Randall's world was shadowed in a dark, humid haze. His senses clouded. Confused. Still, even as he felt nothing, and his awareness dwindled to the bare minimum of knowing that his throat ached for relief and his blood raced through his chest, he understood something was wrong. Something crucial had slipped his notice, the details dull. Lost, forgotten in his haze. But the sense that he was missing an important matter, something with far reaching ramifications. Had he missed something important? This yearning and desperation was not new. Rather a sensation that repeated itself. Slowly festering with each day until his head hurt at the slightest motion.
His surroundings were hazy, as dreams often are- a half remembered, half imagined memory.
Air filled his lungs and his heart quickened. Amongst all his recent days of misery, this one stuck out most to him. Somehow it had become comparable to the day he'd been thrown in with this miserable lot. Into the human world, away from the only home he'd ever known.
Everyday had seemed to grow more horrid than the last. But this day, everything had been clearer-his future laid itself out before him. The fear, the misery, the discomfort despite his jailers kindness. Randall had caught a glimpse of the thing he'd been reaching for the entire time, freedom! And by God he'd taken it for everything it was worth.
The humans had stupidly assumed his lounging about had perhaps been torpor or some state of hibernation as the newest volunteers began to clear out his cage, their backs turned as they gathered buckets of water and a hose. Fools, every one of them! Without a thought they'd left the door open and despite his weakened form Randall had crawled out before anyone would dare challenge him! This wasn't what he'd planned for, but he wasn't about to miss this opportunity either. This was it. This was his chance!
His six functioning limbs propelled him forward, his thoughts running a mile a minute. His path was a blur, all that mattered was escape. His mind was consumed by his overwhelming desire to return home. That was all that mattered. Whatever meant getting back to the monster world, that's where Randall would go.
A quick glance backward assaulted him with a brief moment of realization that his human captors weren't as far away as he'd hoped. However, before he could ponder any more than a single hurried glance, his body suddenly collided with something hard and scratchy. The world around him, the outside world, was suddenly no longer a dull unknowing haze. His attention snapped up, his head spinning, and was greeted by the sight of a mighty tall tree he'd just smacked snout first into. A wave of dizziness and nausea clouded him before he regained his senses. The path grew narrow before him, climbing higher at an inclined peak.
Randall's digits clawed into the bark, desperate to scurry himself to some semblance of a hideaway to keep from being spotted by his former captors. But despite his best efforts, as much as he scrambled, his hold kept on slipping, his still stiff muscles unable to gain traction in his mad climb to relative safety. Meanwhile behind him he could hear the footsteps and shouts of his furious and frantic captors.
One way or another, the humans were going to capture him again, unless. An opportunity presented itself. A fat branch that sagged just over the chainlink perimeter- and Randall knew he had to risk it. The next bit happened without pause, even though Randall would later come to regret making such a hasty decision. As his digits scrambled for purchase, and his serpentine frame worked against him and his aching body screamed for mercy- it all had happened so quickly. Too quickly.
The weight of his body was too much for the branch to bear. The groaning creek turned into a splintering crack as it gave way. For a horrible split second, a horrible feeling unlike anything he'd felt before overcame him. Sailing in mid air was the first instance of true terror that had hit him since his exile. The sensation of falling, the wind roaring in his ear holes, the painful pin prick feeling on the inner workings of his brain. For a moment time seemed to stop all together.
Then it was over as soon as it had begun.
Everything had gone terribly black.
Randall awoke in pain, which wasn't new. But like every other morning that came before it, the pain was an awful reminder of where he was- where he'd been stuck all this time. Forever Wild Rehabilitation and Education Center. Forever Wild for short. Stupid name, stupid place. Stupid people. Well...
Alright maybe she wasn't so stupid.
Shaking his head, Randall continued to lay upon the cold concrete floor of his cell. His muzzle nestled into his frontal limb's shared arm as the sound of his breath caught the otherwise silent air. It was warm today, but a nice chill was welling inside the walls- likely to cool off their room. On these days where the facility was left mostly to itself Randall always found solace in the quiet, though occasionally on these lonely afternoons he might fall asleep with the sun pouring through the barred window just outside his cell. Today wouldn't be one of those afternoons. He shifted to his side, the dull throb a not-so-friendly reminder of the injury he'd sustained falling out of that tree nearly two weeks prior. Reaching out for the piece of cardboard he occasionally used for sunbathing, pulling it aside revealed a series of lines etched into the floor beneath it, ones Randall had scratched himself. They told the date he was admitted, and picking up a small rock Randall marked it down before burying his face into his limbs once more. Three weeks. Three weeks of captivity. Well... three since he started. Technically about a month if you counted the days he'd been out cold.
Another moment or so passed as he stared silently out into the empty and drab enclosure-the singular thing that had been keeping him sane was the window outside his enclosure. Being surrounded on four sides by blank grey concrete and rusted fencing had certainly caused him to break under stress more than once. Those early days still echoed painfully in the back of Randalls skull, but eventually after many meltdowns and breakdowns alike the panic and terror ebbed. Now, the solace was found in watching the animals and people go by. And from watching the days bleed together. It was better than nothing, a welcome reminder of the time passing.
Every morning he was greeted by the very tree that had done him in. Staring in contempt as its branches gently swayed with the wind. Occasionally some kind of creature would creep around within it, only the slight shift of the leaves betrayed its presence. Some nights Randall would awaken from his nightmares of suffocation, and be greeted instead to a starry sky or a pair of gleaming eyes staring back at him from that tree. The name of the creature's species escaped him. Some furry creature.
With a grunt, he propped himself up into a sitting position, back pressed against the wall, his hands idly searching under another spare piece of cardboard for one of his brochures. The swelling on his head had subsided and his original injuries were doing much better. Unfortunately, however, his recently healed arm still ached and flared up with irritation from any strain put on it. Plus he'd lost part of one of his fronds and gathered some scars that would stick to him forever- so even though he'd managed to heal correctly Randall still hadn't escaped his near death experience unscathed. A lingering feeling of irritability at the discovery that his looks had suffered- so perhaps it was petty but... it was another thing that would be harder to shake. He leaned his head back, grumbling, allowing a sigh to escape his snout. Maybe woman liked scars? Hard to think that now, since it was impossible to really imagine his luck with women before. Then again maybe some woman would show interest just because they'd felt bad? If they thought he looked pitiful? That thought didn't help either.
Ugh he needed something to preoccupy himself with before his thoughts turned dark. Randall shifted a bit and once again pulled the spare brochures out into view, taking one off the pile, unfolding it, and skimming through the pages. This was one of many brochures Margaret, or Rita as he'd come to understand the workers liked to call her, would bring in on their lunch breaks and read together. The goal of the program was rehabilitation. The next step to their goals of relocating them back into the wild where they belonged. No doubt another goal was to make it as slow and irritating as possible for him- he guessed, anyways. These brochures all talked about "Preparing your habitat" and "Accepting Your Environment" and "Independent Living" all sorts of mumbo jumbo. On the page Randall was looking at now was a list of animals they housed here, though apparently 'House' was a term they were uncomfortable with given its contextual proximity to 'shelter', which Rita had explained in great detail the differences between temporarily sheltering animals for rehabilitation and release versus permanently sheltering animals for lifelong residency, calling them something along the lines of Ambassador Animal.
Randall absentmindedly skimmed a list of other animal- ambassador or otherwise -not entirely paying attention. The term 'Procyon lotor' caught his attention, as did the picture accompanying it. The same sort of small fuzzy animal he'd seen skulk about the treetops. 'Raccoon' a human word they'd come to give the little things. Some others jumped out too as he turned the page to 'Invasive Species', like 'Sus scrofa' whatever the hell that was and 'Myocastor Coypus', which seemed a mouth full and were depicted a few times amongst a lot of other photos. Though how a bunch of oversized rodents and pigs fit into that category of 'invasive species' escaped his notice.
Apparently 'invasive species' is another big concern for this dump.
Oh blah blah blah! This stuff was giving him a headache!
He frowned and tossed it back under the cardboard. The brochures were little help with his current predicament, but for the moment they were all he could fall upon to pass his miserable time. Eventually Randall was bored enough to sleep, and despite knowing the nightmare that may or may not come for him again- he allowed his eyelids to droop.
This afternoon had seemed to stretch into infinity. Even if sleep wasn't safe for him anymore, at least it passed the time.
A bit later, the sound of approaching footsteps stirred Randall from his uneasy slumber. His eyes blinked rapidly against the dusk light- he must have fallen asleep for awhile, the sun was much lower than he'd remembered it being before. Oh well, not like there was much else to do in this little corner of hell, what was another cat nap added to the pile.
His muzzles dried tongue ran over his jaws with the realization he was absolutely parched. Grumbling in irritation as a couple drops of saliva were all that had greeted his taste buds. Well, if those footsteps were what he thought they were- maybe he would be able to finally satiate that need for a good long drink and some grub.
"Hey Randall."
Yep there she was. Speak of the Devil- not that he particularly meant it literally. Just another human saying he supposed. One of those words he'd picked up just roaming about and listening in when nobody was looking. The distinct chime in the woman's voice couldn't have been mistaken for anybody else in the building, and certainly not for somebody else who carried about his special meal cart with the goods. His head rested back against the wall, the fronds atop his head drooping slightly, listless and unkempt. He barely acknowledged her as she set down the usual tray of food. The faint scent of sesame oil and sweet soy sauce filled the air, wafting over him like an uninvited guest.
The long red tresses. The clear glassed round-framed eyes. That same simple uniform. This was Rita.
"Chinese today. Hope you didn't mind me guessing a few of your tastes. I wasn't sure if you were a chow mein or lo mein guy. So I just got you both. Plus they had some sushi. Guess they just have a bit of everything."
Rita made idle chat at him, just like usual, her voice kind of sounding like she was attempting some kind of comradery. Sometimes her talk would drift into boring little monologues or trying her damnedest to pry details from his past. Randall didn't respond. His eyes flicked toward the tray for the briefest of moments, a temptation and longing to wolf it all down hitting him for the slightest instant. Still his pride won out as he forced himself not to so much as lean forward. Even with his stomach clenching painfully from hunger, he feigned a look of disinterest.
He'd do this at least half an hour, every single day without fail. She'd try and cajole him, tell him stories and ramble on about nothing. And he'd keep his mouth shut, occasionally side eye her and huff in annoyance if she got too annoying to ignore. But her rambling voice chipped away at his resolve, a gentle stream eroding the jagged boulder of his bitterness. He hated that it was so. Hated that her voice, as much as it grated on him with its constant, misguided cheer, offered the faintest reprieve from the endless echo chamber of his thoughts. Her words filled the silence with something tangible, something outside himself, even if they were as insignificant as her musings on the weather or her coworkers' antics.
Today though, maybe the boredom had won out. Maybe it was the itch to say something to her. He'd been sleeping all afternoon, after all. Even now the silence and boredom of staring at blank concrete and wire fencing got under his skin. And maybe the overwhelming curiosity for a taste of whatever concoction she'd thought of today was too much. The words escaped his muzzle without warning.
"Not like there's much choice." He said finally, still not budging.
A look of triumph shone in those glassed eyes and he inwardly cursed himself for slipping. His fronds bent downward in agitation. That expression on her was nothing but obnoxious. A gleeful 'I-got-you-to-say-something' grin played across her face- Randall had seen that exact same look on Mike back in his college days. When he'd been too busy cringing at his earlier flirtation attempts with a few of the girls on campus or something embarrassing of the like that made him want to curl up into a ball of misery and hide in some dark hole. But Rita, just like Mike, had never been able to turn down the chance for that mischievous satisfaction at prodding at him until he reacted. He supposed he couldn't exactly fault the human. They both seemed like pretty similar types. A shared personality trait if nothing else.
"That's better than the silent treatment! I'll take that, for the record." she quipped. Her tone almost friendly, despite the dull and dry nature of what Randall had offered.
The olfactory delicious aroma of freshly prepared dinner kept clashing with the pungent scent of the kennels, the nitty gritty stench of animal that always seemed to linger despite how obsessed the staff were about cleanliness. Shaking his head, he stared down at the plate she managed to slip under the bars of his cage. Sure enough, chow mein and lo mein sat plated- the steam still fresh on the surface of the noodles, and even still bits of meat and vegetables dotted it in nice clusters. He took the chopsticks over the offered fork- much to her visible confusion - and then slurped them down slowly. That small note had her pausing in between bites as she added yet another line to her notepad. Great, another one of her countless theories no doubt. Another inkling she was sure to give some spiel about at the most inconvenient time.
He paused mid-slurp, catching the eager flash of Rita's pen from the corner of his eye. Annoyance prickled his scales. So that was it, then - he couldn't so much as pick up chopsticks without being dissected in her little observation log. A tiny part of his mind idled on what it was she jotted down. Were there a slew of little notes on his eating preferences? Did she catalogue his mannerisms, perhaps the subtle shift of his facial features? What about his moods? His nightmares? Every second the reptilian monster was conscious, she was watching. Studying him for a prognosis no doubt. There was something maddening about having every tiny preference of his written down. Documented.
He stared at her notepad through the steam rising off the noodles. Outside his cell, the sunset cast a pleasant red haze that streaked into their enclosure, and its warm, inviting air caught her in its midst. Like a goddamn hallmark painting. Everything around her was warm. The soft hues. Her demeanor. The dark soil floor of the cage. Everything except the eyes hidden behind those oversized glasses of hers, which betrayed her excitement at what was unfolding between them. He sighed, scare worker turned chew toy in her mind. This just underscored how far removed he was from the life he'd once known. Here was where he was destined to rot - caged like an animal. If not forever, then for some sickeningly long expanse.
He swallowed another mouthful of noodles, his gaze avoiding her again. The taste was pleasantly savory on his tongue, a reminder that at least she understood his palate somewhat, even if she insisted on prying into the details of his life like an overeager archaeologist unearthing some ancient tomb.
"Didn't realize you knew how to use those," she ventured, nodding toward the chopsticks as she tapped the pen against her notebook.
He shrugged, feigning indifference, "It's familiar." he grumbled, picking at a stray piece of broccoli. It was a half-truth. The familiarity of chopsticks reminded him of the bustling eateries back in the monster world, the dim yellow lights, the hush of quiet conversations punctuated by bursts of loud laughter. It reminded him of the grimy but homey late night diner him, Jazz, and a very tired Rex used to frequent back before things fell apart. How many of those nights they'd stayed up, bummed from Rex's dad's further no shows and splitting a cheap meal for three at six in the morning just to pass the time and lament the days gone by. And he wanted to choke just from thinking about them now.
Of course, she didn't know that. How could she have possibly known? "Where'd you get familiar?" she continued, undeterred, her pen still scribbling.
There was nothing subtle about this line of questioning - she may as well have held up a giant red and white stick to draw attention to her insistence on nosiness. That had been her thing since day one. In spite of himself, a nostalgic twang of melancholy had snuck its way to his stomach like an unwanted visitor. Not that he was about to offer more to satisfy her. Instead, he stayed silent for a few moments, mulling over his meal.
"Doesn't matter." Randall replied eventually, pushing the plate towards her. "Chow mein's fine. Can I have some water?"
As soon as his final word had left his jaws, she was already slipping him a bottled water between the bars. Then she started scribbling again. That infernal pen.
"Tough topic?" she asked, giving him a sympathetic look. It seemed sincere - earnest even - and it gave Randall pause. Maybe she hadn't meant it as a poke to push him out of his shell.
And her innocent little look had the gall to tug at his chest. Suddenly the water he sipped at went down his gullet like bitter, thorny tea - his muzzle screwed up in irritation as his gaze slid her way again. Did she ever look away? Couldn't she at least spare him an ounce of privacy.
"Not a lot to tell," he said flatly, eyeing the noodle plate as his mind wandered back to her question, his mood darkening. Then those stormy clouds were cast aside as she replaced a haphazard roll of sashimi onto the edge of the noodle dish. It was all so tantalizing and delicious to him and his starving stomach. The act made him balk a bit, as it always did when she managed to read his tastes so accurately.
Picking up the plate, he took another bite of food to distract himself. It would be impossible to admit she actually had good taste in her food choices.
"Like it?" She asked, apparently interpreting his chewing to be a good sign.
"It's no Harryhausen's." He sniffed derisively.
"Harryhausen's?" She cocked a quizzical eyebrow.
Randall paused mid-chew, his fronds twitching slightly as he regarded her question. It was a rare moment when her incessant curiosity didn't immediately irritate him. Instead, it stirred something softer - a flicker of nostalgia buried under the weight of bitterness and frustration. He swallowed slowly, the taste of the sashimi lingering on his tongue as his mind wandered.
"Harryhausen's," he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost wistful. "It's... it's a restaurant. Back home."
Rita had been expecting to follow up on his family. Or friends, perhaps. All she received was silence. Just when she thought that was all she was getting, he continued. "Was my favorite place. Good food." Randall frowned a little and reached out for the water, swishing the mouthful around in his maw. At least the rest of that memory hadn't been too bitter - just the circumstances that landed him there and that fact that he'd never see the place again. A damn shame.
The change in demeanor wasn't missed. Immediately, her lips were curled into a broad, encouraging smile that lit her entire face up. "So you got tastes."
"Hmph."
He could only give a scoff, his fronds slumping at the recognition he'd actually told her something for once. This didn't need to mean anything. She was just nosy. All she wanted were a couple morsels to put to paper in those notes of hers. What did she do outside of that little pad anyway? Surely there were actual animals here she could fawn over and take care of instead of the unwanted drifter.
"Do you need to scribble in that thing?", he hissed. His sharp green gaze fixated on Rita's notepad like it was a predator in its own right, scratching away with relentless determination. The sound of her pen grated against his nerves, each stroke like a needle poking at his already frayed temper.
Rita paused mid-scribble, her pen hovering above the paper. She blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden hostility. "It's just my notes," she replied, "On your behavior, your habits. It's important."
"Important," Randall retorted through a sneer on his lips. He set the chopsticks down with deliberate force, the clatter punctuating his irritation. "What's so important about documenting every insignificant thing I do? My taste in noodles? The way I drink water? What, are you going to publish a groundbreaking paper on the Lo Mein preferences of your latest prisoner?"
"It's not like that," her voice was clipped but soft, as if trying to soothe a toddler before a tantrum, "I'm curious and just trying to help. We-"
"Help," he spat, cutting her off. His tail lashed against the concrete, the impact reverberating through the room, "You humans love that word. Say it like it's some magic cure-all, but all it means is more rotting away in here. Why are you helping me? It must be such a pity case."
Rita's face faltered. He had never been an easy subject to deal with. Frankly he was one of the most emotionally difficult she had worked on, and it felt like they had never gotten on the same wavelength. "That's not fair, Randall. I'm doing everything within my power to-"
"To what!" He all but roared, his fronds standing on end as if he was ready to burst. In an instant his frustration boiled into outrage. Randall found that he couldn't stop himself now. "To keep me locked up? To make sure I don't inconvenience you too much while you figure out your little mystery? I'll probably die in here long before you figure out how to 'help.'"
Rita stood still as a statue, her pen hovering over her notebook like it had become an extension of her, so stunned by Randall's explosion that her usually quick wits failed her. "I want to get you home." Her voice was low. "I want to help you but I'm only able to do so much and with them wanting to move you in-"
For a moment the words didn't register completely as she stopped herself from speaking. Already he was picking up on the nuances in her behavior. The unintentional tells as to what she was thinking and feeling when she thought she was being careful.
"Moving me?!" He cut in, his fronds standing out further in agitation, "What's that mean - moving me!"
"To another facility out of state. Probably within the month." She admitted. Her heart sunk at the realization that they weren't just planning on giving up- these people would continue to find other places to shove him, somewhere far away, where his protests wouldn't matter and no one would come calling. "Forever Wild.. it's not equipped for someone like you. They think a larger facility with more specialists and resources, might help. It's been weeks and they don't know what you are. And I just can't walk up to them and say 'He's no new species, his name's Randall, he's a monster and he's not from our world'!"
It was something that had been danced around for weeks. A sense of dread lingered over this, after all how could the issue of what came after this place ever be good news. Now she looked apologetic and there was something he hated about that.
"I don't need another facility!" He spat, his claws digging into his scales from how taut his muscles were, his tongue rattled around in his head and the tightness in his skull was making him absolutely furious. He stood abruptly and his side surely must've complained from the movement, "I need out of here! And don't feed me more of that crap about keeping me safe, or how you'll try your damnedest, I'm not dumb!"
"This is out of my hands, Randall." She repeated, that soft tone turned steely, "I didn't know how soon they were moving you. All I knew was I had to find a way to send you home. But you don't give me anything! You won't talk, you won't work with me, how am I supposed to find out anything useful." She shook her head.
Randall scoffed and crossed his arms, "Open the door and let me out. I can find my way home without your precious help."
Rita's resolve did not falter and she began packing her notepads back into her backpack. Her gaze lifted to him, as though to study his body language, but Randall met her with the dead cold eyes he'd cultivated from his time in the human world. The rage was ebbing away like an ocean tide, but still he refused to give any quarter, preferring instead to focus on his frustrations with her than the greater implication of being transferred to another facility. He went to speak, to make it crystal clear to her that nothing about this conversation was over, when the sound of footsteps coming down the hall startled them.
Instinctively he pushed the remnants of his food towards the bar, including the water bottle. Rita did her best to grab them and stuff the remains of the dinner she'd brought into her pack and crate it up so it would not seem amiss to whoever it was that was approaching. He scowled at her and then at the door. For a moment there was a brief pause of silence as the footsteps wandered past the area of the facility he was held. Rita sighed, cleaned up, and picked up what she'd brought.
"I gotta go." She huffed, sounding defeated. Then perked up, "Oh."
She slid what looked to be a small folded cookie wrapped in plastic towards him. A fortune cookie. This earned an arched brow from him and she shrugged.
"Came with the food. I wasn't going to eat it so.." She shrugged, and paused as if to say more but her look could only convey so much. She chewed on her bottom lip and just finished with, "So yeah, I'll talk to you later."
With that she was gone. Her sneakers squeaking faintly as she rushed herself over to the door and out into the hallway, the door closing with an irritating click. It took a few moments of staring blankly into the bleakness of his surroundings before his annoyance returned with the force of a jetliner. He stood up and stalked around his cage - five paces one way, five paces the other. Frustration prodded at his every step, an uninvited intruder buzzing around his head. He stopped to gnash his teeth, wishing nothing more than to sink them into the leg of the next human stupid enough to think of approaching him. Instead the crinkle of plastic hit his foot. His eye fell to the cookie wrapper.
Randall plucked up the cookie and opened the wrapping, being sure to tuck it away for her to take later on. Maneuvering to the back of his enclosure, he sat down on the concrete and broke open the cookie. A fortune slip rolled onto his lap as he did. With a quiet sigh he picked the small paper up and popped the dry, tasteless cookie in his mouth, chewing absentmindedly. As his eyes wandered over the printed lettering of the tiny piece of paper in his hand his eyes widened - an indignant hiss escaping his mouth as the words taunted him.
"Freedom is a journey, not a destination. Enjoy the ride."