Sonic & Mighty: No Obligation

~Bring me down break me down, in the hot hot desert, this is where I wanna be~
~Bring me down break me down, in the hot hot desert, this is where I wanna be~
~and I am what I am, a natural disaster~
~Pick me up at three, send me off to sea, and maybe I'll come back for you~

"You just can't go anywhere without enviromentally appropriate music, can you?"
There was an audible sigh, exaggerated to such a degree that indicated something more than just general annoyance. Or perhaps rampant indigestion.

There wasn't much anyone knew about Sonic T. Hedgehog, saved for that he liked to run, eat chilli dogs and had an indominitable heart of resolve and willpower. Sorry to say only one out of three of those things were readily apparent right now, but those were the breaks.
While Sonic did indeed love to shatter the sound barrier on a routine basis, there was something else that no one but very few knew about him- in that he not only judged a township by it's merits and morals, but their cuisine came to a close second. He hadn't advertised this quirk, for the same reason he didn't give out personal info that shouldn't be too personal beyond a waiting list for a pest removal company.

Back in the day, the hedgehog himself was a world adventurer. He set foot in many countries, getting to experience many cultures, along with their foodstuffs. Whether it was the greasy, but grotesquely satisfying Royale With Cheese burgers of Empire City, or the steamed meat buns filled to the center with pork and eggs of Chun-Nan, Sonic had tasted it all. So far, only two people knew about his rainbow meshed taste pallet; Mighty the Pacifist [or pass a fist, depending on who you asked], who only seemed to find it poetic that Sonic had not experienced any cultureshock when the Hedgehogs nationality was unknown to all but him, who also, thanks to his undying friendship to the armadillo, was able to discern what was or wasn't worth his time through sheer sense of smell. Sonic wouldn't have believed Mighty's descriptions until he tried them for himself. He would have called it bizarre, but how many hedgehogs do you know who can rev their body in place like a buzzsaw?

Eggman knew about it, but only tangenitally. The Good Doctor had a myriad of spycams in major cities should the Blue Blur pass through on a whim. Prepared was an understatement- it was just too bad he didn't seem to plan beyond the initial Plan A except for a few special occasions, which didn't turn out entirely dandy. Sonic didn't include Robotnik in on being one of the people knowing about his haphazard admiration of all things food, because for the most part he didn't consider him a person, but more of a giant talking egg. Eggman was only into assassinations if it meant loud explosions or cracking sniper fire. He didn't have to worry about being poisoned under normal circumstances, so in a way, he was thankful.

After a particularly hazy afternoon with an atomic cocktail of bad decisions, complete with what he thought to be a bad example of an acid trip written by someone who'd clearly never been on one, he'd daydreamed once about shoving a chilli dog down Eggmans massive, gaping maw, fingers drilling out from where his teeth should be, scarfing it down, taking his hand along with it, inadvertently choking the rotund human.

That day was disturbing, so he quickly repressed it. And yet, it just made him love food even more.

And while he never considered to kill Eggman, Sonic learned in just his adolescence that such a trick was really very stupid. Even after all the battles where his hands bled, his muscles ripped apart, near exhausted from bareknuckle slugfests, to the point where his body would stop flushing out impurities and instead turn to expelling water, during those moments where he was hanging to his life by pure force of will, with the smug sense of satisfaction that Eggy was doing the same, he'd sometimes hallucinate his Mother walking by, looking down with an amused gaze of longing and comfort, humming a melody he'd long forgotten by now, but was certainly a classic tune from his home of Christmas Island, soon turned into white noise, her hand dissolving through his as if the reaper himself had eviscerated him with his instrument of passing. No mother. No Christmas island. No calm-as-the-wind on a summer day tune. Just him, his partner, and the sudden, very real craving for a 12 course meal, beginning and ending, with chilli dogs. He was angry with himself. Angry, vengeful in his own colorful way, coating his veins in cement, a thinly veiled attempt to pass off the stiffness as if he were wearing a new leather jacket.

There were no chilli dogs right now, merely a composite collection of blue spines, tan arms wrapped in bandages, relishing the way his fingers ached every time they rapped themselves upon the cool leather interior of the vehicle. Another quirk, but far less unique when associated with annoyance, to be sure. He'd rather it be his fingers tapping the car door than his feet kicking at the floorboard, less of a design decision on his part and more of a subdued fear of literally kicking out the inoffensive sheet of metal covered by plastic, ceramics, fiberglass and who knew what else. Sonic legs were lean, yes, but a quick, hands-on inspection would reveal how absurdly muscled and dense they were.

Sonic's anger was muted. You couldn't even tell he was angry except for circumstances unlike anything else. He just had a likable, friendly face. He'd like to think that, at least, and not because he was more feminine than he'd like to admit. Mighty would agree wholeheartedly- bless that big lug. Just like Mighty's anger when pushed, Sonic was unstoppable. He'd never lost a fight, let alone a war, not against Eggman and his ingrate lackeys who, oddly, seemed to spit in the face of everything Sonic seemed to fight for and certainly not against himself except for one very specific time he'd never get into again if he could help it. And help generously he did.

Mighty helped, too, not to discredit him. Sonic's gut burned just as much as his legs did. He was thoroughly convinced he had RLS, making a point to try excercising his bodies excess energy away and out from him. This only served to increase his need to stretch and and feel the wind on his face. He wouldn't let himself. He was more of a gentleman than a snob, he again, would like to think, so he put his own anxiety to rest, quashing it with all the righteous fury Eggman might have for an imperfect hair on his legendary moustache.

Sonic could at least roll down a window.

But here he is, here on Mobius, surrounded by sand, sand and more gogdamned sand, just off the coast of Sand Blast Zone, where sand was in sand, and boy, did he hate sand. He always had to plant his foot into the earth in just the right angle to gain any traction, digging his heel and putting more stress on his calves than necessary. Drove him insane. At night when his muscles ached, they made him blasphemous, willing to accept the bizarre in any form to ignore his plight on just why he did on what he did. He never thought about the why. Just the why not. And it's on this prinicpal that Sonic became best friends with a black and red mobian named Mighty. Who at the moment, didn't seem all that concerned with keeping his eyes on the road. Those easy, robin egg soft blue eyes fixed to a similiarily blue hedgehog vastly disinterested in the world, more contemplative of the collecting dust on his tattered red sneakers than he was of the impending conversation he'd rather avoid.

"Don't be like that. Music is expressive right? And here's this... whatever group singing about skinny dipping in the sea. I can't help but wonder if you're going for irony." The offhanded satisfaction laced within his tone made Sonic's toes curl in a way that denoted his complete lack of interest on the matter. "We're gonna crash if you don't keep your eyes on the road." There was no road, and there was nothing to crash into- Sonic just didn't want to take notice of his growing stress. Which appeared to be something Mighty was hellbent on doing. A game he'd cooked up in his own sleepless nights with a mess of quills curled tightly into a ball beside him.
Mighty wasn't one for much introspection unless it involved someone, whether it be him, or a victim of his choosing to pass sagely advice to the next generation. He had this rather annoying ability to sense whenever a single iota was off in the hedgehogs brainpan, and an equally agitating trait of mending whatever broke inside his head at the time. He both hated and loved it.

"Grouplove."
"Gross."
"The band singing."
"Ah."

And it settled into a comfortable silence, with nothing but the Dune Speeder's engines rumbling gently under Sonic's feet, providing him with a familiar sense of physical movement not at all disimilar to running, lulling his growing aggravation to a calm murmur. Mighty was appeased for now, having felt the raggedy vehicle they called home doing its duty of providing comfort for the Assitant Owner.

"We should be at the next town soon."
"Cool."
"I think you'll like it. I hear they have killer sandwiches." Sonic would never admit his ears perked ever so slightly at the mention of a good, cold sandwich. Crunchy lettuce squished on top of indigineous-to-the-region meat, followed by a thick slice of juicy tomato and bacon, black, sweet olives mishmashed amongst banana peppers, topped off with toasted bread smattered in mayonnaise, that wonderfully-bad-for-you additive, in between wheat for the platforming.. He would have added spinach, but the waiter was already fumbling over the agonizingly meticulous order, and he felt bad for the 20 something kid. He also couldn't take any more of Mighty's quiet giggling. That was the last thing he had about 9 hours ago, and every few hours since then, his armadillo companion offered him a snack to keep that one-of-a-kind hunger sated, but Sonic politely refused every time, oddly content.

"You think about what you want to order, yet?"
Now it was Sonic's turn to stare at the gentle titan, who's eyes were focused squarely on the horizon, a neverending smirk complimented by two eyes both heavy and exhausted, as if the golden environment had something to tell to his peepers, jeepers creepers. Sonic couldn't exactly give him an answer, as it was a question he had to think about harder than normal. He wasn't an idiot by any means, but he was abandoned at an early age- many people forgot that he was just a little kid when Eggman first laid his grubby mitts upon Green Hill Zone, watching his tiny animal friends get stuffed into roller bugs and wheel beetles and whosits and whatsits. He didn't have an education, but that didn't mean he wasn't educated. You might be irritated being called slow in any capacity, too.

Mighty had built many habits around Sonic's presence, leaving the blue hedgehog to idly wonder just why Mighty was... not subserviant, but just mindful and considerate in his friendship. It got on his nerves sometimes, yet he did not particularly care. It was just odd, is all. This one, was one of many. Mighty had seen fit to start asking Sonic beforehand what he thought he'd like to eat when they visit the next town. It was an invariable constant in their lives, it seemed. They'd always stop at a cafe, or a restraunt, or a quaint little diner with a suitably retro human aesthetic that had angled convertibles with immaculate leather upholstery. Sonic paid double the rings to sit in the shiny red car in the middle and off to the center of the establishment while a knock-off Rat Pack sang about getting kicked in the head.
That wasn't the problem. It was Sonic being an indecisive prick, while he glossed over the menu about 13 times, asked Mighty half as many times what he thought, Mighty playing along half the time of that, and Sonic shooing the waiter away about as twice as many as that because he was still perusing the menu dammit just give me a second. Mighty didn't mind. He did mind the ludicrous amount of rings Sonic spent on a novelty table, but that could be easily remedied by visiting a Zone while another sat with the Dune Speeder.

"Sort of." finally came the response. They'd undoubtedly visit an establishment for some grub at some point today, but Mighty in his ever growing wisdom, saw fruit in asking Sonic the burning question. No pun intended.
Mighty was apparently satisfied with this. For the next hour, Sonic would roll over the ideas of what he could order, and with what sides, with innumerable number of replays of this thought process, glossing over into a muddled rush of just running together like a movie marathon. Or too many games of Catan, where he routinely farmed too much wheat. That game night sucked.
He'd settle on one thing, and then immediatly change his mind when his mouth watered at the prospect of a platter, only to curb himself in the ass and think about sauteed mushrooms dipped in steak sauce.

Chilli dogs were always at the front of his mind; yet more often than not, nobody had the ingredients on hand to make them. Hotdogs, chilli, but never together, like star-crossed lovers if you asked his opinion on it. There was no reason to be embarassed, and Sonic didn't feel like he deserved to feel as such, with the way his muzzle looked flushed and ready to melt butter. He'd written it off as the heat getting to him. With the interior of the Speeder at a cool 75 degrees? Yeah right. Mighty didn't believe it for one second.

Mighty gave a genuine, but tired smile. "Good. I'm glad." He's not convinced of Sonics answer, but it was better than a resounding no. His face softens a little bit more when the first rooftop of the town appears on the horizon, reminding himself that yes, he was doing this for a reason. A very good reason that he felt justified in using. He didn't have to, but it eased his conscience. Sonic could easily jump out of the vehicle and speed towards the town and wait for Mighty to catch up, but he didn't. There was nowhere to go. It was a kind of self-imposed vacation, thought Mighty.

"You sure about that?" The armadillo asked again, another smile playing coyly on tanned lips.
"O'course." He replies like the fucking liar that he is.
"Yeah, I bet you are."

Sonic's too happy about the rapidly approaching town and the mere notion of getting to see another culture to notice the whimsical sarcasm.