

	“No.”

Mordecai shielded his face as a sound like a boiling kettle started to swell. The volume built and built, before Benson shouted with such force that his gumballs made him in to a maraca.
	“Get. Out! Now!” Rigby wiped some spittle from his cheek, clumsily smearing it with the heel of his palm.
	“Alright, fine. Jeez.” He swatted Benson away, wobbling his way over to the open door. Mordecai sat upright, supporting himself on both hands.
	“Rigby wait! Where are you going?”
	“I don’t care, maybe just back to see what...” His voice trailed off, unable to conjure the effort to finish the sentence.
	“Tell me you’re not going back there! Dude, you can’t be walking out there on your own! You’re trashed.” Mordecai felt remorse for not having stopped Rigby from drinking so much. He felt, as his best friend, that he was now responsible for him until he sobered up. That said, he was still feeling somewhat bitter about Rigby’s insistence to keep drinking.
	“You can’t tell me...do.” He mumbled, supporting himself on the door frame before he turned the corner, heading for the stairs. Mordecai quickly pushed himself to the edge of his mattress, leaning forward to pick up his crutches.
	“Rigby, wait!” He heaved himself upright, swinging forward on his crutches until he found his balance, before quickly ambling out on to the landing. Benson followed, stopping behind him and watching as Rigby tried to descend the stairs.
	The raccoon grabbed for the banister as he placed his foot on the first step down, but missed it by a hair. He tripped and stumbled, slipping down the first few steps, but keeping himself upright by awkwardly leaning his shoulder against the wall. He rested for a second, before slowly stepping down each stair with both feet, one after the other, feeling his way with his hands. When Rigby reached the ground floor, Mordecai followed after him, carefully placing his crutches on each step in turn, swinging himself down after them, leading with his healthy foot.
	“Stop following me!” Rigby yelled, slurring his words slightly. He continued towards the front door, placing both hands on the handle.
	“No, man. I’m not letting you go back there! At least, not on your own. And drunk.” Mordecai tried to catch up as quickly as he could, but Rigby was too quick. He pulled the door open and slipped out, slamming it behind him. The picture frames rattled on the walls, settling skewed. Mordecai groaned with exasperation.

Benson was the last one down the stairs. “Well, thank goodness he’s gone.” Mordecai glared for a moment, not daring to say anything in case he also lost his job. “Don’t look at me like that.” Benson demanded, pointing a finger.
	“Benson, you don’t understand-“ He was interrupted before he could finish.
	“I don’t understand? What’s not to understand?! He was in the house, I don’t want him in the house. End of story.” Benson’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, something that Mordecai was used to.
	“Benson-“
	“No, I don’t want to hear it. Now, you should go and sit down or whatever. Take the weight off of your foot; you won’t be able to work as a groundskeeper until that cast comes off.” Mordecai frowned and stayed put, not fulfilling Benson’s expectations. Benson shrugged it off; he would find Mordecai some paperwork to do instead. The longer the jay’s foot took to heal, the less accounting he had to take care of by himself.
	Benson changed the topic, as if what had happened before held no importance whatsoever. “Oh, by the way: Muscleman and Fives have seen some guy skulking around Skips’ place. I told them not to approach him, because I think he’ll move on sooner or later. It’s not like he could steal anything, since Skips moved out.” He wandered over to the sofa and retrieved his clipboard, which he had tossed there before he climbed the stairs just moments before. “That said, just be careful, okay? If someone suspicious comes looking around this house, you call me. I’ll let the police know if anything’s up. Got it?” He pointed again.
	“Okay.” Mordecai sounded downtrodden, drawing out the last syllable.
	“If you see a guy with red and black hair come anywhere near this-“ It was Mordecai’s turn to interrupt.
	“Wait! Red and black hair?” He called out, sounding slightly panicked.
	“Yeah, red and black- Hey! Wait! Where are you going?!” Benson yelled as Mordecai quickly stumped his way to the door and let himself out.
	“No time! Gotta go!” He answered without looking back, launching himself across the porch so he could begin the awkward descent of the stairs.
 	“Mordecai!” Benson yelled again, standing with his arms folded by the front door.
	“I’ll be back later!” He was already half way down the stairs; adrenaline allowing him to grasp the motions required, suffering only the occasional slip and stumble. He landed with a crunch on the gravel, launching himself forward as far as he could with every swing of his crutches.
	“Mordecai! Stop! Get back here now or you’re fired!” His threat carried very little weight this time, but as old habits die hard, he could barely help himself.

Soon Mordecai had reached the main gate. He was absolutely sure that he would have caught up with Rigby travelling at the pace that he had managed, yet Rigby was nowhere to be seen. “C’mon man, I know you didn’t run. Where’d you go?” He thought for a moment, getting his thoughts in order. He couldn’t have headed to Anders’ place, he would have found him before he left the main gate. He wondered about what Benson had said about the high-contrast intruder; he’d been seen at Skips’ house. Mordecai realised that his best bet would have been to check there first, but wanted to be sure that Rigby wasn’t going to leave the park. That said, where would he have wandered to? He would have continued on his way to Anders’ apartment, judging by how he was acting at the house. Something, or someone, must have reached him first. Mordecai turned on the spot and headed across the dry grass towards Skips’ house, panting heavily as he got back up to a jogging speed with his arms.

Eventually, he reached Skips’ house. The arrival felt strange without calling out for the white yeti’s help, but Skips was already long gone. He slowed down, cautiously approaching the building. He peered left and right, looking for signs of Rigby or Anders, but could see nobody. Mordecai decided to call out, hoping for a reply. “Rigby!?” He shouted, looking around and waiting for the tiny raccoon to surface. Nobody responded. “Rigby!?” He tried for a second time, louder and longer, but again, nobody replied. He hoped that he would not have had to call for the latter, hesitating. “Anders?” His voice was quieter, unsure. He questioned whether or not he would still be around; knowing that it wouldn’t take long to realise that nobody was home. Nevertheless, the badger made an appearance.
	“Lost someone, huh.” He stated flatly, sounding neither menacing or sympathetic as he wandered in to view from behind the garage. He had both hands in his jacket pockets, slouching slightly. He leant against the garage door with a hollow metallic thud, yet another cigarette hanging from his lips. Mordecai was thankful that it wasn’t alight, but he knew that the chance that it would be were quickly approaching one.
	“Where is he?” Mordecai put on his sternest possible expression, standing his ground to give his words some weight.
	“Where is who?” Anders, sure enough, withdrew his hands from his pockets, cupping them around his lighter. He sparked it and inhaled as he lit the paper cylinder.
	“You already know!” Mordecai clenched his fists around the handgrips of his crutches, the plastic squeaking quietly in protest.
	“Yeah, yeah! Calm down; he’s fine.” Anders’ reply held Mordecai in suspense; he could not be sure he was telling the truth until he beheld Rigby with his own eyes. His stubborn silence made Anders’ roll his eyes. “Ugh, seriously. He’s alright! Look.” He wandered back towards the rear of the garage; dropping out of sight for a moment. Mordecai could hear a scuffle break out behind the house, followed by the unmistakably whiney timbre of Rigby’s voice.
	“Let me go!” He yelled as Anders reappeared, holding the raccoon by the scruff. The badger complied, placing him down softly on to his feet.
	“I’m not letting you go anywhere, you hear? You’re wasted, little buddy.”
	“I’m not.” He protested, swinging a weak hammer-fist at his knee, but missing entirely. He swayed gently on the spot before proceeding to slump on to the ground, executing an almost seamless pirouette on the way down. Mordecai watched as Anders continued to casually puff on the cigarette that hung precariously from the corner of his mouth.
	“How did Rigby get here? He didn’t know you were over here, right?” He was partly worried, wondering if Anders was up to another game or trick.
	“Mordecai, you think far too little of me...” He knew that he hadn’t made such a good first impression on the jay, so he expected some suspicion from him. “...Lucky for you, I ran in to him as I was leaving the park; he was about to walk straight in to the road, you know. I might have a ‘dark’ sense of humour, but I wasn’t about to let him get run over!” He grinned, removing the cigarette from his mouth and tapping some of the ash off of the smouldering tip. “Anyway, I brought him back to the house, but nobody was answering the door.” Mordecai relaxed slightly, mulling over his response. He felt only a tad more at ease, guessing that Anders wasn’t up to much in regards to Skips’ home as he first thought.
	“Oh, uh. Thanks.” Mordecai awkwardly scratched at his injured leg with one crutch, leaning to one side to keep his balance. “And this isn’t the right house, man. Sorry, it’s just, we live further up, past here.”
	“Oh, that’ll be why I didn’t get an answer for a solid hour, then.” The badger shuffled his feet, adjusting his stance. “Well, that makes me look kinda stupid, huh. I just spotted this house on the way in to the park, so I figured it was the right one.”
	“You can’t miss our place, dude. It’s like, right in the middle.” Mordecai was sceptical of his lack of spatial awareness.
	“Bad memory I guess. I’ve only been in the park once before, maybe a month ago. It’s weird, it seems a lot longer than that.” He scratched one ear, lost in contemplation for just a moment. Mordecai cocked his head slightly. Before he had time to ask more, Anders continued their conversation, changing the direction. “So, how was the walk home? Not too much trouble, I hope.” He seemed considerably more amiable than he was during their time in the city. Mordecai was somewhat confused, but figured that perhaps a little alcohol was enough to calm the European’s mischievous nature. Though he still felt some hostility towards Anders, he couldn’t help but feel thankful for his intervention. After all, they may very well have required another trip to the hospital if he hadn’t found Rigby. Mordecai threw caution to the wind and engaged in conversation, lowering his defensive attitude for just a moment.
	“Uhm, yeah it was...it was okay, thanks.” He thought for something else to say, wondering if the anecdote that had slid to the tip of his tongue was suitable or not. He had not forgotten that Rigby had told a few personal stories to the badger just the night before, so he decided that one from his side would be fine. If anything, it was to settle the score that had set itself in his head. “Rigby did try to pee on a fire hydrant though.” He looked away for a moment, wondering which way the statement would tip Anders’ mood.
	“What, like a dog?” A smile stretched across his face as he asked for details.
	“Yeah, on all-fours.” Mordecai held back his laughter, sniggering for a split second. He was unsure if he wanted to get too friendly with this complicated stranger just yet.
	“Stop talking!” Rigby shrieked, clumsily climbing to his feet, keeping his balance as well as his encroaching lethargy would allow.
	“Dude, you totally did.” Mordecai reasoned. He knew that Rigby couldn’t deny it, especially in his intoxicated state. Keeping a lie together took far more effort than Rigby was willing to put in, so he just angrily shook a fist at his friend. Anders suddenly started to chortle with such feeling that it put Rigby on the back foot. The raccoon jumped back in surprise and fell on to his rear, leaving the floor open for Mordecai to laugh along heartily. Rigby gave up, slowly folding out on to his back in the dust. He sighed in defeat, not feeling much like fighting them. He longed for his trampoline; the familiar companion, the faithful sidekick, somewhere he always felt comfortable. He grumbled, letting their voices amalgamate in his ears until they both became nought but a dull rumbling. His eyelids slowly enveloped his eyes, letting them rest, shutting out the bright sunlight. In a few short seconds he was sleeping soundly, spread eagle and snoring quietly.
	When they had both calmed down, letting their laughter recede, Mordecai and Anders looked at the exhausted raccoon. “Wow, he really can’t hold his beer, can he?” Anders said, appearing puzzled; being a man who Mordecai guessed could probably drink a whole naval crew under the table and still walk in a straight line after being pulled over by the cops.
	“He’s only three foot tall, man. To him it was like, twice as much. Plus he doesn’t usually drink, so, there’s that.” He wondered exactly why he was defending his friend’s honour. It wasn’t exactly like being unable to consume dangerous amounts of ethanol was a character flaw, but somehow he felt the need to make an input.
	“Eh, yeah I guess so.” And just like that, Anders dropped it. Mordecai expected him to argue his point or make an obnoxious joke at his friend’s expense, but it was not forthcoming. The mustelid looked to be lost in his thoughts again for a moment, as if contemplating something deep. Before Mordecai could ask him what the matter was, Anders posed another question. “So, why was he leaving the park, anyway? Did your A-hole boss catch him?” He took a final drag on his cigarette, burning it down to the orange-coloured butt before dropping it in to the dust. He stepped on it, grinding it in to the dirt.
	“Yeah, he was pretty pissed that he was back at the house.” Mordecai went with it, unsure why he was feeling quite so much easier around him. “He was heading back to your place, because his stuff is there.” He arched his back, stretching out his muscles. He was starting to tire of standing.
	“Ah yeah, that’ll probably be it.” Anders’ reply seemed very short, as if he didn’t have much else to say. There was a moment where all that could be heard was the birdsong and nearby traffic sounds carried on the faintest of breezes.
	“Are you okay?” Mordecai asked, feeling immensely awkward in doing so.
	“Oh, yeah. It’s nothing.” Anders replied, appearing to cheer up in an instant; though his smile looked as though it was forced. Mordecai let it slide for the time being, noticing his increasingly aching leg and forearms that resulted from standing for so long.
	“Do you want to go to the snack bar or something? It should still be open til six.” He offered, craving a cold drink; but mostly anticipating a place to park his behind to take the weight off of his foot. The badger nodded.
	“Yeah, sure.” He replied, looking down at Rigby’s unconscious body. “But what should we do about him?” He asked, nudging him with the toe of his boot.
	“Well, we can’t leave him here; and I can’t carry him.” Mordecai looked to Anders apologetically, seeing no other alternative. He waited for his usual obnoxious attitude to return, but was surprised when he nodded instead. He leant down to scoop Rigby up off of the dusty ground, lifting him up on to one shoulder. “Sorry, Anders.” Mordecai hoped that he didn’t feel embarrassed carrying the drooling raccoon across the park.
	“Don’t worry about it. People look at me funny all the time anyway. I don’t care! Like I give a-“
	“Hey!” Anders was distracted as he beheld an imposing figure approaching fast along the dirt path. “Put him down!” The gruff voice yelled. Mordecai turned to face the source of the gravelly tones, spotting Skips charging towards them with a stern frown upon his ancient face. “Put him down, now!” He growled, his face contorting vehemently. Anders started to back up, skirting the garage door, edging towards the front of the yeti’s house. He panicked as Skips bore down on him, swinging a punch that buried itself in his ribs. He yelped, dropping Rigby from his shoulder, who landed roughly. Mordecai was struck with horror, standing on the spot, not daring to move closer.
	“Skips! Wait!” He could barely believe what he was seeing as Skips threw another balled fist that collided with the badger’s jaw. Anders lost his footing, slamming in to the ground with a painful sounding thud. “Skips! Stop!” Mordecai shouted as loud as he could manage. The yeti stood with one foot upon Anders’ chest, holding him down firmly. He turned his head to make eye contact with Mordecai.
	“What?!” He seemed to be uncharacteristically angry, spooked.
	“Stop! He wasn’t hurting Rigby or anything! He was just carrying him!” Mordecai was unsure of what else to say; Anders may have been imposing-looking, but he was certainly no match for Skips. He was worried as to why the normally rational sentinel was acting so violently, so suddenly. “Skips, please!” He begged. If anything, he didn’t want to see his old friend arrested for assaulting a tourist; on top of that, he felt sympathy for a semi-conscious man trapped under his foot. The yeti contemplated what had happened for a moment, looking to Rigby as he pulled himself shakily to his feet. He looked down at Anders, who was groaning in agony, a tiny trickle of blood-stained saliva flowing from his mouth. He turned to look back at Mordecai, who was shaking minutely on the spot. His face softened, turning from rage, to confusion, to regret. He stepped back, releasing the pressure from the German’s chest. He looked down at him once more.
	“Dude, what?” Rigby paced around Anders, inspecting his swollen jaw. “Skips, what happened?” His words were slurred, his confusion increased tenfold by sleep and alcohol. The yeti said nothing, starting to skip away as per usual; regarding his personal commitment to his long-lost love. “Skips?” Rigby asked again, slowly stumbling after him. Skips stopped, turning to peer over his shoulder again. Anders was starting to pull himself up off of the ground, eyes clenched shut and teeth bared.

	“Bad vibes...” He muttered to himself, before he continued on his way, quickly disappearing from sight.