Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon. I don't own a farm, either. I don't own livestock. A chupacabra took them all down. So, I live in a modest suburban home with two cats.
Author Note: I had some crazy as hell Batman dream last night. I'm talking telepathic clues to a box called the "Cube" that was supposed to help me solve a murder. I was Batman. My wife died in it, but thing is, I'm 17, unmarried, and don't know any women named Flinn. Nor am I Batman. As far as you know.
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Chapter 5 – Rock and Roll
Archer pushed open the heavy oaken door and was immediately hit with the sound of guitar strings being plucked from the far side of the room. His footfalls on the wooden floor went completely unnoticed as the man sitting upon a small, what looked to be makeshift stage kept his head down and his focus on his fingers as they slid up and down the frets of the ancient white acoustic instrument. Sitting in front of him were the two youngest people that Archer had yet seen in the valley. The one on the left was a yellow-haired boy wearing a white and blue pinstriped hat and overalls, with a red shirt underneath. Personally, Archer would have ended his parents had they forced him to wear something so ridiculous. Of course, he would've been two years old, so that thought probably wouldn't even have crossed his mind. But still, the hat made the child look silly. It almost reminded Archer of people who dressed up their animals. Did the kid want to wear that stupid hat? Probably not.
The one on the right had a much more satisfactory appearance to Archer. He, too, had light blond hair and wore blue and white, but he hadn't been forced into overalls and a dumb cap. His wavy hair was cropped short and almost blended with his milky skin. He was the first one to notice that Archer had entered, but he said nothing, turning back around to face the guitarist. The boy's eyes were piercing blue, a cyan ocean filled with childhood innocence, something that Archer found himself wishing that he had been able to experience. He lost so much when he was forced to grow up as fast as he did. It was pointless, however, to dawdle on events so far into the past.
The man playing the guitar finished his song and the children clapped. The one on the left, with the hat, clapped in a very obnoxious, attention-getting way, while the one on the right was a bit more reserved, though he still had the carefree element of youth propelling his tiny hands. Archer stepped forward from the light shadows near the door and clapped as well, commanding the attention of the three. The kid on the left seemed startled, and possibly frightened by the sudden appearance of the tall, mysterious stranger. The one on the right glanced back again but still made no other indication that he was bothered. The guitarist stood up and pointed.
"Did you not see the sign?" he barked, his inflection showing that he was clearly not peeved, but he had jumped nearly twelve feet as a result of the surprise.
"I've never been acclaimed for my observational skills, sir. I'd assume you're closed, then," Archer said, preparing to leave if need be. The man, shorter than him by about a foot, but then again, who wasn't, had thick, bushy sienna hair and a bushy mustache to match. He tied it back in a ponytail, presumably for a more business-like appearance, though in the city, where Archer worked, nothing of the sort would fly with administration. Neither would the thick stubble on the guitarist's pronounced chin and the rest of his face, nor the massive sideburns.
"No, it's not a problem. You just kinda popped outta nowhere, is all," the man said.
"My name's Archer," he told the musician, reaching his hand out to greet who appeared to be the only individual of working age around the bar, "I'm Asher's son,"
"Oh, yeah, Archer! You were at the funeral, right? I heard you KO'd your cousin on his way out," he said, shaking hands firmly with the new farmer, who cocked his head with confusion.
"That never happened. Someone embellished the story a little, it seems,"
"I figured. Well, welcome to the Blue Bar, my name's Griffin. I run this place, with a little help who doesn't happen to be here right now. Can I get you something to drink?"
Archer requested a lemon-lime soda and sat down at one of the stools, and found that the two kids had run off into the back room. Griffin warned them not to get too rowdy as he poured ice into a glass for Archer, who pointed at the white guitar on the bar.
"You were just playing 'Taken by the Forever Angel,' right?" he asked, and Griffin smiled, sliding the drink down the counter into Archer's open, waiting hand. He seemed pleased.
"And here I was thinking I was the only one who knew any Dale Treiber,"
"One of my favorites growing up," Archer said, taking a sip of the drink, "You played it well,"
"I should hope so, you applauded the performance. Treiber's a legend, far as I'm concerned. There wasn't a concert he played that I wasn't at. Shame he had to go so early,"
"Heart disease, wasn't it?" Archer asked, knowing the answer, and Griffin nodded. Soon after, the loud crash and clinking noises of broken glass on wood came from the back room, and Griffin turned to go chastise the children for breaking whatever it was that had broken.
"David! Trent! Get out from under the bed, I'm not mad at you, what was that noise?" he asked as he busted through the door to the back room, his ponytail swishing with his quick movements. Archer could almost hear the kids trembling in fear, though Griffin was a kind soul. He had to be if he listened to Dale Treiber. There were, of course, exceptions to the rule, like Archer, but the chances of two exceptions being in the same room in the same miniature town in the same middle-of-nowhere valley were slim-to-none.
"Cute kids. Yours?" Archer asked when Griffin reemerged from the room, carrying a dustpan filled with clear shards of broken glass from a mug. He dumped the shards into a small black plastic trash can and shook his head.
"Oh, no, not mine. They belong to my coworker. She's up in Mineral Town right now talking to an old friend who works up there. Supposed to be back tonight. I hope so, sometimes kids are a little trouble. You got any?" Griffin asked.
"No. No, I'm single," Archer replied monotonously, drinking his soda and glancing around at the rock and roll paraphernalia Griffin had decorated the bar with. There was a lot of stuff that he recognized, and, in fact, a lot of stuff that Archer remembered having in his room during his teenage years. Somehow, his mother had convinced his father to allow him to hang up posters and decorate how he wanted – something about encouraging his social development by allowing him to creatively express himself. Whatever it was, his father got tired of listening to his wife talk about it and finally told Archer to do whatever he wanted, but not without adding a touch of malice to his words. He never could resist the addition of a threat to the tail end of a sentence.
"Well, there's plenty of good women here in the valley. You've got Celia up at Vesta's. She's a pretty one, 26, I think. Moved in here a few years ago from some far off town that I forget the name of, and she's lived with Vesta since. Let me think…well, if you're into the young girls, there's always Lumina up at the mansion, and if you want older women, there's Flora at the dig site near the waterfall," Griffin continued, but Archer didn't find himself interested. Besides, he knew that Rock was trying to court the girl at the mansion, Lumina, and he would never want to cut in on anyone's action.
"Well, what about you? If you know about all these women, why aren't you after one?" Archer asked, attempting to turn the conversation around.
"I've got my eye on someone,"
"Your coworker?"
Griffin said nothing, picking up his guitar and changing the subject away from women and back to music.
"So, you're a fan of Dale Treiber. Would you be interested to know that I played alongside him on his last tour before he died?"
This distracted Archer, who, while by no means a fanatic, had attended Dale's final concert of the tour when it stopped by the city, and had been there when he had first started complaining of chest pains the night before his death. The two were able to enjoy a long conversation about the rock and roll legend and the various other musicians that both Griffin and Archer liked before he realized that he had overstayed his welcome, and that the sun was starting to set. He wanted to get home and help Takakura clean up, if he had not already done so, so he bid farewell to Griffin and the two kids, Trent and David, and made his way back to the house, where, to his surprise, he found two dogs scratching at the door to the barn. One was a large retriever-type that growled ravenously, as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. Perhaps they sensed the cow inside. The other was a runty little floppy-eared puppy, probably no more than six months old. When they saw Archer, the retriever bared its teeth and stood its ground.
"Back off, mutt," Archer barked at the dog, which challenged him with a loud, guttural roar of sorts. When he stepped forward threateningly, the retriever turned tail and rain away, exiting via the side exit that led to the river. The smaller dog sat and cocked its head playfully.
"You too. Go on, get out of here!" he yelled, but the dog would not move. It ran up to him and sat down at his feet, whimpering for attention and pawing at the air near Archer's legs. He glanced around, wondering if perhaps the dog belonged to someone, but could see no visible collar. He picked up a nearby stick and threw it onto the main path, and the dog immediately bolted. He sighed with the relief that he wasn't going to have to punt the animal into next week and started walking toward the house, but felt a light, slimy feeling on the back of his calf when the dog returned, having fetched the stick for him. It seemed well trained, but no owner was visible.
Yet even Archer's calloused heart couldn't resist the big, black puppy dog eyes that the animal was giving him. It looked malnourished, and in a way, reminded Archer of himself when he was younger. Of course, the parallels were minor, but he had a way of making them exist in his mind, and so he picked up the skinny dog and brought him into the house, where Takakura was finishing up his cleaning endeavor.
"Dogs are still here, are they?" he asked, and the dog barked, as if answering Takakura's question. "Well, if you noticed, your dad did have a doghouse, so if you want it, you can have it, but training's up to you,"
"He can fetch already, I'm sure it won't be too hard," Archer commented, "Besides, you never know when you're going to need an attack dog. He'll do nicely when he's a little more grown,"
"I guess so. Your responsibility. I'm gonna go wash up for Vesta's house. Sun'll be down soon, and I can already smell the pie,"
Takakura left, and Archer was now able to look at the cleaned version of his new home. It was small, but he was only one person and didn't need anything extravagant. It was perhaps half a size bigger than his apartment, and the bed looked a little bit more comfortable, though it smelled like citrus from the cleaning spray Takakura had applied to the room's various fabrics. He decided that he looked and smelled fine, but would take a shower, just to make sure. This day was looking to have a happy ending.
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Author Notes: I'm gonna keep leaving the review notice up there. It may make a huge difference. So, Griffin's a rock and roll fanatic. Dale Treiber doesn't exist, by the way. Well, I'm sure he does, but he's no rock and roll legend. I even Googled it. So, in case you didn't notice, I'm kinda going for a mix between HM:AWL and HM:DS, and maybe even a little bit of FoMT in this fanfic. AWL is the main inspiration, though, so I'm going to draw mainly from that. Remember, reviews are nice! You like being nice! Therefore, review me!