x. status -> open starter
x. location -> happy tails
In lieu of a dog, Rory's promised Annie a guinea pig. He'd figured it'd be easier upkeep than a dog, at least — less strain on the bills, and still something Annie could pick up and spoil. The compromise was settled the day before yesterday, though you'd think it'd been a fortnight instead with how long Annie's been deliberating between guinea pigs. Rory sees no difference in any of them, frankly — there's a brown one, and a white one, and a brown and white one — but you'd think they were each from a different planet, with how closely his six-year-old's inspecting them.
“You know the store won’t be open forever, monkey,” he reminds his daughter, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’ll need to make up your mind soon.”
Annie hums thoughtfully for the umpteenth time. “Just a sec,” she tells him. Just a sec. She’s picked that up recently, just a sec. Probably at school, or from one of her friends. She repeats it incessantly, and sounds proud every time she says it out loud. She looks up at the poor floor attendant that’s been hovering awkwardly behind them for quite some time now. “Can I see the hamsters?”
Rory sighs. “The hamsters?” Annie looks up at him pleadingly, and like the very brave and indomitable man he is, he gestures his permission for the attendant to lead Annie across the aisle, where the hamsters are kept. He stays a couple of feet away, still within eyesight, and eyes the guinea pigs sympathetically. “Tough luck, there, buds. Looks like you might be sticking around longer than you thought.”
He doesn’t realize someone’s near enough to him to listen to him speak to animals that will not, in fact, speak back to him, until he catches them through his peripheral. He clears his throat, smiles apologetically. “Sorry,” he tells them. “You hang out with a six-year-old for long enough, you’ll find yourself talking to just about anything that breathes.”