We Are Golden
Peter grinned as he skipped down the beach happily. He loved it when the fair came through, and he loved it even more when they had a bit of money to burn. They'd had a pretty good couple of months - a steady gig as a house band, plus a few odd jobs around the neighborhood, had secured them a decent monthly income. Mike had still been a bit reluctant to spend their petty cash on a fair, but when he'd been confronted by three of the most pathetic puppy-dog looks his friends had been able to manage, he'd quickly caved.
Peter imagined Mike had probably really wanted to go to the fair, anyway, but they'd let him pretend to be responsible for a while, until he felt he'd been stern enough and could give in without feeling too badly about it. Mike was funny like that.
The taller man was currently holding onto Micky, the fluttering side edges of the drummer's tablecloth poncho gathered up in his big hands like reigns. At their side, Davy was snickering, delighting in pointing out all the delicious goodies to Micky, only to laugh uproariously when their curly-headed friend was reeled back in by their illustrious leader.
"Davy, c'mon, cut it out. Remember, if I lose hold of him, chances are this place'll be rubble within minutes."
"Hey!" Struggling to twist enough to glare at Mike, Micky's lower lip jutted out in an impressive imitation of Peter's pout. "I'm not that bad!"
Mike raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
Luckily, a Micky-tantrum was deftly avoided, because Peter (gloriously free of restraining hands) had spotted the grand prize.
"TILT-A-WHIIIIIIRL," he whooped, pelting towards his favorite ride, arms waving wildly in front of him. He heard Micky let out a war cry behind him, and he risked a peek back as he skidded to a stop in the line.
Micky was scrabbling towards him as fast as he could, arms also outstretched, dragging a bemused Mike along behind him like a dog dragging a sled, with Davy putting his shoulder into pushing Mike from the back.
"So, this is a fun ride or somethin'?"
Stopping behind Peter, Micky stared at Mike. "Are you kidding? You've never been on a Tilt-A-Whirl?"
"No," Mike said lightly, shading his eyes and frowning at the machine as it tilted and whirled, just as its name promised it would. "Never really had the money for fairs, an' when we did, I was takin' the cousins 'round. Never really rode anythin' except the Ferris wheel."
"Oh." Micky glanced at Davy, then at Peter, and as one, they grinned frighteningly widely. "A Tilt-A-Virgin, then, fellas," the drummer chuckled, rubbing his hands together in a vaguely maniacal way. Peter joined in the maniacal mugging as his friends did their best to loom over their gangly friend. Davy even cackled.
"You'll like it," Peter promised, certain that he would. Everyone loved the Tilt-A-Whirl, after all.
Several long, torturous minutes later, it became apparent that at least one person did not, in fact, love the Tilt-A-Whirl.
"Oh, Lord've mercy," Mike breathed, stumbling over to a nearby bench and sitting down, wedging his head between his knees. "Stop th' beach, I wanna geddoff," he slurred, shaking fingers threading into his hair.
"I forgot Mike gets motion sick at the weirdest things," Davy murmured mournfully, sitting beside their ailing friend and rubbing his back apologetically.
Peter scuffed his toe against the sand. "Gee, I'm sorry, Mike. I really thought you'd like it."
Micky, who had run off as soon as they'd exited the ride, stumbled back to them with a large cup clutched in his hands. "I got you some ice to suck on, Mike," he wheezed as he stumbled to a stop, thrusting the cup towards Mike's curled-up form.
"Th'nks," was the muffled reply.
When Mike had recovered sufficiently to move on, they hustled him away from the Tilt-A-Whirl, but not before Peter gave it a last, longing look. They went on several rides after that, but the only one they managed to get Mike on was the carousel, which didn't seem to bother him so much. He'd refused to even look at the teacups.
They meandered through the midway, Micky talking a mile a minute about some idea he'd had to build them their own digital video recorder. Peter told him it sounded fantastic, and Mike and Davy nodded along obligingly, so the thin young man proceeded to plunge headlong into plans for something he liked to call "Time and Relative Dimension in Space". Peter though that sounded fantastic, too, and Davy was quick to agree, but it seemed to disturb Mike.
"Oh, come on, now, Mick," Mike said warningly, tousling Micky's hair. "The last thing we need is you buildin' a time machine in our livin' room. With our luck, we'd end up with dinosaurs in the bathtub."
Micky's eyes widened delightedly. "Ya think?"
"No," Mike replied firmly. "N-O, Micky. Don't even think about it."
"Aww, you never let me have any fun!"
They had just reached the milk bottle game when they noticed Davy missing. Sighing, Mike turned in a slow circle. "Okay, where'd you spot the last cute chick, guys?"
"Blonde in a yellow minidress, three stalls back by the goldfish game," Micky replied, only half paying attention as he narrowed his eyes at the milk bottle game.
Mike rolled his eyes and began the journey back, warning Micky and Peter to stay put.
"Sure thing, Mike," Micky hollered after him, grasping Peter by the sleeve and tugging him toward the game. "C'mon, Pete, let's play!"
"But Micky, Mike said these were all cheats and scams, and that we weren't supposed to play them unless he said it was okay."
Wrinkling his nose, Micky waved one hand dismissively. "It's one game, Peter. I'm sure he won't mind. Besides," he added with a sly grin, "I've worked a midway before. I know all about this game."
Peter stood by anxiously as Micky slid a dollar across the counter. The carnie in charge handed him three rubbery balls and stood back.
Two tries in, and both of Micky's balls had bounced off helplessly. Chewing on his lip, Peter glanced around the stall, trying to think of how Micky could win a rigged game. Something caught his eye, and he gripped Micky's wrist as the younger man drew his arm back a final time.
"Micky, Micky, look! Friendship bracelets!" Peter clapped his hands gleefully. "Oh, wouldn't that be swell?"
Micky squinted at the twin bracelets hanging from a short nail at the side of the stall with a bunch of other chintzy prizes. They were hemp, probably, dyed yellow and green and twisted into fairly nice-looking braids. Leveling his gaze at the carnie, Micky grinned. "Hey, whadda ya say, I knock over at least one bottle, I get those bracelets?"
"Well…" Stroking his chin thoughtfully, the carnie appeared to consider the proposition. "Usually, I don't let the bracelets go for more than three bottles, but you seem like a nice kid. It's a deal."
They shook on it, and Micky tilted his head and winked at Peter. Reaching back, he took aim and let fly.
The ball arced high, too high, and knocked an oversized plush orangutan from its hook, sending the monstrosity tumbling down onto the table, knocking the entire tower of milk bottles over. Granted, the bottles appeared to have been glued together, and were knocked over in one big pyramid, but it counted.
Reluctantly, the carnie handed over the bracelets, scrambling to set up again before anyone could see the con behind the game.
As Peter slipped his bracelet over his hand, he grinned at Micky. "Thanks, man."
"No problem, Pete." Punching his fists into the air, Micky let out a whoop. "Score on for scieeeeence!"
When Mike rejoined them, a lovelorn Davy being dragged by the back of his shirt, he gave them both disapproving looks. Peter explained what Micky had done, though, and Mike's expression cleared, and Davy even managed to snap out of his starry-eyed state enough to clap Micky on the back.
It wasn't too much later that, as they were enjoying a small pile of hotdogs and fry bread, Peter caught sight of something else.
"Oooooh," he breathed, stuffing the remaining half of his fry bread in his mouth and rushing over to a vendor.
"Oh, no," Davy said insistently. "No, no."
They followed a bit slower, Davy and Mike keeping a healthy distance, although Micky couldn't suppress the urge to lean in close and press his nose up against a tank full of scorpions.
"Groovy," the drummer said, tapping on the glass with his middle finger.
"Peter…Peter, no," Davy begged as the man handed over a goodly chunk of his money. "What do you even need with a dozen praying mantises?"
"I don't think you're allowed to have prayin mantises," Mike added, brow creasing in genuine alarm as Peter held up the little shoebox, trying to peer into the airholes at his purchase.
"Fifteen," he corrected, grinning at the skittering sound his new pets made.
Mike threw his hands into the air. "Oh, well, fifteen. That's alright, then. Peter, what do you even want with them?"
"I'm going to teach them martial arts, and then they can guard the Pad when we're away."
Even Micky had to straighten up and blink at Peter for a moment. Then, slowly, Davy nodded. "Okay, Peter. But you are not keeping those things in our room, understand?"
Peter nodded so enthusiastically he nearly dropped his purchase, prompting his three friends to close their eyes fearfully. Hugging the box to himself tightly, he listened as Mike arranged to have a proper terrarium delivered to their house that evening.
"Gertrude, Beatrice, Paula, Eunice, Louise, Annette, Patricia, Jody, Inez, Marie, Olivia, Jennifer, Wilhelmina, Rebecca, and Sylvia," Peter proclaimed as they retraced their steps. "I'll have to get them little collars, I suppose - they'll be awfully hard to tell apart."
"I don't think they make collars that small, Peter," Mike remarked.
"Oh."
Seeing his friend's shoulders slump, Mike thought fast. "Uh, but we could always…paint their names on their backs."
Peter brightened. "Great idea, Michael!"
Micky paused as they passed the Tilt-A-Whirl, turning to Mike and whimpering pathetically. Shaking his head in exasperation, he made a go-ahead gesture, moving to sit on the bench as the three pranced gleefully for the demon ride. As his stomach turned at the sight of it, he opened his cup of ice, scooping out a few little pieces and crunching on it determinedly.
Suddenly, Peter wheeled back around and stumbled back towards Mike, shoving his box of bugs at Mike pleadingly. Startled, Mike fumbled his ice cup, a cascade of crushed ice spilling out and directly into his lap.
Peter froze.
Mike froze a bit more literally than Peter did.
"Um…c-could you hold my mantises, please," Peter squeaked, eyes going wide in sympathy.
Mike squeaked back, eyes wide for an entirely different reason, and Peter took that as a yes, setting his box on the bench next to Mike. He then grabbed the cup, using it to scrape the ice off of Mike and onto the sand at his feet.
"I'm so so so sorry, Mike! It was an accident!"
"It's okay, Shotgun. I…okay, can you stop that? It's not helping," Mike hissed, grabbing at the cup desperately with shaking hands.
Peter stuck out his lower lip, and Mike immediately felt bad. He brushed the rest of the ice off delicately and set the cup aside. Then, mustering up a smile, Mike nodded towards the Tilt-A-Whirl, trying his best to ignore Micky and Davy howling with laughter from the end of the line.
"Go on your ride, Pete," he said as kindly as he could manage.
All-in-all, Mike thought to himself as Peter skipped off to join the other two, it hadn't been a complete disaster.
As the ride started, though, he had to avert his eyes, and they fell inevitably on the box at his side. Curiously, he pried open the lid a fraction and peered inside.
"Huh," he said under his breath "Fourteen-and-a-half."
"Peter," he said as lightly as he could when his friends rejoined him. "I think Wilhelmina was actually a Wilhelm, babe."
"Huh?"
Micky groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes as Davy grimace. Mike draped an arm over Peter's shoulder as the man picked up his box of bugs, leading his housemates back down the beach.
"Pete, I think it's about time someone explained to you about the birds and the bees, praying-mantis-style."
Micky and Davy cackled behind them the whole way home.
THE END.
A/N - I HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR THE GRIEVOUS EMOTIONAL, PSYCHOLOGICAL, AND PHYSICAL WOUNDS I INFLICTED UPON MICKY IN MY PREVIOUS PROMPT!FIC.
CK, I swear, you gave me the oddest prompts. Also, did you know that it wasn't until the 1970s that VCRs as we know them became widely available? WELL NOW YOU KNOW.