A Friendly Accord
Chapter One
Sonic's head was lightly throbbing, in a way that threatened to bring on a headache in the next hour or so. It wasn't from drink; he was just nursing his first Ring-Catcher (three counts gin, one count Goldschlager, one count amaretto), so he was hardly tipsy yet. He brought his hand to his temple, gently massaging it. That's just the nature of the beast in Studiopolis Zone; the blaring lights and hovering cameras, the shudder of camera shutters and the general glare and overload. What Sonic hated most was the constant sensation of being inside an aperture. Which, if you don't know what an aperture means, is like, it's basically a hole, but like, specifically the hole in a camera's lens that lets you take pictures, but for Sonic it was also the pinned-in, desperation-inducing sensation of being inside a metaphorical hole. Being pinned in one place, as one thing, in the eyes of all around you.
And the doors of the bar came crashing open, and instantly Sonic knew who had just walked in. "Robotnik," he said with a groan. "Leave it to a Russkie to design a Zone like this," he mused. Egghead sat on the stool beside Sonic and gave him an amicable, if overly-ingratiating, smack on the back.
"Sonic, my boy! How goes the night? Enjoying the peace and fame?"
Things certainly had been peaceful since the Accord a few months ago. Egghead had agreed to stop turning animals into robots and making general siege on the universe, and in return, Egghead received sort of media-rights to Sonic. Egghead may not be ruling the land anymore, but he had certainly used Sonic's image to sway the masses in the past few months. Everywhere Sonic turned these days, it seems, he saw his own face advertising Robotnik's products. Robotnik had taken all the energy he used to funnel into world domination, and used it to become a Goliath of industry. (Goliath was not a cyclops, and neither was Mr. Egghead Robotnik.)
But Sonic's answer reflected how he generally felt about it: "Not what it's cracked up to be, but it beats the alternative."
"Now surely you're enjoying the fruits of this life?" Egghead asked. "Look around you! You haven't paid for a drink in this bar in weeks."
"Drop it, Robotnik." Egghead put a finger under Sonic's chin and lifted it, bringing Sonic's face right up to his own.
"I need to know the talent can be relied upon."
Sonic moved Egghead's hand away, delicately, a movement that was not unkind. "You've got me where you need me," he said. Inwardly, he grimaced. But Egghead was practically purring.
"Good. Now, I'm going to need you to run on… OH that's funny, run, that was totally unintentional! Erm, run on over to Green Hill Zone tomorrow. We're having a photo shoot for Robotnik's Personal Handyman; the new model releases in a few weeks, and PR wants to get ahead of it all. And of course we need your pretty face for a commercial."
"No script?"
"Enjoy your night, script's easy this time."
Sonic paused. "You know I don't like going back to Green Hill Zone anymore."
To this, Egghead Robotnik just gave a hearty laugh and slapped Sonic on the back once again. "It's the most cozy, homey place in the whole world! And furthermore, customers associate you with Green Hill Zone. They say, 'Hm, Sonic? Right, the fast hedgehog from Green Hill Zone, of course!' That's you. Sy-NON-ymous. So that's where we're shooting." But Sonic took a swig of the Ring-Catcher, and hung his head for a moment. "Come on, you're not still all hung up about—"
"No," Sonic quickly answered. "It's just a long run, is all."
But it was a lie, and Sonic was still quite hung up about Miles "Tails" Prower. He quickly downed the rest of his drink, and stood up from the bar. "I'd better head back to the apartment, if I'm going to be rested up for the gig."
And Mr. Egghead Robotnik, he just gives the most chilling, triumphant smile, his eyes almost leering at Sonic. "You certainly should," he said, stroking his mustache. "You certainly should."
Chapter Two
Sonic's apartment lay in upper Rooftop Run, meaning that every night he came home, there was a real bitch of a ramp you had to nail just right in order to get to his apartment. It gave him some satisfaction knowing there would always be a nice chain of rings to collect if he made it home correctly, but in general, traversal of such poorly-designed urban spaces was a hassle of Mephistophelean proportions. And after the crazy run and jump back home, it was always nice to kick off his red shoes and take a shower.
He rested his right hand against the blue tiles of the shower wall, and let hot water flow down his head and body and spines. He breathed heavily, his breath mingling with the steamy fog of the shower. It was equipped with all sorts of jets and things, the shower, but he just used the one overhead faucet. His lifestyle had become one of luxury, but he somehow always remained the down-home Green Hills Zone boy he was in his youth. So he let the flow of hot water just rush over him, the water coursing anxiously hot and fast, and him, completely still, thinking of Tails.
In Robotnik's hopefully-final scheme, the last one before the Accord, he had kidnapped Tails and used him as leverage. The thought of Tails, encased in a glowing green glass coffin attached to a towering fox-shaped mech, still gave Sonic chills, even in the blistering water. And when he had sent the mech crashing down, he had desperately tried to pry the coffin off the mech.
It hadn't work.
And now Miles "Tails" Prower was very much the same lovable fox he had become with Sonic's acquaintance… And yet, whenever Sonic tried to talk to him, he insisted the two did not know each other.
He could not remember Sonic, or many of the other esoterica that comprised his former life. Tabula rasa, as they say, except imagine someone intricately writing "Sonic the Hedgehog!" in bubbly, 3D letters on a chalkboard with a few little pink chalk hearts beside it if you feel me, and but then imagine somebody else coming in and scrubbing that chalkboard clean as a whistle, and that's what I mean by tabula rasa.
Sonic felt his emotional wall, like some physical cylinder from his belly to his heart, weaken, as though it were trembling inside him. And it took wave after wave of stability to force himself not to cry. But he just clutched at the blue tiles on the wall. So hard, in fact, that he accidentally pried a tile off. So he turned off the water, letting the water drip down his naked form for a few minutes before reaching for a towel.
And suddenly there came a banging on the door, and he was startled. He threw the towel around himself, and shambled out into the hall. "Who is it?" he called.
"Sonic!" came the muted cry through the door. "Sonic, it's Amy!" She was pounding on the door. Fuck.
"Coming, yeah," he said, opening the door a crack. "Amy, it's 2 in the morning, what the hell do you want?"
"It's only 10?" she clarified.
"What do you want?"
Amy pushed her way past the door, sending Sonic clutching at his towel as it threatened to fall. "You can't come in like this," he said, but she just strolled through, looking at various pictures on the walls.
"None of me," Amy noted resentfully. "None of Tails, neither."
"I took down the ones of Tails," Sonic admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "It didn't feel right?"
"And me, Sonic? Your own girlfriend?" Amy Rose cried.
Sonic re-wrapped the towel so it would hold more firmly. "Amy Rose," Sonic said, "you need to take better care of yourself. Where's the Piko Piko hammer?" But Amy Rose just sat down on a divan, crossing her arms with a huff and looking out a window. The lighting was pretty dim, a procession of canned lights that made it look less like a home, and more like an art gallery, or a modern jazz club. "Amy, where is it?"
"I need some money," Amy sighed. "Come on, Hedgehog. Just a little bit, I swear."
"Amy," Sonic repeated, "where is the hammer?"
"I pawned it, okay?" she shouted in frustration. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I just needed a little pick-me-up, okay, just a little—"
"Oh no," Sonic cut in, "no you don't. Let me guess: Robotnik's Happy Juice?"
"You always rejected me!" she screamed. "It dulls the pain! It dulls the pain!"
"How? My fucking face is on the damn can," Sonic said. "Besides, that shit shouldn't even be street legal, it probably eats right through your liver." Sonic smoothed the spikes on his head, then sat down next to Amy. "Amy, I'm going to give you some rings; you're gonna go, buy back the Piko Piko hammer, and then tomorrow, we're gonna check you into a clinic, okay?"
Amy gave a dark snort, standing up. "Sure you're busy tomorrow. How 'bout we skip the clinic this time and just give me the rings?"
"But you have to buy back the hammer, okay?" Sonic asked.
"Yeah, yeah," Amy assured, "it's over in the pawn shop in Oil Ocean Zone."
"Do you need me to run over and get it?"
Amy scoffed. "Just get me the rings, boyfriend."
"I'm not your boyfriend," Sonic said through gritted teeth as he walked to his nightstand to grab his wallet.
The rings dropped with their usual jingle into her outstretched hand, and she deposited them in her pocket. As she headed out the door, she turned back to him and said, "If you care so much about your little Tails, isn't he worth starting over for?" And like that, she slammed the door, and the apartment grew slightly darker, no longer receiving the yellow light of the hallway. He knew she was going to spend every last ring on Happy Juice, and come crawling back in a few days; it was a long-established pattern.
But that night, a sweaty and sleepless night where the air felt oddly oppressive, and one sheet felt too hot but no sheets felt freezing, he stared at the ceiling and kept picturing Tails, turning to his left and spying Sonic over his shoulder, and bursting into a smile. When sleep came, it was dreary and dreamless.
