Mr. Pickles threw open the factory door and quickly shut it behind him as he tried to catch his breath. He still held his left hand in his right as it bled and stained the wrist of his coat. Mr. Trout and Mr. Gristle looked up from their sitting place at the wooden table as they heard the door slam. The moment Mr. Trout saw the blood he bolted up out of his seat and ran towards his buddy. "Mr. Pickles are you alright? What happened?" He snapped his fingers towards Mr. Gristle, "Get something to wrap him in, quickly!" Mr. Gristle nodded as he ran over to a small metal box filled with some dusty first-aid equipment.
Meanwhile Mr. Trout continued to help out his tall friend, "Come along, Mr. Pickles, let's wash you up." He led him over to a small sink by their stove where he turned on the worn out faucet. They had to wait a moment as brown mucky water came out first, then followed by cool, clear, water. The large fellow helped his friend wash the blood from his wound. Mr. Pickles couldn't help but wince at the pain.
Mr. Gristle tugged at Mr. Trout's coat as he held out the bandages. The large man quickly snatched them out of his hands and tightly wrapped up Mr. Pickles hand.
Mr. Pickles just blinked as his friend wrapped up his wound. He was grateful, but it all happened so fast. "Um… Thank you." He couldn't think of much else to say. He looked at his hand impressed with the timing they made.
Mr. Trout was a bit out of breath, "Sorry, I just- I- I was worried." He was a bit embarrassed at how fast he reacted, but he wouldn't have done it any differently if he had to do it again.
Mr. Pickles waved it off with his now bandaged hand, "No, it's alright. Couldn't ask for better friends to help me out." he patted Mr. Trout's back and took a seat at the table. His two colleagues sat with him.
"How did that happen exactly?" Mr. Trout asked him as he fiddled with his hands. Looking at the bandages alone made him a bit squeamish.
"Well, I was walking home from Ms. Molly's house. I gave her the necklace, by the way. She loved it." he smiled as he remembered it all, "She even hugged me, and I could smell her hair. She smells like-" Mr. Gristle interrupted him with a gagging sound, and Mr. Trout rolled his eyes, "Mr. Pickles, please." he pleaded.
"Anyway, I was walking home from Ms. Molly's house when this dog came out of nowhere and gave me a good bite on the hand. Well, it wasn't good, it was painful. I- I just mean that it sure was a big one. I think it was one of those German Shepherds or Pomeranians, you know? The ones with all the fur." Mr. Pickles couldn't remember exactly what the dog looked like. It was so dark and foggy, all he could remember was the pounce, the bite, and the running.
"Uh-huh, sure…" Mr. Trout ignored his obviously false estimate of the dog breed. That didn't matter so much. "Then you just ran home?"
Mr. Pickles nodded, "Just ran home. Quite a workout too. Almost toppled down the road a few times. It feels a lot steeper when you're running." he rambled. His friends were slowly starting to drift off as he continued rambling. Suddenly he could feel his head start to spin. He raised his good hand up to his head, "I- I don't know if it was the running or the blood loss, b- but I feel very sick all a sudden…" he closed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on.
Mr. Trout immediately stood up and took his friends arm to help him up, "Perhaps you should just be off to bed then." He helped Mr. Pickles down to the bedroom and let him rest.
The following day, Mr. Pickles couldn't get out of bed at all. He was sick to his stomach and his head was still spinning. He was afraid he had rabies from the dog bite. Mr. Trout called the doctor over that afternoon, but he didn't have much to say. The bite was not infected and there were no traces of rabies, only a slight fever. The doctor suspected perhaps a bit of food poisoning and suggested he just ride it out till he got better. Mr. Trout worried for his friend and was by his side all day. He even made some of his special soup, but Mr. Pickles wouldn't eat, and when did he just threw it all up.
On Monday though, Mr. Pickles hopped right out of bed all bright-eyed and bushy tailed as if the whole thing never happened. He marched right upstairs for breakfast. Mr. Trout did a double-take seeing his friend up so suddenly, but that wasn't the only reason he looked twice. "M-Mr. Pickles! You're up! And you have a- a- a-"
"A MUSTACHE! I know!" he twirled it victoriously. It was a dark brown, and curled at the ends much like the fake one he used to wear in his shows with Madame Frou Frou. "I mean I stopped shaving about… I don't know, fifteen years ago. I think it's finally starting to come in!" He proudly sat at the table, propping his feet up on top of it, an arrogant action that reminded Mr. Trout of their old boss Mr. Snatcher. He watched in disbelief as his friend continuously twirled his new facial hair. This was all too peculiar. One moment he was sick as a dog, the next he's up looking better than ever. "Are- Are you feeling alright?" he asked.
Mr. Pickles hopped out of his seat, startling his friend. "Never felt better, Theodore! Never felt better!" Just as quick as he stood up he sat back down. "So what's for breakfast?" Mr. Pickles picked up his fork and knife in each hand, awaiting his meal.
Mr. Trout didn't know what to do, he was sure he was dreaming. Perhaps if he just played along he'd wake up and it would all go back to normal. "Uh, eggs." he answered, lifting the warm pan off the stove.
"Perfect! Thank you!" Mr. Pickles beamed. Mr. Trout took the small pan and scraped a third of the eggs onto his plate. "Any bacon today?" Mr. Pickles inquired.
"I can make some." Mr. Trout pulled out a brown paper package and unwrapped it. Inside were different meats he bought at the market the previous day. He sorted through for the bacon. "How many you want?"
"How many we got?"
Mr. Trout placed three slices on the pan. "I jus got some more the other day, so a dozen."
Mr. Pickles nodded. "Ah, I see. So I would like…" he counted on his fingers, "A dozen."
Mr. Trout stopped in his tracks, and turned to his friend. "Uh, you sure?"
Mr. Pickles face fell and he looked at his friend in disbelief, "Did I stutter?" he snapped.
"No, no! A- A dozen it is then…" he turned back to the pan and continued cooking. Mr. Pickles never snapped at him like that before. It was rather frightening, and he couldn't help but do what he was told because he wasn't sure what else to do. He cooked the bacon and much to his surprise Mr. Pickles ate all of it, as well as his own helping of eggs. Mr. Gristle woke up a while later and was disgruntled to find there was barely any food left for him,now that hit his eggs with Mr. Trout.
"I got to go start my walk up to the theater, thank you for the food Mr. Trout." As he stood up he saw Mr. Gristle giving him a death glare. He barely noticed though, "Good day, Chester!" he greeted. Mr. Gristle growled and attempted to bite Pickles' unbandaged hand, but Mr. Trout held him back. Monty never even noticed as he walked right out of the factory.
He arrived at the theater after a brisk walk up the hill. He had so much energy in him, he had never felt better in his life. He almost forgot the awful pain from being in bed all day before. He was ready to go on that stage and show them all what a great actor he really was.
As he entered through the backstage door, he could see everyone hustling and bustling putting everything together for their first dress rehearsal. Molly was in her costume pacing back and forth when suddenly she caught sight of him. She ran straight towards him, "Oh, Monty! Are you alright? I heard you were sick and it made me worried sick and-" she froze, noticing his new mustache.
Mr. Pickles ignored her pause and took her hands in his, "There is nothing to worry about, dear. I feel fit as a fiddle! I'm ready to go out there and be the Bartholomew Winnie wants to see!" He gave her a pat on the shoulder as he stepped past her to go get ready for the run through. As he walked past her, her eyes followed him. He seemed so confident, so bold. Not a single stutter in his words or a waver of his hand. She gave a small smile, happy to see him so sure of himself. She was proud of him, yet something was off. She decided to ignore it for now.
It was time for the run through and everyone was in their places. Winnie came backstage to check with everyone and paused when she saw her leading man. "Is that fake?" she pointed to his facial hair.
He turned to her, trying to figure out what she meant. He crossed his eyes to see his mustache and spoke up, "Oh no, it's mine. Grew it myself." Winnie narrowed her eyes as she stared at it. She gave a small nod, "I like it." She clapped her hands and made her way to the audience, "On with the show!" Mr. Pickles took that as a good luck charm before stepping out on stage.
The dress rehearsal went smoothly as the play began, but as it went on they got closer and closer to a scene that Pickles, and everyone watching, usually dreaded. It was the scene where Bartholomew got angry at Elizabeth and ended up kissing her. By the director's orders they weren't allowed to kiss until the opening night of the play, but they had to make it feel real and believable, so that anyone watching would have wanted them to kiss in that moment.
This had been proven to be very difficult for Mr. Pickles in the past, considering he never liked to lay a hand on Molly without her consent or talk rudely to her in any way. He had to snap at her, grab her by the arm, and grab her by the waist. Usually he would feel sick before going through this scene, but this time he felt ready.
"You think you're so clever?" he remarked to her. She gave a sharp turn to face him, placing her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face. "I do what I have to do." she retorted.
He approached her quickly and they were practically nose to nose. "Tell me where they are?" he asked forcefully. She narrowed her eyes, still looking cheeky, "No." She turned on her heels again, her hair whacking his face purposefully as she walked away. Before she was out of his reach though, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to him. She gave a shriek in surprise. Mr. Pickles had never actually done the proper action before, especially with such gusto. She had to admit though as good as it appeared to the audience perhaps it was a bit too real. His grip was rather tight on her.
"Listen here." he spoke quietly and calmly, but it was eerie and gave everyone watching chills, "I will find out. If not from you, from the others."
Molly laughed in his face and pulled her arm off his grip, with more force than she intended to use. "If you wanted the others to tell you, you would have went to them first. I know why you came to me for the answers. You like talking to me. You're madly in love with me."
Now Mr. Pickles gave a chuckle, "Sure, i'll let you believe that." He crossed his arms and faced away from her.
Molly clicked her tongue. "Denial. Figures the most adored man in town is too much of a coward to face his feelings." She faced away from him as well. At this, Mr. Pickles whipped around and stomped straight towards her. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, holding her close. Molly gave another small shriek, never being handled this way before, "I'll show you who's a coward!" he stated sternly.
That was when the kiss would take place, but instead, he simply booped his nose onto hers. She however closed her eyes and puckered up. There was a slight pause as Mr. Pickles waited for her to break out of character. "Ms. Molly…" he asked, out of character himself. Molly's eyes fluttered open as she broke character and relaxed her lips. He still held her tight and close. She was closer to him than she had ever been before. She was turned on, to say the least, and she wished he had kissed her right then and there.
Winnie bursted out of her seat and applauded loudly. "Bravo! Brava!" Fish stood up beside her and patted his box as well. Everyone backstage gave whoops and hollers for the two actors. "Oh, Mr. Pickles," Winnie began, "What remarkable improvement! You have finally become my vision! You are Bartholomew Angsteen!"
He finally let go of Molly, and stepped forward. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" he looked back at his leading lady who was recomposing herself. As she caught him smiling, she smiled back and gave him two thumbs up. Everything seemed to really be looking up for Monty Pickles.
