The Three Strike-Point-Flag System
A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer
XI: Time Out For Pancakes (Again)
Annnnd time for another one, another case of me enjoying writing the Once-ler's life during his descent. I really enjoy describing the area and actions and seeing if I can get an idea of the emotions and such from that. It's good times.
This one actually wasn't originally in the plans, but the image hit me pretty hard a few weeks back and wouldn't leave me alone. So enjoy a bit of bittersweet bromance before things get well and truly awful. Yaaay. Hope you guys enjoy! Also I apologize for any POV shifts or whatever- like I said, work has been killer. I hope you enjoy anyway, please just tell me what you think!
The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board followed a violent, somewhat off-kilter rhythm. It echoed through the kitchen, a hollow noise that felt somehow alien amongst the modern day artistry of the place. The design of the place fit impossibly well- organic curves and swirls taking the form of cabinets and cupboards, all stretching for the ceiling as if reaching for the dimmed skylight above. State-of-the-art utensils and appliances wrapped their way around the room- an oven that could fit multiple roast beasts, a stovetop with eight more burners than was really necessary, dish washer, dish dryer, dish sorter, dish whosa-whatsa, a fridge that towered from floor to ceiling that dispensed hot drinks, cold drinks and downright fantastic fruit punch with the right ingredients. Stainless steel pots and pans glistened from artistically crafted racks alongside blown glass artisan bowls and dishes, everything placed exactly so and cast in a variety of shadows and golden glow from the singular light of the stove.
The whole place had an air of the state of the art, of the modern, of someone impressive and important who would only take the best. It also had an air of almost never being used.
There was a soft sigh from the room's sole occupant as he paused in his job, reaching up to rub at his face. After running his fingers through already mussed bangs, he glanced down at his handiwork. The truffula fruit lay there, half slain, reddish juice running across the wood cutting board and his knife like some kind of grisly murder. For all the juice, however, the actual fruit still appeared wrinkled, dead, and after staring at it for another moment the Once-ler gave another sigh and quickly swept the remains into the trash.
Whatever. Truffula fruit was out of season anyway, he'd just have to ask his assistant (Belinda? Zelda? Goddamnit he'd gone and forgotten her name again) to pick up better groceries tomorrow. Not that it was likely he'd even get to use them.
"Ain't it a bit late for pancakes?"
The Once-ler jumped at the familiar voice, though he gained control of his surprise by the time he'd glanced over at the orange creature sitting at his breakfast nook table. He let out a small chuckle as he leaned against the counter, "Do you ever not appear out of nowhere or is that just the only way for a furry peanut to make an entrance?" As he spoke, his fingers blindly grasped behind him. The jittery motions sent the apparent target- his sunglasses, clattering to the floor, and he couldn't help but wince.
"I'll stop doin' it when you stop comin' in with stupid guitar riffs," The Lorax drawled. He raised a furry eyebrow as he watched the man drop to the floor for the glasses. "Don't go tellin' me you wear your sunglasses at night now."
His former charge seemed to consider for a moment. He then flashed a grin that was all charm with just a teaspoon of guilt as he rose and returned the glasses to their original spot. "What? No, no, that would be ridiculous," he chuckled as he rubbed at his face again. Even in the dim light from the stove, the bags beneath his eyes were clearly visible- dark shadows that seemed to drag his entire being down like a weight.
The Once-ler clearly knew this, as he stood there fidgeting awkwardly for a few seconds, then gave a cough that may not have been nerves judging from the length of it. Finally he turned back to his work, scooping up a mixing bowl that he'd already set out. "Uh, yeah. Pancakes. It's never too late for pancakes. Do you want some?"
He could practically feel those green eyes judging him, could already imagine the negative response that had been queing up with that "acquaintance" label for ages. After a moment, however, the Lorax let out a sigh. "I don't see why not."
This brought a grin to the young man's face, his whole face seeming to light up. "Great! Grab a whisk for me, will you?" he chirped as he nudged one of the cupboard drawers open, then turned back to plucking several eggs out of a carton. "I was already gonna be making way too many for just me anyway- I always have the ingredients, but I never seem to have the time before they go bad."
The Lorax frowned as he padded across the floor, using the offered drawer and the one above it as a stepping stool. "What's t' point in buyin' em, then?" He asked as he paused at the top drawer to fish through it, nose crinkling in confusion at several of the cooking implements. "I mean, you're the richest man in t' world anyway, ain't ya? Why not jus' pay someone else t' cook and save yourself the hassle?"
The Once-ler shrugged as he expertly cracked three of the eggs at once, dribbling the yolks into the bowl without dropping a single shell. "Well, technically I do have people to cook for me. We have a lot of dinner meetings and stuff like that- but to be honest, I'm not a huge fan of gourmet. It's just too small of an amount for what you pay and usually so weird it's not worth it."
"Mmm. Fair enough- this it?" The Lorax's words were punctuated by the offering of a stainless steel monstrosity with multiple, bulbous wire heads.
"Yep!" The Once-ler stretched over to take the item in question, his loosened tie fluttering from where it was draped around his neck. He then began to stir the eggs, the sound of the whisk swishing against the sides of the bowl taking on a rhythmic, almost soothing quality. "But yeah, I'm not a huge fan of gourmet and take-out gets old. I'd really just rather cook for myself, but I don't have time to do it very often. It makes for great stress relief though."
The Lorax gave a thoughtful sort of hum at this as he unscrewed the cap of a milk carton. "Stress?" In spite of the thing being nearly as big as him, he still managed to heft the carton into the air with a grunt, then tipped it forward to send some of the liquid sloshing into the bowl.
"Thanks," The Once-ler said as he continued to stir, reaching absently for the flour he'd already measured and pouring it into the bowl. "And well, yeah. Being a CEO isn't exactly easy- the board meetings in particular have been a headache lately. No one seems to want to listen to me- which is absurd, given that I'm paying them. Mom says I'm just not good with people and can't spin things right. She just has more experience in this stuff, I guess."
"Mmm." The response was noncommittal, but the Once-ler didn't seem to care as he continued to stir.
"I mean, granted, I don't know where she got this experience, since to my knowledge she's only been a waitress before this," There was a touch of confusion to his tone, the odd hint of bitterness contrasting the dab of vanilla extract he'd added to the pancake mixture. "But obviously she knows what she's doing, and I just-" His sentence was cut off with another series of coughs which left the young man reeling thin body shuddering as he covered his mouth.
After a few moments of this the young man was left leaning heavily against the counter, panting for breath. He then shook his head and stepped over to the sink, shoving his hands under the running tap and scrubbing quickly. "W-well, anyway," the Once-ler said, the cheer in his voice only sounding mildly forced as he pointedly looked away from the oily black flowing down the drain. "It's not like it matters. All that matters in the end is the company, and it's doing great, so I shouldn't complain. 'Mother knows best' and all that." Here he shut off the faucet with a decisive snap, then glanced back to see the Lorax staring at him.
"S-so, anyway," The Once-ler chirped as he quickly turned back to stirring. "How are you?"
The question clearly wasn't very well thought out, considering the Lorax's usual answer to such things. The creature's gaze seemed to go frigid as he glared at the young man's tense shoulders. "Oh, you know, t' usual," he said slowly. "Fighting for the lives of all your old friends, gettin' thrown outta windows by your aunt, still waitin' for ya to keep your promise: pretty standard."
The Once-ler flinched as if he'd been hit, thin body actually seeming to rock from the verbal blow. His blue eyes flicked to meet the Lorax's momentarily before he gave a nervous laugh and abruptly became very focused on chopping more truffula fruit. "O-oh, yeah. That would make sense. I'm sorry about that, I really am- I meant to bring up the idea for cleaner waste disposal at the meeting today, but we were just so busy with everything else that we didn't have time."
That was a lie, and it was so much more blatant than usual. The snort from the Lorax made it clear just how blatant it was, but thankfully the creature left the subject alone for now. "What about you, how've ya been?"
These words drew a shrug from the Once-ler as he poured the fruit into the mixing bowl, then reached over to flick the stove on. The burner flickered in the dark, blue flame glowing before the young man slid a large griddle over it. "Oh, you know, busy as always. Sales are higher than ever so we've had to go into overtime for the holiday season, and that's not even thinking of the ads we have to get out," he explained as he gave some final, quick stirs to the pancake mixture. The truffula fruit bobbed inside it, melding with the pale goop and turning a red that would have seemed slightly unappetizing if the two hadn't both known what the final result would be.
Here the inventor paused to dip his fingers under the faucet again, then flicked several drops of water on the griddle. Hearing it sizzle, he flashed a small, satisfied smile before beginning to drop several wet, heavy spoonfuls of the dough onto the hot surface. "The worker quarters are getting expanded again, it's pretty much a town by this point. We're thinking of calling it Thneedville- has a nice ring to it, right?" He chuckled a bit at this. "But yeah, Thneedville's gonna have everything anyone's ever gonna need, hence the name. Every house'll have full heating and air conditioning, they'll have pools, shopping centers- we're even looking into making a snow machine so they can do stuff like snowboard year round! Everybody works really hard, so I'm making sure to give them the best I can give them!"
That satisfied, incredibly proud smile was one of a man who felt he could provide for the world, who felt he could shoulder the whole thing. After a few seconds, however, the weight of this seemed to pull his thin shoulders back to Earth, seemed to remind him of the loosened tie around his neck and the tension associated with it. "Of course, not everyone's happy with the idea," he said with a roll of his eyes, flipping one of the pancakes with his usual flair. "I have protestors breathing down my neck about the name change- they keep comparing me to Big Brother or something.
He let out another sigh as he reached up to pop open one of the cupboards, then slid out three plates with the sound of porcelain against porcelain. "It's ridiculous," he muttered as he passed two of the plates to his former friend, setting aside the third. "They keep complaining about factory conditions, which makes no sense when they don't even work there. Then there's the pricing, the inflation rates, temperature stuff, and that's all crap I don't even control! I just don't-"
"I didn't ask how business was,," The Lorax cut him off as he dug through one of the drawers, then pulled out two forks. He eyed one, licked his paw, then scrubbed at it for a moment before nodding in satisfaction. "I dun care about that: I asked how you are. You still haven't answered me."
The Once-ler paused in the middle of scraping several pancakes off of the griddle, his surprised expression making it clear just how long it had been since someone had asked him such a question. "I… I'm fine," he said with a smile that seemed a touch too shaky to be genuine. He quickly turned back to the pancakes, the wrinkled back of his work shirt acting as a faulty wall of sorts.
"Uh huh," The Lorax's tone was one of obvious doubt as he padded across the floor to the small, polished white table in the largely unused breakfast nook. "And I'm sure all that black goop you've been spittin' up ain't anything."
His former charge rolled his eyes. "I told you, I have the flu, it's been going around," he insisted, the edge in his tone augmented by his spatula scraping against the griddle.
"You've had t' flu for over a year, Beanpole," The Lorax pointed out as he clambered onto the table, claws only slipping momentarily on the polished surface before he began to set out the plates.
The young man's shoulders tensed at that. "I just haven't been getting much sleep, it's messing with my immune system. That's all," he muttered, then cleared his throat as he flipped the new pancakes. He then reached to grab two glasses from the cupboard, fingers tracing across green-tinted glass before filling one with milk. He grabbed the truffula fruit juice from the fridge after this, filling the second cup without a word. Some things never changed, even if his grip was a bit shakier than it used to be,
"If lack of sleep's buggin' you, then take a break." The creature's tone was matter-of-fact as he adjusted the napkins, then hopped back to the floor and made his way back. "You work way more than anybody ever should."
The Once-ler flashed a sour smile at this as he took the two glasses and bent down to offer them to the Lorax. "I can't. The company needs me- you know how it is. Face of Thneed Inc. and all, can't really catch a break." With those words he turned to flip the pancakes off of the burner, flipping the stove off in a fluid motion before plucking a bottle of syrup from the cupboard.
His former friend arched a brow at this as he made his way back to the table, sliding the two glasses onto the seat of his chair. "Don't that kinda defeat- oof!" He paused to grunt as he leveraged himself onto the chair, then moved the two glasses to the table without spilling a drop. "-the purpose of bein' the boss? Besides, what about Norma? I'm sure she'd like t' see ya."
The Once-ler blinked as he paused in front of the table, plate of steaming pancakes in hand. "Norma?" He repeated. That soft, sad chuckle was back as he slumped into his seat and began dividing up the food. "I haven't seen her much lately. I think she's mad at me."
"Well, yeah. Most people are when ya don't spend any time with them," The Lorax pointed out flatly, pushing his plate forward. "Oi, dun go holding out on me."
The laugh he received in response was more earnest, if drained, as the Once-ler sat back down and grabbed the syrup. "Relax, I'll make another batch when we're done with these. I know this is hardly enough for you, mister 'ninths and counting'," he drawled as he proceeded to essentially drown his own creation.
The Lorax snorted at this before the Once-ler passed him the syrup. "That's what I thought. Seriously though, you should call her. Plan a date or somethin'. Ya seem like ya need it."
He received a heavy cough in response, the Once-ler grimacing- the mixture of sweatshop salt and bitter gunk in his throat was an awful contrast to the scent of the sickly sweet pancakes on his plate. "I told you, I'm fine." He repeated as the coughs subsided, waving a hand in the air as if to ward anymore questions off. "Look, why do you keep bothering me about it? I mean, you're just here to bug me about the trees again, right? What do you care if I run myself into the ground for- all the better for your precious trees, isn't it?The last word was punctuated by a stab from his fork that was just a touch too forceful, the sound echoing through the kitchen.
With the clink of metal against porcelain came a heavy sort of silence, reminiscent of the tension between the Once-ler's shoulders and the bags beneath his eyes. Blue eyes blinked blearily across the table to meet green before the young man winced and immediately looked back to his food. "I… sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he muttered. "Just… just eat your pancakes."
Those green eyes eyed him for another moment. Miraculously, however, the Lorax did as he was told, slicing at his pancakes before taking a bite and giving a hum of approval.
The two sat and ate in a silence that was almost companionable for awhile, the only sounds coming from the clinking of forks against porcelain and the occasional bump as glasses were replaced on the table. For an instant things felt almost normal- the chairs and table lacked the usual splinters, certainly, and the ambient hum of the valley evenings had been replaced by the constant drone of air conditioning. In spite of this, however, there was an air of familiarity, a sense of routine that felt like home in the reflected golden light of the stove top.
But then there was the moonlight that stretched between them across the table, blue and cold and reflecting a progressively more barren landscape outside.
Unfortunately, this silence seemed to be the last thing the Once-ler needed. He was only halfway through his pancakes when his head began bobbing downward like a cork. He managed to snap himself out of it every time, but each bob sent him lower and lower, as if he were being physically weighed down by the bags beneath his eyes.
His former friend gave a snort as he watched this display. "Y'know, at this rate ya might not make it to seconds," he pointed out, jabbing his fork in the young man's direction.
"Ugh," The Once-ler grimaced as he pulled himself from a face full of half-eaten pancakes, rubbing at his eyes. "Shut up, I'm fiiiiiine." The last bit came out in a slurred southern drawl, a surefire sign of his exhaustion.
"Uh huh," the Lorax rolled his eyes at this as he went back to his nearly empty plate, sliding a claw through the syrup before licking it clean. "Seriously kiddo, this is getting ridiculous. Anyone could see you're runnin' yourself into the ground. This whole thing is gettin' bigger than you, you've got t' learn to take a step back. Just take a day off, spend a day with Norma… just do somethin'. Take better care of yourself or…"
The creature trailed off as he glanced up to see the Once-ler's head had finally dropped to the table, his half empty plate unceremoniously shoved out of the way. Those thin shoulders had finally dropped all the way in sleep, his cheek pressed against a rolled up white sleeve that had made an impromptu pillow. With the unkempt white shirt and tie, his suspenders half undone and dark hair sticking in random directions, he looked more like a child unfairly settled into the role of a grown man than the richest man in the world.
And with that in mind, there was no way he wasn't actually asleep or nearly there. He was far too self-conscious of his own appearance to have let this happen otherwise.
"You've gotta be kidding me. Who's supposed t' clean all this crap up, huh?" The Lorax's voice came out in a groan. When he received no response, there was a sigh, followed by a squeaking noise as the chair was pushed away from the table. This was followed by the clinking of several plates being stacked, soft padding noises as the critter made his way around the table.
The noises paused for a moment.
"You know kid, after everything-" The Lorax's tone started out hard, only to stop. After another moment his voice came again, softer. "…You don't get t' position you're in at all, do ya? I had a whole lot I meant t' say tonight, but…" He trailed off again, then let out a sigh. There was a soft thump on the floor as he made his way toward the sink, dishes piled high in his paws.
"It's my job t' look after the valley. That includes you, idiot."
The only response he received was a snore