Perfect In My Mind, Part One
At first, Kicks – yes, that was his real name and he'd sooner gouge out one of his eyes than disprove the sort-of-fake, sort-of-not confidence he had in his own name (damn his mother) – firmly believed that starting a shoeshining business had got to be one of the most pathetic things he's done in this godforsaken city. After spending nearly all of his college savings in one of the shadier establishments in a drunken haze (still securely number one on the List of the Most Pathetic Things Kicks Has Ever Done) he was only barely able to convince Lyle, the greedy, temperamental bastard, to use the model room in HRA Headquarters for one night; the next, he was groveling in front of passerby for money. That didn't work: who'd spare a single bell for a hobo when he or she clearly would rather spend his or her money at Shampoodle's or GracieGrace or even Crazy Redd's? He tried going back to his house but power-hungry Tom Nook eventually took that away from him when he couldn't pay his bills. Now some stupid kid with tangible money to spend is probably living in his flat. So right before he left town he swiped a rag and a few containers of shoe polish – oddly enough, on display on the first floor of Nookington's – from good old Tom Nook. When the bus took him to the city, he immediately took up "shop" (if you could call it that) next to the auction house and so started this pathetic, pathetic job as a pathetic, pathetic shoeshiner.
And so when this man – his hair disheveled, his entire body shaking in the biting winds of winter – suddenly stopped a few paces away to promptly shriek and then fall ungracefully onto his rear end, Kicks had not expected to start to grow attached to anyone, let alone him.
On closer inspection Kicks realised that what had caused this grown man to fall on his ass is, in fact, a caterpillar, which, Kicks guesses, like him, had taken an unlikely refuge in – excuse his language – this fucking city. Kicks couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. This man, dressed impeccably in a tan and white argyle sweater under a brown coat and pants (he even wore a bowtie, for god's sakes), frightened by a tiny, harmless bug? He obviously wasn't from the city; he wouldn't survive one minute!
"Shoeshine?"
Clearly this man has no threshold for surprise as he jumped about seventeen feet in the air at the sound of Kicks' voice. Flustered, he replied, "N-no, not today, thank you" and all but ran into the auction house.
A few hours later, he and other auctioneers left, the strange man struggling with – is that a fossil? Kicks, despite his number one rule of no-strings-attached, once again approached this man. "Need any help, mister?"
He didn't jump, thankfully, but he did whip his head around. "I think I've got it, thanks" was the blatant lie that escaped his mouth.
Kicks obviously had no sentient control over his body because as soon as the man tripped on a rock and almost dropped the fossil, he stepped forward and took part of the weight from the fossil. The man smiled gratefully, stepping forward as Kicks stepped backward. Just in time, the bus pulled over, and Kicks helped him set the fossil on an empty seat.
Just as Kicks had started to walk back to the steps of the building beside the auction house, the man piped up, "I've not your name, nor your forgiveness for bothering you."
Turning around, Kicks replied, "Kicks, and it's no bother at all."
The man gave a nod. If he had taken any amusement from his name, he hadn't showed it. "Blathers."
Huh. Perhaps that was why.