"And I'm frustrated with myself,
But I can't change.
Don't want to be me anymore.
And all the ticks and tocks, and clicks of clocks, that tell the time,
Tell me this is just a phase..."
Born Ruffians
Thursday, April 4th, Year 1
The front door heaves shut with a thud, and Shane Montgomery is alone once more.
The saloon is empty, save for Shane and the bartender. Gus might be cheerful and jovial with everyone else, but he always leaves Shane to his own devices, and that is all that could be asked for. An evening of silence, just him and quiet contemplation. But for some reason, he has a bad taste in his mouth, and he finds that he just wants to go home, away from even a vacant public setting.
He tilts his glass back, letting the last of the foam seep down his throat. Setting it down, he nods a quick farewell to Gus and brings himself to his feet. A trek that is far too familiar to him, especially in the months of late. On his way to the saloon's exit, he steps past the stool where that girl had been, the one who wouldn't take a fucking hint to leave him be.
What the hell does anyone expect?
Shane had heard that there was a new farmer moving into town, and to him, this announcement seemed to be long overdue. The forest area north of Cindersap had been abandoned for so long, it almost seems to be a natural part of the woods. But since it was the granddaughter of the man who originally lived and managed the property, suddenly it was the hottest news to hit the town. He also expected that, though. The community was always at the ready to engulf the newest gossip, and this recent development should keep them occupied for a decent amount of time.
But as far as himself was concerned, he didn't need to get bombarded with the welcome wagon. The Stardrop Saloon was his safe area, his retreat. The townsfolk knew not to bug him or bother him. Visitors and newcomers, well, they usually learned fast. He might as well be himself, or else they might get the impression that he was a good person to know.
He isn't even buzzed as he walks back home to his aunt's ranch house. The rain falls steadily down, but he doesn't mind it too much; rain stirs up a lot of emotions within him, but a fear of getting wet is not one of them. He has no umbrella though, so he merely brings the ragged hood of his JojaCoat up above his head, hardly sheltered from the elements on his journey home. His battered blue hoodie had been a welcome gift when he joined the JojaFamily, and he intends to get as much use out of it as he possibly can, perhaps until it is only shredded string draping over him. It sends a message, after all.
Marnie's ranch is located in the Cindersap forest, right on the outskirts of Pelican Town. Small and underdeveloped, it houses Marnie's meager collection of cattle as well as a dozen chickens; it was Shane's job at home to look after the flock, while the bulk of his aunt's time and attention was occupied with her herd. Hard work for insufficient pay. Trying to understand why anyone would willingly choose to operate a farm when the labor is never worth the reward is one of life's greater mysteries.
He reaches the entrance of the farmhouse, feeling hollow as he looks around at the immense nature all around him. Cindersap is beautiful; densely packed trees and thick undergrowth, with natural trails that were perfect for hiking and the river rushing through that would likely be great for anyone who wanted to try their hand at fishing. The fresh air and the vivid wilderness are admittedly his favorite part about living here, and if it weren't for almost everything else that he has to deal with, Stardew Valley wouldn't be so bad.
But the charm has since worn out. After living in the countryside for as long as he's had, he's understood the truth. Somehow, the small town life feels even more smothering than living in the city. It grips you and labels you and you don't even get a moment to figure out who you are and what you're doing. Opportunities for genuine growth and change are well out of reach. It's hard to feel like a stranger when everyone knows your name and what you're all about. And if you're someone who doesn't want to be known, then Stardew Valley is not for you.
Sullenly, he opens the door and shuffles inside, trailing rain the whole way behind him. Shrugging off his JojaCoat, he hangs it haphazardly on one of the three hooks beside the key holder, and before he can even get his mud-trodden boots off, he's stopped at the entrance by a small grip around his calf.
"You're home early!" A high-pitched voice squeaks.
Shane looks down and sees Jas wrapped around his leg. Everything within him softens, even if for a moment. "Okay, okay," he says, smiling. "How are you today, Jas?"
Jas looks up at him, eyes bright. "I studied addition today." She tells him, steadfast.
"Addition," he muses, bending down on one knee. "Soon enough you'll be learning fractions."
"What's six plus six? Go on, guess."
Shane pretends to ponder for a moment, pressing two fingers against his temple as if lost in thought. Truth is, the only reason he instantly knows the answer is because he knows what two six-packs of beer equate to. "Uh... Twelve?"
"That's right!" Jas brings her arms around Shane's neck, squeezing him close with surprising strength. "Miss Penny said I'm the faster learner she's ever had."
She's only had two students. "Well, you better show her how hard you're studying." He gives her a big grin to match her own. "Soon you'll be teaching the graduate students."
Jas giggles in response, giving Shane one last hug before scampering off to her room. It would be hard to calm her down now. He watches her go, feeling the warmth of her embrace already fading from his arms.
When Shane arrived in Stardew Valley three years prior, Jas was only a toddler, and even then, the similarities between the two were readily apparent. She was terrified of him, tearing up and starting to sob whenever he even walked into the same room as her. Shane had wished he could employ the same reaction whenever he was around people that he didn't want to speak to. But it didn't last long. Not even a few weeks, in fact. And even though Shane never thought himself as fond of kids, he quickly found himself growing attached to her, too. He had been named her godfather when she had been born, despite the fact that he hadn't spoken to his brother in years; to this day, he is convinced that this half-baked decision had been some sort of unfunny joke. But there is no way to get that confirmation, and it doesn't really matter now.
He doesn't know how the whole situation shook out. He has never asked. He doesn't even remember what season it was when he received Josh's obituary in the mail. But when he moved to Pelican Town, the niece he never met was already there in the care of Marnie, and with enough time, his hopeless situation was just a little bit brighter.
"You're home early."
Shane pulls himself upright as his aunt Marnie walks in, holding herself close, her arms at her sides. She looks similar to how Shane remembers her when he was little, but it's difficult to recall the specifics of his distant childhood. But she is a constant, someone that was always present even though he rarely saw her in person. Even though she lived in this faraway farmland, he could always rely on her whenever he needed to talk to someone, always ready for any conversation, no matter how difficult. But he seldom called, and birthday cards from her to him typically went unanswered.
He's thankful for her now, but thinking deeply about their relationship is painful, even as its progression continues. It's the type of thing that he tries his hardest to avoid contemplating, just another footnote in a laundry list of unwanted thoughts.
Marnie grins at him now, deepened wrinkles at the points of her smile crinkling upwards. Marnie is typically a jolly soul, but there's obviously an artificial happiness here, hard to miss from even a mile away. "How was work? I wasn't expecting you so soon. If you told me you were coming home early, I could have made supper..."
Shane realizes that, ironically, they are both behaving unlike themselves. Marnie has been on edge for a week now, pacing and sweating over the information of the new farmer arriving north up the road. She pretended to be happy at the news, but she might have the worst poker face known to man. Her business and livelihood have gone unchallenged for at least twenty years, and even then, they were barely scraping by. When Shane was welcomed into her farmhouse, she only requested a meager part of his paycheck, and she has since refused to accept anything more. He might help her with housework and her chickens, but that was such a cinch for him that it isn't nearly adequate for what she sacrifices in turn.
But she's stubborn as he is. She's never faltered and she refuses to falter, not in this regard. It almost feels worse than if she did charge more.
He will not answer her question about how his shift went. He never discusses work with her. It's been three years. The stories all blend together after a point, mild variations going unnoticed and redundant nonetheless, and he doesn't want to spend another moment thinking of Joja while he isn't being paid for it. But her behavior is frantic, or as Emily would say, the vibes are off. So he figures that now would be a good time to stave off her fears.
"I met the new farmer today."
Marnie pretends not to react. It's pretty amusing, the way she immediately turns to the kitchen counters, acting as though she's occupied. "Oh, that's wonderful news. Her grandfather had that farmstead running like nothing I've ever seen. What's her name?"
Shane doesn't waste his time, and he doesn't want to waste his aunt's time, either. "Marnie, you can stop worrying now. She won't last."
Marnie is still oh-so-busy with the dishes left in the sink. "Why's that?"
"I don't know, obviously." He yanks his boots off his feet, not bothering to untie his shoelaces more than halfway. "But she's just some kid. Reality's gotta hit at some point."
Marnie lets her shoulders fall, a noticeable release of invisible tension. He had wanted to alleviate her fears, but all she says is, "Well, I hope you were nice, at least."
Shane doesn't remember what he said. He probably told her to fuck off. It wasn't because he was trying to protect his aunt's business; he was just trying to unwind in the saloon and he wasn't wanting some bullshit introduction thrown at him. He dealt with people all day; why would he want to entertain more conversation if it's not required of him? He can still feel the stress in his muscles from his day at work, and he only rubs his neck and says, "I'm gonna go relax for a bit. Like I said, don't sweat it. She'll be gone by summer."
He can tell his aunt might want to say more, but he is already walking away, heading to his bedroom before Marnie has a chance to speak.
As he pulls the handle of his bedroom door shut, Shane finds himself below a ceiling full of stars.
When he was ten years old, Marnie helped him place glow-in-the-dark stars across the ceiling of her guest bedroom, back when he was a kid and things seemed as limitless as the sky itself. A childhood above him, a visual reminder of better times. The stickers have all lost their shine now, replaced by only faint outlines of shapes that only sort of resembled the five-pointed shape of a star. They still glow, if only a little.
They seem to shine a bit dimmer than they did when he last noticed them.
He dresses down, needing a shower but wanting to wait until Marnie and Jas have gone to sleep, so he prepares for a night of relaxation, a trivial respite from the grind. Living with the two is not awful; in fact, it's far from it. He merely tries to avoid stepping on their toes, preferring to let them live their lives around him, only popping in whenever one of them needed him. Maybe that's just how he was raised.
And it's going to make things easier for him and for them, down the road.
His bedroom contains pretty much everything that he relies on. A mini-fridge that he bought with overtime gold, the same bed he slept in when he visited as a child, a TV that he brought with him from his apartment in Zuzu City, and a technically outdated game station that he has since tinkered with so that he could still find new fun with old games that he has played for years. Gridball and objectively bad movies took up some of his time, while video games gave him an outlet, something to fidget with whenever his mind went too rapid.
The mini-fridge, naturally, is for his beer. He opens it up now, pulling out a frosty can from the contents within. The fridge always runs a bit too cold, but beer can never be too chilled. He bought a twelve-pack yesterday, but he ended up passing out in bed before he even cracked it open; the saloon had been enough that night, but tonight, he left early. He pops the lid off the top, letting the sensation of foam touch his lips. That first crisp sip from a new can, or a fresh bottle or from a frothy glass, wherever it came from, it has never lost its appeal.
He prefers beer, mainly because it tastes the best and it holds for him the nostalgia of his youth. It's what he drank in high school, sneaking around parents who wouldn't have cared even if he was caught in the act. It's the same reason why he tends to avoid hard liquor; all of the memories with none of the positivity. He saw enough of it in his childhood, but he has to admit that it is no doubt more effective than the 5% can cases he brings home with him day after day. That's why whiskey has become his drink of choice when he's on the go and away from home; it brings the buzz he's needing whenever the stress of life becomes too much. But he has been trying to stay away from it for the most part. It's far too easy to overdo it on the hard stuff, and he's not exactly keen on confronting the thoughts within him quite yet. At least, not today.
He sits on the edge of his bed, finding himself unnerved, for reasons he can't say. If someone were to ask him what was wrong, he wouldn't be able to really give any response, other than to chalk it up to yet another shitty JojaShift. He tries to repress his day at work as soon as his punch card enters the slot, and yet, it still festers within him, a frustration that can only be remedied with a significant amount of time away from his job. But vacation time is hard to come by, especially when one works for a company with such vile morals.
So, he loads up his game station, and tries to keep his mind occupied, task after task in an RPG that he has played a dozen times before. He had modified it so that he could reach an unfinished level, left behind by the developers who had not coded it out, but even exploring it quickly loses its appeal. He returns to the levels he's played through countless times, somehow finding it more entertaining than discovering something new.
By the time he's exhausted the game he's playing for the night, he's five more beers deep, and it's already nine o'clock. There was no knock at his door, no Jas waltzing in, wanting him to tuck her into bed. He grits his teeth, staring at the numbers on the clock beside his bedside. She's getting older. She doesn't need me so much anymore.
The thought brings him a strange sense of relief.
Sufficiently inebriated, he cleans up for the night, showering and further sliding the work day off his shoulders as he prepares for bed. When he finally falls into the sheets, he finds himself staring upwards, staring at the little outlines of stars sporadically placed onto the ceiling above him. The exhaustion within him is deep-seated, though, and he doesn't need to wait long until he falls into a restless, dreamless sleep.
(A/N: Hello, hello!
This story is written from both Shane and Dani's POVs. I have had a lot of fun delving into both perspectives, though I do find Shane to be a more difficult character to write authentically. I don't know why that is, but I'm working on it! My view on a character might be different than other folks', so I just have to keep that in mind whenever my self-doubt runs too wild.
Also, I know that Shane is not confirmed to be related to Jas in the canon; she is only mentioned as being his goddaughter. But she does refer to him as "uncle" in the game, so I decided to roll with it.
I hope all is well, wherever and whoever you are. I wrote this chapter in April, but this August heat has got me down bad. I'll just pretend it's a tad cooler here and hope that autumn arrives soon!)
This chapter's song lyric is brought to you by Barnacle Goose - Born Ruffians. And my goodness, what a song. I thought of Shane the first time I ever heard it, so I just had to include it here.